Is a "sword" a euphuism? (BL)

In the dense woods skirting the quiet town of Hawkins, an industrious red-bellied woodpecker pecked at an ancient oak tree, its vibrant plumage stark against the verdant backdrop. Blissfully unaware of the peril looming near, the bird was busily engrossed in its labor of survival. A clandestine predator, camouflaged amidst the dappled forest light, stealthily crawled upwards on the gnarled trunk, inching closer to its unwitting quarry. With the swift precision of a viper, it lunged, ensnaring the bird in its clutches.

The bird thrashed helplessly, ensnared within a vibrant tapestry of goo that invaded its orifices. It was a grotesque union—sacred yet horrifying—a communion of flesh and soul. A consumption and a consecration, both in a single act—mating and devouring.

And then, death.

But not an end—no, not entirely—an unnnarural rebirth. Transformed into something far removed from its original form, yet still shackled by its mundane limitations. An offspring of a Greater Marriage, now bound to my will.

The wisdom harvested during my time in Arda was vast, granting me the power to embolden mere creatures with a far more potent essence. My new conduit, the Five Colored Slime, promised potential far surpassing my previous methods. Evan though I was yet to feed it the suffient amount dragon-aspected cum.

It not that feared I feared the repeat of incident in Minas Tirith. That chance of transformation was more then offset by the increase in power. 

Ut was that main source of it, Archer, was still laid in quarantine. 

However, Earth was not Arda. Maybe it was, or perhaps it was a distinct reality altogether. If it was, the power of Elder Days had waned into near noexistnce. 

Earth's animals, beings of pure flesh and bone, lacked the intricate tapestry of existence that spun life in Arda.

Mainly Earth lacked angelic beings which were into zoophilia. 

Their simplicity made Earth animals lesser material for my craft, yet it served my purposes well enough.

This bird was the last of its kind to be subjected to my spell. With a collection of about ten, they were sufficient to maintain modest surveillance over this town, potentially teeming with monsters.

I summoned my familiar back; the hunt had concluded. My undivided attention was no longer required; it could navigate its return to the house unattended.

Despite dedicating an entire night to the task, Igor had not yet completed setting up the equipment in the basement. Thus, I turned my attention to other pressing matters.

There was one task I had delayed for far too long—exposing the morgul blade to sunlight. I positioned the sword directly beneath the window, facing the burgeoning eastern light.

The blade resisted an immediate disintegration. So, I left it basking in the sunlight, pondering alternative plans of action. However, upon later inspection, it had vanished. The process took longer than anticipated, but it was thorough. Not even the hilt remained.

Next, I confirmed the safe arrival of the individuals I dispatched to the Enrichment Center. No mishaps occurred. I seized the opportunity to impose a moratorium on potentially lethal tests and proposed an increased budget for the Orphan Project. Surprisingly, funds were available.

This should have been one of my initial actions upon inheriting Ace's existence, but the lack of a plausible pretext for such a stark deviation from his character risked triggering Imposter Protocols. Protocols that were evidently flawed, as they failed to detect the presence of both Archer and me. This was yet another area that required improvement before Aperture fell prey to infiltration by entities other than Archer and myself.

I was greeted with a piece of splendid news: Archer's quarantine would conclude in just two days. Soon, he would be by my side in Hawkins.

Not that I missed him, I was too busy for that. It was just an opportunity to supply my familiar with a more nourishing meal. It would interesting experiment to how it would develop. 

As I waited for the lab equipment to be readied, I indulged in a light distraction, toying with my smartphone. I attempted an old passitime —prank-calling Hitler—but was met with failure.

To discern whether the issue was specific to Hitler or a general impediment in communicating with the deceased, I dialled Andrew Rich, another individual I knew to be dead in this reality. I could have tried my brother, but the wound was still too fresh, and I wasn't ready to converse with him. The attempt was fruitless, leading me to the grim conclusion that this world lacked an afterlife, or perhaps the phone could only reach the Netherworld. However, this theory could only be put to the test upon departing this world.

In light of the fact that much of my experimental work could be significantly expedited by luck, I dedicated some effort to bolster mine.

As I had learned in the exorcist summer camp prayers were effective, and later that the intended deity was of little consequence. Disliking the act of praying, I veered towards automation.

I adapted the concept of prayer wheels I had developed in Imladris, creating a more modern, virtual iteration. The old prayer wheel still stood in the Otherworld greenhouse.

The technological tools from other, more advanced worlds, supplemented where necessary with scripture, facilitated the creation of a grander manifestation. I started with a simple church simulation but soon scaled up the design. I envisioned and programmed a grand cathedral, guided by principles of sacred geometry—knowledge I had gleaned from excellent articles on HEAVENET. A colossal structure, impossible in the real world, the temple was crafted from marble quarried by vow-bound monks. The furniture within the cathedral was hewn from the bones of saints, each piece imbued with a relevant prayer. All fabric was woven by blind nuns from the hair of virgins.

However, a church devoid of worshippers bore no prayers. I used a procedural generator to populate my virtual sanctuary with a vast assembly: an army of priests garbed in sacred vestments, youthful choirs in white, flagellants, deacons, altar boys, and a congregation numbering in the hundreds of thousands.

To assess the efficacy of the app, I devised an intricate ritual, invoking a prayer for a dice roll of six. I executed the rite in the app and cast the dice.

The shrill ring of the phone interrupted my focus. It wasn't my smartphone but the traditional landline. Yet, I had nearly concluded my testing—the outcome was promising. The subsequent step involved scripting a series of prayers for diverse purposes. I would commence with a prayer for knowledge and providential guidance.

Curiosity piqued, I picked up the phone. I normally used my smartphone for communications with the Enrichment Center given that there was no risk of interception, so this call was unexpected. The voice on the other end was familiar—a ghost from the past, a spectre from the days of MK Ultra.

"Dr. Brenner, how delightful," I said, my voice rich with feigned surprise. "I was under the impression you had passed away, having not seen a publication from you in years. As they say, publish or perish."

This adage held especially true at Aperture. Those scientists who failed to contribute regularly to the body of published research were often consigned to the role of test subjects—a markedly more perilous profession within Aperture's walls.

"Dr. Johnson, a pleasure as always," Brenner replied, unflappable. "Unfortunately, we don't all have access to scientific journals bankrolled by an older brother. Besides, my work is highly classified. A matter of national security."

"Is that so? But without proper peer review, your findings can hardly be recognized as evidence," I retorted, "As my brother used to say, science without evidence is akin to witchcraft. Have you become a witch, Dr. Brenner? It would certainly explain your inclination towards child abduction."

"Those allegations were dismissed, unlike certain others," he shot back, earning him a point. He was referring to an unfortunate senate hearing in Aperture's past.

Our banter continued in this vein—veiled barbs and jabs, absent any genuine hostility. Brenner was fishing for information, seeking to ascertain why I was in Hawkins, while remaining tight-lipped about his own motives. Similarly, I aimed to confirm what I knew from Stranger Things, careful not to reveal that I was privy to his operations.

Fortunately, I wasn't alone in this verbal sparring match. I had my inner council: Leo for offense, Arnold for defence, and Boaz to collate all the data.

A few things became glaringly clear. Firstly, he hadn't anticipated dealing with me, assuming he could influence a lower-level operative with his government connections. However, even the previous Ace would have been impervious to such tactics, let alone me. Secondly, I was almost certain he was downplaying the severity of the situation to his superiors.

"It was a pleasure catching up with you, Martin," I concluded our conversation. "But I've just finished setting up this outpost in your fascinating little town. Should you need a specialist in Multiversal Theory or Higher Dimension Physics, you know where to find me, considering that you tracked me down a day after I arrived. Who else will assist you with the matter? Black Mesa?" 

Just in time.

Igor had finally finished arranging everything, and I could at last begin to decipher the enigma of the Upside Down. The prayer rite for setting up the laboratory seemed to be the most effective.

Before I delved in, I altered the liturgy, shifting from construction to operation. Until Archer's arrival, my days in Hawkins were spent running experiments with Igor.

Our research moved at a rapid pace. In a surprisingly short span, we accomplished weeks' worth of work. Much of it was due to Igor. The Companion Core was an invaluable assistant: intelligent, industrious, silent, and extraordinarily easy to coordinate with.

The nights I spent with Jay on Io. I preferred to sleep and bathe in the Space Base. The facilities were superior, and it was a safer place to sleep. Commuting to Jupiter's moon was rather trivial for me.

Unlike Igor, Jay proved to be a bit more problematic. There were several incidents.

"Sir, might I inquire about your sudden disappearances?" Jay queried one day. His brows knit in confusion, his gaze full of genuine curiosity. "I cannot seem to find you anywhere on the base."

"No," was my curt reply. I left the statement hanging in the air, offering no elaboration.

On another occasion, I found myself ensconced in the lavish comforts of the Space Base's bathroom. This opulent haven was generously proportioned and elegantly appointed. After a long, gruelling day of relentless work, the luxurious depth of the tub offered a much-needed sanctuary. I allowed myself to sink into the warm embrace of the water, my eyes drifting closed in quiet repose.

It was then that Jay's voice broke the tranquillity. "Do you require assistance, sir? May I help wash your back... and front?" His offer held a note of awkward cheerfulness.

Opening my eyes, I was greeted by an unexpected sight. "Why are you naked?" I demanded, my eyes widening in surprise.

His response was as innocent as it was absurd. "So my clothes can't get wet, sir."

Exasperated, I commanded, "Get out!"

He obliged, a pout tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turned away. "Yes, sir."

Interestingly, for an android, Jay was remarkably clumsy. He was incessantly dropping things, forever bending over to retrieve them, always with his back to me. Thankfully, he never caused any damage or spillages, and the view was... pleasant, to say the least. His shorts were both snug and nearly see-through, showcasing a well-crafted posterior. The contours of his design were indeed aesthetically pleasing.

The instant Archer arrived the following day, he greeted me with a fervent kiss. A subtle hint of stubble graced his cheeks and lips, lending a rough yet tantalizing texture to the contact. The interplay of our tongues was something I cherished.

"Missed me?" he asked, a playful smirk gracing his features as we finally parted for air.

"Of course," I responded without missing a beat. After a brief pause, I added with a teasing smirk of my own, "I've been surviving the past few days on lembas bread and chocolate. I'm in desperate need of a proper meal."

He chuckled at my remark, his laughter light and warm. He then began to gather the necessary ingredients to whip up a culinary delight just for me.

"No meat?" I noted aloud as I observed him expertly dicing mushrooms into delicate, mouthwatering morsels. Archer was highly protective of his kitchen territory, adamantly refusing any offered help. Yet, he never objected to an audience.

Normally, I wouldn't spend much time merely observing. Even though watching him cook was always an entertaining spectacle, I usually had more pressing matters to attend to. But today, I found myself with time on my hands, so I chose to stay and watch.

"I'm only using produce from the greenhouse. The quality is significantly superior," he explained. His knife moved with a grace and precision that seemed almost choreographed. I hadn't watched him in the kitchen for some time, but it was clear his knife skills had noticeably improved. "You should feel honoured. Such a feast hasn't been witnessed in Aman since the Age of Trees ended, and never before in this world."

I chuckled at his grandiose statement, then casually asked, "Did you like my little gift?"

"It was splendid," he affirmed, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. "But I must know how it was done."

I began to clarify the new development in the Otherworld, discussing the tablet and its capabilities.

"You're making it sound quite simple, isn't it more akin to a Reality Marble than just a Bounded Field?" Archer asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Reality Marble is a type of Bounded Field. One could even say that Reality Marble is the ultimate Bounded Field. While crafting one is beyond my skill at the moment, it's not beyond my understanding. However, to create something with such reality-defining effects, I would likely need a daemon."

"You're capable of creating such an entity?"

"Within my Magic Crest, there's a spell named 'A New and Holy Kingdom' which is a modern attempt to recreate the infamous Temple of Solomon," I explained. "I used a modified version of this spell to create the tracking demon I used to find you. The spell is tripartite in nature. First, create two amulets. Second, use the amulets to craft daemons. Lastly, command the daemon to construct a temple. Theoretically simple, yet practically challenging."

"So in theory, you could have created this Otherworld."

"Possibly. Instead of it being a gift from Zeltrech, the Otherworld may be an artefact I stumbled upon from an alternate, potentially future, self. The Second or Fifth? An intriguing hypothesis, though it's a pity there's no way to verify it," I mused, considering the possibilities. I then redirected the conversation to more immediate concerns. "We could introduce chickens and rabbits to the Otherworld, feed them with produce from the greenhouse and bathe them in the light. That way, we could have a source of high-quality meat."

Despite our lack of actual meat, we ended up having bacon for breakfast. Mushroom bacon, to be precise. Thinly sliced and marinated mushrooms fried in oil. When you're capable of using magecraft in cooking, every frying pan is non-stick. And Archer was capable of more than mere magecraft. His Elven enchantments were not just a spiritual infusion of creative energy, but also a manifestation of masterful skill. It was a mesmerizing spectacle. However, the process did result in the cook experiencing a nosebleed. He accepted my offer to use a familiar to clear the blood away.

His blood offering did result in a superb meal. The mushroom strips had a crunch to them, their earthy flavour evoking memories of dark, lush forests. Yet, beneath that earthiness, there was a distinct taste of purity and light. It made me recall the forest next to Imladris, and the times we spent there together. 

Driven by memory, I examined his new appearance. 

Dwight's face had a small straight nose and a prominent chin. Detailed features were different from Fano or Shirou, yet they held a familiarity I couldn't explain to myself. Maybe it was the eyes, something about them invoked the image of a sword. His blond hair made a faint stubble nearly invisible. If I had not felt it when we kissed, I probably wouldn't have noticed.

"What?" Archer said, noticing my gaze, "You keep looking at my face."

"Well, it is a pretty face," I replied.

"Handsome," he corrected.

"But you failed to shave properly," I continued.

"It has been a long time since I needed to shave. I am a bit out of practice," Archer admitted.

"I could do for you. But I won't stop at the face," I said, a smirk playing on my lips.

"I don't have a problem with that," he replied, returning my smirk.

"I have everything we need in my workshop. I wanted to show it to you anyway," I finished.

"Right now, we have some time to kill. I've used the shortcut, so officially, I'll be arriving in Hawkins much later. I have a portal gun primed for the Enrichment Center. They're expecting you back. Aperture needs its director."

The mere thought of attempting to organize that bunch of lunatics gave me a headache, so I decided to focus on something else.

"An active portal gun? Isn't that a bit risky?" I asked.

"It may not be as elegant a solution as the one you've used, but reinforcing the cooling fan is workable enough."

"Actually, I simply took it through the Otherworld. Didn't bother to keep it active for long."

"How long do you think you can keep the portal open?"

"Indefinitely. At least as far as waste heat is concerned. And don't worry about concealing magecraft. I've reported that I'm testing a prototype cooling system."

"And what happens when you need to present a prototype?"

"By then, I'll have one ready. With Archer's experience in Event Horizon Containment and all of the future cooling systems that I can find using that app, it should not be too difficult. But I believe there was something you wanted to show me?"

My magecraft workshop had evolved into something of a sex dungeon. Well, more of a sex dungeon than it already was. One of the aspects of the supernatural that I studied was the unions between man and entities beyond mortal comprehension. From simple marriages to the deceased, to the creation of demigods, sex was a crucial part of that study. Since the moment I had inherited my workshop, there had always been objects that could be used for sex. For example, there was dust that, when sprinkled on a person, could make a ghost materialize, a lotion that could protect from the extreme temperatures involved in intercourse with a volcano god, and an ancient fertility obelisk that could also function as a dildo, among many others.

But after entering this world, these items seemed to multiply. Furthermore, many new ones served no other purpose than pleasure. Intriguingly, many of these items appeared to be made by me, even if I had no memory of creating them. Some were items I had contemplated making but had never found the time for. But not all.

Among these was an Elven-made straight razor, a truly perverse item in my collection. Elves had no body hair, and no Elf would ever consider shaving their head hair. It was almost as emasculating as castration, even for females.

I used that razor to shave all the body hair from Archer's newest form. There was no need for water or soap, just my familiar layering the razor, and consuming any cut hair.

Archer was completely naked and spread-eagled, his hands and legs bound to a square metal frame. The frame could rotate both horizontally and vertically, allowing me to access all areas of his body.

I started with him face-up, parallel to the ground, his weight pressing down on his shoulders and hips. The slight tremors of his muscles under strain were a sight of exquisite beauty. I took in the view, grateful for my perfect memory. The sight was so inspiring that I decided I would attempt to paint it later, despite my usual painting subjects being limited to occult sigils.

However, he was only half erect. I would need to rectify that.

"What are you doing?" he moaned.

My mouth was too occupied to reply, but the answer was obvious. His member stiffened in my mouth, pressing against my throat. I savoured the taste, salty and undeniably masculine, although his pubes tickled my face. Fortunately, that was an issue soon to be rectified.

Using just my mouth, I slipped an Elven-made cock ring onto his erection. This unique piece of work was capable of maintaining an erection for days, though I had no plans for such lengthy use.

"Ensuring you're in the right mood," I purred, raising the razor high. "Let's begin."

I didn't start with the body hair. When we kissed, his stubble had tickled my face. I dealt with that first. A single pass of the razor and his face was pleasingly smooth. I then ran my tongue over both his cheeks, relishing the silky texture of the freshly shaven skin, placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, and then gagged him.

The gag was a simple Mystic Code, a rubber tube that could change shape with the application of magical energy. Once inserted into his mouth, it morphed into a ring gag, creating a circle in his mouth and straps to keep it in place. There were various possible configurations for this Mystic Code, but I chose the ring gag, as I had plans for his mouth later.

A blindfold? No, I found his eyes too captivating. Their shade of blue had changed slightly, but they still held the color of an unsheathed blade. We had adopted too many faces, a thousand faces for a thousand lands. Would the gods fear our call in the end?

Seeing him bound like this truly inspired me. I was compelled to sketch him and then found myself composing admittedly poor poetry.

With a swift flick of the razor, I shaved the hair under his left armpit, my familiar feasting on the fallen hair. I kissed the newly bare skin, then moved on to the left side of his chest and stomach. My member had hardened during this activity, but for the moment, I left it untouched, savouring the anticipation.

The path of the razor unveiled his straining muscles, taut from being suspended in the air. Through the unique five-coloured slime coating my razor, I could taste his hair, a flavour that was far from mundane.

Hair is one of the parts of the body rich in magical circuits, often used in binding familiars. However, Archer didn't possess magical circuits. His first resurrection blessed him with a Magical Core. I blamed Avalon for this anomaly.

Yet, there was something unique about his hair, something potent. Something the Five Colored Slime found delectably enticing.

Once I finished with his left side, I mirrored the process on the right. His magnificent abs were fully revealed, each ridge a testament to his physical prowess. But my task was far from complete, and so I moved between his legs.

I ran my hand softly up his thigh, savoring the feel of his leg hair for the first and last time. He moaned through the gag as I firmly grasped his member. With the razor in my other hand, I methodically rid him of his pubic hair, removing all of it. Then, my attention turned to his balls. I found myself unable to resist toying with them a little bit, though I suspected he didn't mind.

Finally, it was time for his legs. Once I was finished, I rotated him to face downward.

His back was quite hairy too. But it wouldn't be for much longer.

Then came the crowning glory of his physique – his magnificent backside. I parted his cheeks. There was hair inside too, almost veiling his puckered entrance. But I desired it in its full, bare glory. The razor danced along the contours until his skin was utterly smooth. Not a single hair was left; I ensured it with the flick of my tongue. The taste was unlike his Elven form, more earthly, yet somehow more appetizing than the possessed body.

The only hair that remained adorned his head. The slime salivated for it, but I held it at bay. I adored his hair.

It served me well when I grasped a handful, pulled his head upwards, and guided my throbbing hardness into his gagged mouth.

"Get wet. It's the only lube I'll use," I moaned as his warm mouth enveloped my arousal.

I pushed my length into him until my balls brushed against his chin. Then, almost pulling out, I left only the head before plunging back in.

In and out. The rhythm continued, pressure mounting with every movement until I was teetering on the edge.

I withdrew, my body quivering with anticipation.

Relocating myself behind him, I whispered a command, releasing the cock ring that held him prisoner. It clattered onto the floor, freeing his member.

With a powerful thrust, I claimed him, burying myself entirely in his tight channel. I stilled, relishing the sensation of his tightness.

I began to thrust, hard and fast. The friction was searing, an exquisite pain. Having grown accustomed to using the slime for these intimate moments, I had almost forgotten the electrifying pleasure of going nearly dry.

Our climax arrived like a lightning strike, a simultaneous explosion of ecstasy. I filled his inner sanctum with my seed, spilling some onto the floor.

In the throes of passion, I dropped the razor. The slime abandoned it, instead feasting on the remnants of our coupling on the floor.

"Was it a good shave?" I asked as I removed the gag.

"You're my favorite barber," he replied as I untied him.

After our heated encounter, we lay in each other's arms, basking in the comforting warmth of our naked bodies. Completely sated, I indulged in the intimacy of our skinship.

Suddenly, he broke the silence, "How can you bear it? All those lives spent, just for the sake of knowing?"

His question hung in the air as I pondered over it. Then, I replied softly, "Would it help if I told you it wasn't you?"

"No," he responded firmly. "The memories are too real."

As I ran my hand through his short blonde hair, I considered how best to explain my perspective.

"You see, there's a common practice in training potential Magi. A child, usually quite young, is given an animal to care for as a pet. The child is tasked with caring for it, training it. And when they have properly bonded with their pet, it is then used as a thaumaturgical sacrifice, usually in the creation of the child's first familiar."

"And thus, the Magus learns not to care. About anyone. Anything."

"If that's the lesson they learn, then it's the wrong one," I countered. "The true lesson lies in understanding love and sacrifice. The more we value something, the more we gain by giving it up. A Magus may form attachments - to objects, to people, to ideals - but they must always hold one thing above all others. What ties a true Magus to his craft transcends mere obsession and can only be described as True Love."

"Love?!" The disbelief in his voice was palpable. To him, it was inconceivable that something so destructive could be born out of love. Yet, even with all he had seen, he viewed love through a modern, rose-tinted lens. My understanding of love, however, was rooted in an older, more primal perspective.

Love did make angels fall, saints into sinners, and just kings into fools. 

"Do you trust me?" I whispered, tracing my fingers across his bare, firm abs. His skin was smooth, stripped of all hair.

"Always," he responded without hesitation.

"You really shouldn't," I sighed. "With your death, I could perform miracles."

In response, he gifted me with a warm, content smile. Not a smirk, but a genuine smile of happiness.

Perhaps it was simply his penchant for self-destruction, but I'd like to believe that it was because it was the closest I had come to saying, "I love you".