This story contains sex.

...The rhythmic thrusting of Algol's pelvis is the only sound that fills the dingy, tiny, unlit inn room. Wet slapping against the red, abused behind of some smaller man he doesn't much care for in truth. Panting from him, moaning from the other, him grabbing the smaller male's ankles and holding them up and apart, pounding, unthinking, gaze half-lidded, eyes pointed at the tinier male... and seeing nothing."...I'm close, boy..."His husky, breathy voice cuts the sexual silence, and he bites his lip, anticipating a climax. It's pleasurable, of course. It is, every single time. Hells, just existing is pleasurable for him, sensitive as every inch of his body is, the lightest graze against his skin sending jolts of electricity directly into his brain and his soul. Sex, obviously, is always the best of it all. Overwhelming... addicting.The smaller guy says something that Algol doesn't pick up. He is nodding, begging. Asking to be bred? What was his name again? A Miqo'te. Moon clan. Ischa'li? Something like that."...here it comes...!"Bearing more of his weight down upon the smaller man, he leans forward, thrusting as hard as someone with his frame conceivably could, without shattering the bones of a regular human. His hair, stuck to his forehead from sweat, the same sweat that drips down his body onto the bed and onto the stupid cat beneath him, cascades down his shoulders and the sides of his face, making it so the man can see nothing besides his face. Illuminated only by the pale moonlight, it's probably striking. Probably. Doesn't matter....Finally, an orgasm arrives, sending the usual wave of searing white heat into every single one of his cells. He tosses his head back, basking in the warm sensation. It burns. It should burn, at least, this intense and ridiculous heat, yet his body is just different. Where this wave of full body heat should cause the pain of burning, instead of pain, there is just delight. A mind-blanking feeling of bliss, fleeting and momentary, a reprieve from the real world. No matter how many times it happens, it's still as intense as the first one. The first one he had, back when he didn't know he had to feed like this, when he was transformed.And feed he does. The man under him, impaled on his pride, doesn't feel it, drunk on pleasure (and alcohol) as he is. His aether is slowly, securely drained, the sensation masked by the orgasm imposed upon him, and flows into Algol. Algol feeds, and is delighted. He'll survive longer. He still doesn't have an idea for how long, exactly, each time, but he'll live longer, and have power.Maybe the smaller man came, too. Who cares....One way or another, he seems to be in bliss, panting, tired, and looking up at him with eyes full of lust, satisfaction, and perhaps love. Algol pants, too, breathing deep and steadying himself, mentally. He should probably do something.So, he reaches over, places a hand on the smaller male's cheek, and lets out a low, husky, almost growled... "...good boy."The smaller man smiles, nuzzling into his hand. Algol places his thumb on the man's lips, who knows what this means and begins to lick and suckle on it, brow furrowed.But Algol can tell he's exhausted. He giggles, yawns, stretches, and despite still being penetrated, seems to slowly fade in consciousness. Such is the product of having one's aether drained. His breathing stabilizes... Algol can tell his brain activity lowers, until he's lulled to sleep......And, finally, the demon is alone and free. He lets out a deep breath and stops pretending to be physically strained, just staying on his knees. A tendril of darkness emerges from his back and reaches for his pants, discarded somewhere on the ground, and enters the pocket... digging out a pack of cigarettes. He grabs it with his hands, extracts one, holds it between his lips, and with a flick of his thumb, a small violet flame emerges from the tip of his finger, which he uses to light the cigarette. He inhales deeply... and exhales.These things are bad for one's health. He knows that. He also knows whatever they do, he is definitely immune to, so he doesn't care. Still, the numbing effect works to a certain extent, and it's just... a satisfying action to do. Taking one out, smoking it, burning it out. Burning. Making it disappear.Another puff of smoke leaves his lightly parted lips, as he stares down at the sleeping man, no feeling in his eyes. Half-lidded, but cold.What a fucking idiot. He has to be what, 22? 23? Zero aspirations in life, obviously, if he's as easy to pick up at bars as he is. One of the demon's regular flings, and therefore one of his regular sources of food. All he seems to care about is food, sleep, finding easy and cheap thrills, passing time, and sex. Completely empty existence otherwise, no aspirations for the future, but for some reason he regenerates aether fast and is easy to bed, so he's convenient.Quite like Algol, before he was transformed, except for the sex part. He knows what that empty existence is like. He has no sympathy....He withdraws, very slowly crawling backwards and out of the smaller male, attempting not to wake him up. The younger man almost seems to deflate as the demon withdraws, though it may be a trick of the dim light. At least, that's what he tells himself, but with how developed his darkness vision is, he knows that can't be the case. He doesn't care to think about what is really happening, either way.Leaving his bag of food on the bed, exhausted and dripping, he slips his black briefs on and, still half naked, walks over to the balcony. It's a seaside inn, the fact that the windows open to the ocean perhaps its only appealing, distinguishing factor. It's late, the moon visible in the sky, full, amid a sea of stars. A sea of black that twinkles above, a sea of black that twinkles below as well.Here, the only light source is the red glow of the end of his cigarette. He leans over the railing, arms crossed, and looks off into the horizon.No use staving it off. Alone and with nothing to do, he's alone with his thoughts. Again. He isn't a fan of that. He has never been.Being alone, and left with his thoughts, allows him to sense the infinity and the void inside of himself. How his own self exists only in a sea of black, a void of information and synapses that fire at each other. The other presence in his head - that demon he bonded with, the one that is him as well but isn't him at the same time - the only other thing present in his head. He hears her voice and her input at all times. She sees everything. She has thoughts on everything. Sometimes, when he allows her, she takes over.She appreciates the demon's actions. This sex and breeding is an act of worship. It empowers her. This is why his body rewards him so for doing it - that, and because it's how he feeds.He just does it out of habit, and because the sensation is nice. Blanking his mind every now and then is nice. Warm. He doesn't feel warmth like this very much, if at all. Otherwise? There's just emptiness.An emptiness much like the one above, and the one below. Infinity, where there's things there, except at the same time there's nothing at all, or maybe the few things that are are simply too distant... too far out of reach... too meaningless.An infinity that reminds him of the fact he is no longer human. He is no longer ashamed of this. He is also not used to the idea yet. An infinity larger than the lives of everyone he knows and loves. An infinity that will outlast anything and everything he experiences, that won't allow him to forever protect everything, because everything crumbles and decays. Everything becomes waste and rot.And in the end, there's just him. Whatever "he" is. Not a person. Several, maybe. Masks, worn to face the world in specific ways and navigate it, and a self that is fractured and actually two individuals, one of them in a different dimension, many, many malms away.And it's always cold in the void where he floats, devoid of gravity and sensation. And if he got lost in there... maybe he wouldn't be able to get back out....Violently ripping him from his thoughts is the feeling of something moving behind him. Brought back to reality, he senses the movement behind - the idiot that he just fed off of is stirring awake and stretching. How long has it been? About two hours. His body can sense time. He knows it's been two hours since he has been standing here, immobile, and he can feel the blood stagnant in several places of his body. Quickly, he shifts his position to kickstart everything again, and looks back. He sees movement below his gaze as he does this, and realizes the cigarette has been consumed all the way to the filter, and the ash has stayed attached to it in a long, slightly curved log. Did he stop breathing too? Or was he just doing it so slowly that it wasn't enough to knock the ash off?He grabs the filter and taps away the ash into the sea, putting the cigarette out on the railing even though he knows that isn't really necessary anymore. The younger man wakes up, sits up (slowly and painfully), rubs his eyes, and then gets out of the bed, naked, to go stand next to him. Nearly half his height, the smaller man can only really put his arm around his midsection through the back, leaning into him. He's warm."Mm... what are you doing?"Why do you care? Algol goes on. "Nothing, boy. Just relaxing, taking in the sight." Out of habit, he puts the cigarette filter back on his lips, even though there's nothing to smoke, just to free his hand up."Mmm..."With disgust, Algol notes, mentally, that he can basically feel the gears turning in the younger male's head, trying to come up with something to say. He cannot bear the silence. How annoying."It's kinda cold out..."It is. Cold and heat don't bother Algol's body, but he can tell it's cold nonetheless. "That's true. It doesn't bother me, though. Don't worry."The man bites his lip, his free hand reaching down the front of Algol's body - starting at his ribs, feeling down the pathway of black hair, over his belly, and resting firmly at the front of his underwear. A touch, a grope that sends a sensation of orgasmic bliss all through his skin, making every bump on it stand on end, pleasurably. Physically pleasurably, at least, for it causes nothing mentally. "...come on... how about we get warm in the bed again...?"Of course. He wants sex again. Algol doesn't know if it's safe to feed from the younger male's aether like this once more, but at the same time he doesn't wholly care. Worst that'll happen is he'll pass out a whole day. Algol can just pay the inn room, leave some stupid meaningless note for him, and then leave. Still, he purrs, bucking his hips into the man's touch, showing himself to be virile, desirable, and ready. Might as well seize the opportunity. "Oh yeah?""Mmhmm... I'm still hungry, daddy..."Eugh."I'll go take a quick shower and come to the bed..."Why the hell does he want to take a shower? He's going to get all sweaty and sticky again, and then pass out anyways. What a waste of time and water. Filth that doesn't recognize it's filth is exasperating. "Okay, boy..." Once more, thumb to mouth. The younger males with issues like that. "Make sure to clean up real well for me. You know how I like to eat good." A cocky, lewd smirk."Okay, daddy...""I'll take a quick shower after... and come feast on you." The idiot doesn't know that is quite literal."Mm... no..." What? "I like how you smell like this... mmh... man scent..."Internally, Algol sighs. Externally, he smirks, lifting his arm and bringing the young idiot closer to his body, so he can get his fill of whatever the hell. Maybe, if he was interested, this would be fun, but with someone that is just a bag of food to him, this is only ritualistic. His mind blanks, and all he hears is sniffing, and all he feels is a body drawing closer to his sides, his chest, his armpits. Whatever."Hah..." That seems to have gotten the smaller man going already.Algol reaches down, lightly palming at his quite disappointing ass with a hand. "Come now... don't keep daddy waiting." He wants to hurl, hearing himself say those things. He knows men like this enjoy that. He doesn't fully get it."Mm... okay..." And off goes the younger man to shower......and Algol goes to the bed, sitting with his legs wide open, staring at the ceiling, and just waiting. He'll just have to feed again and see what comes after.Not true fulfillment, that's for sure.

This story is about sex, and describes men's bodies to an extent, but there's no explicit sex described.

The young lumberjack's apprentice makes his way through the bamboo forest, satisfied after a hard day of work. Despite the fact autumn is in full swing, he keeps the sleeves of his top rolled back and his cleavage open, attempting to breathe and cool down from all the exercise he just did, chopping down so many trees and then chopping them into tinier pieces. The chill breeze against his bared, tan, sweaty skin is sweet relief, even though he knows he'll have to dress properly soon enough - either to not be seen in such an indecent state when he enters his village again, or because the cold will get to him and he doesn't really want to get sick at this time of year, because that'd take time away from working. With the wood he's gathered bundled up and carried on his back (and his trusty hatchet slung around his hip), he makes his way up the hill back to town.It's a comfortable life he leads, in this quiet corner of Hingashi. The hustle and bustle of Kugane is far too much for him and for the people of his village, opting for quieter, more stable and perhaps conservative living instead, more comfortable. It isn't all perfect, though. Despite having come of age some years back, it feels like every older adult in the village still treats him like a hapless child, even though he already moved out from his parents' home, in with a lumberjack as an apprentice, and even though he quite literally has a job and a salary now. Hells, he can even drink, and he does. He deserves more respect... maybe, in his early twenty-something summers of life. Sure, the village elders are four to five times his age, but still...He sighs, finally making his way over the hill. He just has to trudge through another, even higher hill, and his village will be within view... and still about an hour away on foot. He doesn't really like being out so late, but he's figured out where the best lumber grows, and they need to do a lot of construction and repairs in the village before winter comes. He set out early, worked hard, even took a dip in a nearby river to cool off once, and now he's coming back. Maybe he should invest in one of those pocketwatches they sell in Kugane, because it'd make it easier to keep track of time - the skies were already taking on a yellowed hue by the time he realized he should return back home.Stories always abound in small villages about what happens to people that are outside the village too late. All sorts of monsters, creatures and evil spirits prowling, looking for prey to feast on. He isn't sure how true the stories are, but they've definitely made a mark on him, being all he heard while being raised in the village. He isn't entirely too scared either - he knows he has some muscle on him, and he's starting to look like a strong adult. Mostly. Even if he has nothing on the actual village guards, or the soldiers in the bigger cities, and even if his hatchet is made to cut down trees and not people, he could still defend himself in a pinch......right?A shiver runs through him and he realizes how dark the ground is. Night falls fast this time of year. He hurries and keeps walking. He really doesn't want to be alone so far away from the village when it's dark out. Maybe the stories are more true than he assumes, and he doesn't want to really be the one to find out. The sweat of physical labor becomes that of anxiety as the last rays of sunlight hide behind the horizon, and his village is still nowhere in sight. Since when did it get so late?Even though it's a full moon out tonight, that's still not an amount of light he's comfortable with. But he's just half an hour away from the village on foot... or he should be, at least. Even if he can't see any of the lights of the village from here... maybe it's just that they haven't lit their torches yet... for whatever reason... right?...He freezes, even his breathing hitching in his throat as he realizes there's a figure on the path. He can hardly make out any details, only seeing a pair of pale grey shins peeking out from under a black kimono, going into white tabi and geta, but he knows there's someone on the road. Someone that is... altogether way too chill about being out this late, walking only in darkness.Someone that, for some reason, he didn't see until now."Ah... good evening." A deep, bassy voice comes from the figure, quite high up. It's a man. The man turns around, and the lumberjack apprentice can finally make out more details... it's a handsome man, very tall and very broad in the shoulders, clad in a black kimono that is quite open at the front, showing off deep cleavage, a prominent, strong and plump chest, and a strange necklace. He has his long black hair tied back messily, in a way that reminds the younger male of the things he's heard about courtesans, and wears glasses, peering down at him through the thin lenses. A full beard, too... an impressive, strong, older figure. And the only reason he can see any of this at all is the dim red glow coming from the pipe he holds in his mouth.And seeing all this... the young man freezes. He's speechless. Who is this? This is nobody he's ever seen. Suddenly, every story he's been told growing up is true and runs through his head - this stranger is dangerous. He should not get any closer. He should try to run. He wouldn't win. It doesn't matter if he has to abandon his lumber, just as long as he gets home safely and can come back later for it. But the man is standing right in front of him, in the way, in the only road the young man knows, and something about his presence... is wrong. Oppressive. Powerful...The older man snaps his fingers, and a larger flame emerges from his fingertip, as bright as a torch, further illuminating them both (and allowing the younger man to take in the sights better, somewhat against his own will). That's alright. He knows of magicians and magic. Nothing abnormal about someone being able to summon fire. But someone this tall, and this strong, and this grey, and with these vibes?He gulps.The older man arches an eyebrow, removing the pipe from his mouth with his free hand while maintaining the flame for visibility. "It is quite late out, is it not?" That's fluent Hingan. He's never seen someone like this. Assuming he's just a foreigner (how is he in this part of Hingashi?), he has a perfect grasp on the language.Oppressed by the presence of the older man, he nods.The older man takes a step closer, and the younger man takes a step back in response, on instinct. The older man cracks a smile, amused. He peers over the younger man's shoulder. "I see you were out chopping wood. That would explain why you are out at this time of day, despite all the warnings you surely have gotten.""...how... do you know?""Know what? I just assume. Everyone is warned to not stay out too late in the woods at night, everywhere in the world, right?" He tilts his head. "From your reaction, it seems I was right." He takes a puff from his pipe, taking a deep breath, and exhaling the smoke calmly, like a powerful dragon. The younger man doesn't fully realize it until that moment... but he's about half the height and width of this man, more or less. That is terrifying. He doesn't need to get up close to realize how badly he is dwarfed right now. "And yet... here you are. Do you have a name?" The man's smile......is... strangely warm and inoffensive. Alluring, even. Hells, everything about him is alluring, for some reason. The younger man knows he may be falling into a trap. He knows he shouldn't trust this complete stranger he's never seen before. And yet... "...Shiro. I'm... my name is Shiro. A pleasure to meet you.""Mm... Shiro..." Something about the way the older man says his name, so slowly, almost like he's savoring it, feels... filthy. Dangerous. "A fine name. Short, to the point... masculine. It fits someone like you."What does this man want? And, more importantly, who is he?"Of course, I am only saying that because of your... appearance. Only a manly man would be showing this much skin, and showing off those muscles."A chill runs down Shiro's spine. That's right, his sleeves are still rolled back and his top is still open. Hastily, he rolls them down, suddenly feeling quite cold. Yet... getting complimented like that felt good. He shouldn't let it get to his head, but...The older man chuckles. "Oh, you need to hide nothing from me, boy. We're both men. You have nothing I haven't seen before." Though, obviously, everything about the older man is much larger. "Oh, but where are my manners... I have not introduced myself yet, have I? My name... call me Algol." That's foreign. But it also doesn't feel like any name he's heard before, even in passing. "Quite a pleasure to meet you, Shiro."Shiro nods. He clears his throat, awkwardly. The way the older man that calls himself Algol looks at him feels the way the people in the village look at cuts of meat they're thinking of purchasing at the market. Something about it feels dangerous. "...what are you doing here?""Oh, nothing much. I was just taking a walk, late at night. I enjoy taking the world in once the sun goes down, in all its beauty. Simply roaming around, feeling twigs and leaves crunch beneath my feet, hearing the running water of rivers, the sounds of wild animals... this is a beautiful land. I merely go out to enjoy it and its people.""So you're a foreigner."He nods, slowly. "If my appearance didn't make it obvious enough, that is."Maybe... an appearance like this is common among foreigners? He hasn't seen them much, so he wouldn't know."What about you, though, young one? It's quite late out. They say it's dangerous to be out at this time of day, no?" Though he says that, his tone is almost... playful. Is it because he knows he is the danger at night?"...same goes for you."He just looks at the flame emerging from his finger. "I know how to defend myself. What about you? There's all sorts of things out there. Bandits seeking to rob and kill, beasts seeking prey to feed on... spirits with other strange intentions." Algol's eyes dart below Shiro's belt, thankfully only at his hatchet and not at anything else. "...and it doesn't look to me like you are prepared to face those things."Shiro remains quiet, frowning."Oh, don't give me that look, boy. I mean you no harm... I assure you." But something about the way he speaks makes it feel otherwise. "In fact... I could help, if you wish. Many dangers prowl the night, you know?""...help how?"He smirks. Somehow, Shiro feels like he stepped into a trap. "I could help escort you back to your village. Of course, everyone there would see you walking in with me, and I would need to take some payment for protecting someone." Not to mention, this would mean leading this strange, menacing man back to the village, to his family and the elders there. Out of the question. "Or... I have a cabin nearby. I have warm tea and food there, and a bed for you to sleep in. You could stay the night and depart tomorrow, once the sun is out and it's safer out.""...you're a foreigner but you have a house here?""Yes." He arches an eyebrow. "A local fisherman sold it to me because he was moving into the city. I bought it off of him, because I decided it would be best to have an actual place to stay in whenever I come here, outside of just paying for an inn every time. With how much I like coming here, it only made sense to actually own property somewhere... even if it's only one small, cozy cabin."While the story makes sense, Shiro isn't sure that's actually legal. Either way, he isn't sure he fully believes the man."Of course, I could simply walk away, if that's what you'd prefer. You can walk to your village back, alone, and you won't see me again... though, who knows what would happen to a pretty little thing like you out here at night." He takes a drag from his pipe, and Shiro swears the older man is hiding a smirk. "This is only out of concern for your well-being, of course..."He's at a crossroads. He doesn't know what accepting this man's help will mean for him, and he knows that trying to make his way back alone in the dark would be quite dangerous too... but he also knows there's nobody to blame but himself. He's the one that stayed out this late, and didn't carefully check the time or the sky until it was too late. Maybe this is his punishment, but either way, he is between a rock and a hard place.And the older man... just keeps staring at him like the people do at the markets. He's the only one that's ever called him a man instead of a boy, which feels good, but everything else about this situation screams danger. There's no good way out...."...alright..." Shiro finally speaks, after what feels like an eternity. "...I'm... tired." He can't afford to lead this man back to his village or be seen with him. "...let's go to this cabin... I don't need to eat anything, just a place to stay the night."The old man gives him a placid smile. "Of course. I'm glad you could see the best option."Shiro feels like he truly is walking into the lion's den with this..........After a short while of walking down an unmarked and unpaved road, following the flame on the man's finger like one would follow spirits and get lost in the forest, the pair arrive at a cabin near a small river. It must be a nice sight, once the sun is up. At least the part about the man having a cabin wasn't a lie.The older, larger man approaches the door, unlocks it with a key, and motions for Shiro to enter first, gentlemanly. "Come in. It's warmer inside."And... once Shiro enters, it's indeed warmer inside... quite cozy, in fact. Something about this place is relaxing. It's dark, but not for long, as once Algol enters behind him, closing the door (without locking it, for some reason), and he starts lighting lamps with his flame, Shiro gets to see that this very much looks like the single room cabin of a fisherman living by himself. There's just a raised area, a large futon in the corner, a furnace in the middle for cooking, a few empty shelves... and not much else. Just quiet comfort.Stepping out of his geta, Algol walks deeper into the cabin. "Come, make yourself at home. It's why you're here, after all, no? And leave your lumber there."Maybe... the man was being honest. This is comfortable. Finally, Shiro can take a deep breath that he didn't know he was holding. He unloads his lumber and steps out of his sandals, walking into the soft mat of the single room cabin. The windows let some moonlight in... this is such a relaxing, beautiful, atmospheric place. He almost feels happy......especially because he's far from the village... so he feels a bit free.He stretches, grunting and closing his eyes, and then blushes as he realizes Algol has been staring at him stretch, with that same leer of someone examining meat at the market. Shiro won't ever get used to that. He still doesn't know what this man wants in return. He shouldn't get too comfortable.At that moment, Shiro notices the older male is holding a kettle in his hand, which is glowing red and visibly emanating heat. More of the magic he saw earlier? Algol also has a couple of tea cups in his other hand. He sits cross-legged in front of the dimly lit furnace, placing the cups down, and then grabbing the kettle, pouring tea out into both of them. A fragrant, herbal, sweet scent fills the room. He motions for Shiro to sit as well......which the younger man does. Might as well, since he's here, no? He's curious, though. "That is magic, right? The flame, and heating the kettle..." The tea poured into the cups is giving off steam."Indeed. Nothing unusual. I just happen to be a sort of scholar of magic in the West, and it is quite convenient sometimes.""I see... there's no mages in my village. Nobody is interested in studying that stuff, besides the healers and priests.""Well... you see what everyone is missing out on, now." He lets out a small chuckle.Shiro grabs his cup and stares at the tea inside... it looks like tea, alright. Green tea, specifically. Still, he doesn't take a sip, just stealing sidelong glances at the older man...

...who notices, grabs his own cup, and takes a sip. "It's just tea. I know what you may be thinking, boy. It is simply tea. I don't do such things, you have nothing to worry about there." To punctuate his sentence, he downs the rest of his cup and sets it down on the ground. "See?"Shiro feels embarrassed, almost, because Algol immediately knew what he was thinking. He just takes a sip of his own tea... it's sweet, but not too much, and comforting, too. He drinks the rest of the cup... he didn't realize how parched he was until that moment.And, before he can say anything else, Algol has grabbed the kettle once more, and is pouring him another cup. "Come on, drink up. I usually have nobody to drink with this far out into the woods. In the city, I share alcohol with the locals, sometimes at the hot spring, but in this cabin, I am usually alone and simply relaxing..." At the same time, he pours himself another cup. "...so this... is a nice change of pace."Quietly, Shiro drinks his second cup, taking in its scent and letting it warm him up. It warms him up so much, in fact, that the room starts to feel a bit stuffy. It might be the lamps and the furnace, but... at least it's better than the cold of an autumnal night, especially near a river.He sets his cup down and stifles a yawn into his hand. "...thank you very much, sir. For the tea and for allowing me into your cabin, even though I am a stranger."Algol smiles, leaning back. He lays on the ground, one elbow on the mat, his legs spread, with one of them propped up... if it weren't for the way the kimono falls to cover him, he would surely be flashing Shiro at that moment. "Of course." The sight, and the idea... lights a fire in Shiro. An odd sensation, somewhere between excitement and nausea, runs through him. Maybe he would like to see that. This man is too entrancing. "I just like to help. To give people what they need and want... especially pretty little things like you." Algol flashes another smirk, and suddenly Shiro feels quite small in front of him... but perhaps not in a bad way, this time around. Perhaps... in a way he finds intriguing... desirable, even.Shiro clears his throat. "Th... thank you.""Don't mention it, boy. I am simply an honest man." Something about the way he emphasizes those words makes them feel dishonest. Algol kneels, reaching over and lightly touching Shiro's cheek. "I am not one to lie in situations like these, in front of cute, handsome young men like you."Shiro gulps. "...you like men?""Of course. Why wouldn't I? Men are wonderful. Their sound, their scent, their taste... I am quite fond of it all. The union of men... there is such indescribable beauty in it." He smirks......and there's a sinking feeling in Shiro's chest. Of course, coming here wouldn't be free. "...s... so... what do you expect in return from staying here?"...and Algol shakes his head. "Nothing."Huh?The confusion in Shiro's expression must be palpable, because Algol laughs. "I want nothing in exchange. I am simply helping. I quite enjoy the company of younger, handsome men like yourself... but you have to do nothing. Just having you safe and comfortable is enough." The knot of anxiety in Shiro's chest dissolves slowly, as he nods, realizing Algol's hand is still on his cheek, and realizing he enjoys the touch.Algol withdraws his hand soon after.The older man stands. "...the only thing you must be aware of... is that, of course, there is only one futon over there, in the corner of the room. And I sleep only in my underwear." Algol smiles. "Again... you need to do nothing. The futon is big enough for the both of us. You're free to ignore me in the bed as you yourself go to sleep. Or not."Oh. That is an interesting condition. Maybe Shiro can endure it."Are you hungry?""...no. I just needed a drink. Thank you.""Very well, kid. If that was all... I believe I will tuck into bed now, in that case. Make sure to turn the lamps off before you come and join me." Algol takes a deep breath and stands. Walking over to the futon, and turning away from Shiro... he begins to disrobe.The heat that rises to Shiro's face is so intense it is palpable. He can feel his heart throbbing in his ears, fast pulsating as he takes in the sight.The older man's obi goes down first, and then the kimono slowly follows. Turned away, first his neck is bared, then his ample, muscular, strong back, so large it leads to a thinner waist, before it broadens into strong, powerful thighs, an impressive rear... and what seems to be an impossibly tight and snug black fundoshi, firmly tucked against his body. That is all he is wearing under the kimono, it appears. Not missing a beat, the older man folds his kimono up, and perfectly bending over, he places it on the ground, next to the bed, with the obi on top. He stands up straight once more, after having flashed Shiro, and turns around to face him... showing that the front is just as impressive as the back.Shiro gulps."I hope this sight is not terrifying to you, boy. We are both men, yes? Me liking the company of men does not change that. Surely, you have seen other men in this state before - yourself, at least."While that is true, none of the men he had seen before in his life were like this. None were this large, or this powerful, or this... aesthetically pleasing... or this alluring. It nearly feels like something in the air itself, choking his thoughts out, sending him into a daze... but he cannot take his eyes off of Algol, and he doesn't realize his mouth has been hanging open all this time."Unless, of course, what you are feeling right now isn't fear. But I wouldn't know." Lifting his arms, Algol reaches into his hair, in a way that shows off even more of the contours of his body to the younger man. Maybe it's a deliberate act of seduction... maybe not. He unties his hair and lets it fall free, reaching his waist......and Shiro is truly speechless. It is the first time anyone has bared themselves to him like this. He is not used to the sensation at all. He has never had any girlfriends, or even had sex to begin with. Yet here is this larger, older man, and the way he disrobes and shows himself off... feels like the way a woman would do it to entice her husband... but he is a man, doing it for a stranger. And yet... it is alluring all the same."Well..." Algol's voice cuts Shiro's thoughts. "Good night... I will sleep now. I hope you sleep well, whenever you decide to join me." Algol removes his tabi, tucking into the futon, against the wall, laying on his back with a hand over his gut, and the covers pulled below his chest. His breathing is stable, deep and calm......and Shiro just... sits in silence, taking the situation in. He didn't know... he had no idea that... he had never even considered that he might like men. It simply had never crossed his mind. He knows he likes the image of women, and he's fantasized about them before, but this man in front of him, in all his power and masculinity... attracts him all the same, and he isn't sure why. Maybe... maybe he just likes men?And maybe, since he said that he likes the company of younger, handsome men like him......The shy younger male gulps. He stands, turning the lamps in the room off. He disrobes, the same way Algol did, because he, too, sleeps just in his underwear - and the room is far too stuffy to sleep in anything besides his underwear. Or maybe it's just him. Awkwardly, he adjusts his underwear, and breathing heavily (but trying to quiet himself), he enters the futon... not touching Algol at all, and being glad that there's indeed enough space for the both of them......but he lays on his side, looking at the sleeping figure of the larger, older man. He cannot sleep. He's glad he doesn't have to touch him... but he really wants to....Maybe... sneaking a touch in won't hurt. He just... wants to feel what a larger, stronger, older man feels like. And Algol looks to be fast asleep right now. So he reaches a hand over, trembling... and gently places it right on his chest... and he feels his warmth, and the strong beating of his heart, and the hair under his fingers, and the plump muscle beneath......and Algol seems to slowly arch his back, like he's stretching, as he hums. "...mmh..."And Shiro freezes. Wait. He only gave a slight touch, didn't he? How long was he touching the older man? Was he accidentally groping him? Did he not notice? A thousand thoughts run through his head, and he keeps his hand in place......and Algol opens his eyes, and looks at him with a smirk. "I figured." Did he just wake up?Shiro withdraws his hand, his face burning, and begins apologizing profusely.But Algol just turns to look at him, laying on his side, the blanket sliding even further down his body, his entire torso bare now and the contours of his physique even more evident now. He rests his head on his arm, and with his free hand he grabs Shiro's hand... and brings it back to the middle of his chest. "It's alright, kid. You know you want it."He does. He has no idea how much he's wanted this, but he does."...come on... you can explore and feel as much as you want... wherever you want, boy." Algol lifts his other arm and places it near his head, taking his hands off his body. "Just feel everything you wish, and take it all in... and do whatever you want."And Shiro feels dizzy. He wants it. He's never been in a situation like this, but he wants it. So he scoots over, closer, kneels......and, indeed, he explores. He feels, and explores, and takes in the sensation of the older man's strong body under his hands, and the small gasps and hums he lets out as his body is touched. It feels like a fever dream. Is Shiro asleep? Is he dreaming?"...now... don't you want some help, too?"He freezes."I have quite a lot of experience, boy. I could help with anything you want." So, he's proposing......But... before doing anything like that... he needs to know something. Something that's been nagging at the back of his mind, gnawing at him for the longest time. Even though he wants this, and he knows he has full permission to do anything he wants... he needs to know first."...Algol...""Mmhmm...?" With his hands on Algol's chest, Shiro can feel the deep, rumbling vibration of his bassy voice on his fingers. It's a dizzying sensation."...you are..." He bites his lip. Should he ask? "...you are not human, right?"...Without losing his smile, Algol's eyes broaden slightly."I-I mean... appearing out of nowhere at night... and speaking like that... and being... so alluring... unnaturally alluring... are you... a spirit? Or... or something else?" He can't stop his mouth from running. He knows he should shut up, but he can't.And Algol... just looks at him, with that same smile on his face... and he laughs. It's deep, rumbling laughter. Yeah... yeah, it's such a ridiculous idea on its face, of course Algol would laugh....but......but his laughing only grows louder. He's laughing far too much, and it's no longer an affable sound. Algol reaches over, firmly placing a hand on Shiro's bare chest, and pushing him back onto the bed. Now, he looms over the younger man, his leering gaze now menacing. He licks his lips, moving to straddle Shiro and pin him down. Their pelvises are against each other, and Shiro feels all of Algol's weight bearing down on him. This massive man... the shape of his body cuts an enticing, yet terrifying silhouette against the moonlight that pours in through the window. Moonlight that is perhaps too bright. A glint to his unnatural, violet eyes that is too bright......and slowly, fading in... Algol suddenly has a literal glow to his eyes... and his sclerae go black. There are now glowing tattoos on his skin, and horns on his head, and his tongue is long and tapered towards the tip. The hand pinning him down at the chest withdraws, and Shiro realizes the nails have turned into long, black, sharp claws. There's a slithering weight against his legs, and he realizes Algol has a long, heavy, reptilian tail as well.This is a monster. This is a demon. He was right. And now, his blood runs cold. He fell into its trap."...so what if I am, boy?" But... Shiro can't tell what he feels like. Even if he doesn't know any magic, he's always been able to sense spiritual phenomena. This demon pinning him down... he does not feel like any of the local spirits and monsters. But he also doesn't feel like the magic and monsters of the west, that he visited once on a long trip when he was younger. So... what is he?Shiro gulps."Don't get me wrong... you are in no trouble for having figured that out, Shiro." His voice almost comes out like slithering. "But... you're in too deep, kid. I figured... it won't hurt for you to know what, exactly, you are attempting to bed... and, indeed, I sought you out. Your aether, your life energy... it smells so delicious... I simply want a bit. And the best way of getting it... is through pleasure." He sneers. "That... is why I led you here. That is why I bared myself to you, and allowed you to enjoy me so..."His heart is pounding."...but... you must understand that you are in no danger. I spoke truth when I said I meant you no harm, boy. No harm shall come to you... unless you're into that, in which case, I will bring only the most delicious harm to your flesh." He chuckles. "Who knows if you even know what that means. In the same way... I spoke truth when I said you have to do nothing with me. Even here and now... you can simply ignore me."...wait, what? The legends he was told growing up spoke of grave consequences for even meeting creatures like these. But... he's being given a choice? Is there a catch?"...you can just say no to me... and I will not do anything to you. I only feed from prey that is willing and enthusiastic. It only tastes good that way. You will be able to leave this place in the morning, and, as long as you tell nobody what you encountered here... you get to live out the rest of your life in peace. You have my word." Somehow, despite the fact that the man on top of him is a literal demon... he feels he is being honest when giving such terms. Spirits like these... they're sometimes tricksters, but they don't lie like this."...and...""...but you don't want to leave, do you?" Algol's clawed hand goes back on Shiro's smaller body, gently dragging down his skin, sending pleasant tingles across his chest. "I can tell. Despite learning this truth... you still want this, boy. And, if you are to take it... all I will take is some of your energy. All you will experience is being quite tired and sleepy once we are done. And once you sleep and have a good meal, you will recover... and, in exchange, I shall show you the greatest, most delicious delights of the flesh. The highest, most mind-breaking pleasure your human flesh is capable of... if you give into your desire for this older man. Say yes to this old man... and he shall treat you right.Shiro lets out a shivering breath. That sounds..."...and you can come back, and 'get lost' in the woods, late, just as you did today... and it will happen over, and over, and over again, as many times as you wish... so... what will it be?"...Shiro looks at the large, clawed hand on his chest, and how it could easily grab all around his body and crush him. He feels, in real time, how the fear he felt upon Algol's transformed, true form... gradually turns to lust and desire. And so............It was a long and very hot night for autumn. Shiro stirs awake, his whole body feeling quite heavy, into gentle sunlight pouring in through the window. The cabin is just the way it was last night. The furnace is off, as are all the lamps, but the room is pleasantly warm. He rubs his eyes.For a moment, he wonders if last night was real. He knows, from the soreness in his whole body and particularly his legs and waist, that it was. He was spent, and he is still spent. He feels groggy and heavy, not unlike the way he feels when he oversleeps, even though it's barely morning.

He realizes there's a pleasant scent in the room. He sits up and looks around... he is completely alone. However, next to the futon, next to his neatly folded up (and apparently washed and clean?) clothes, there is a wooden tray with several plates on it.A bowl of rice, a bowl of soup, a grilled fish, a cup of tea. Chopsticks and a spoon for the soup. Everything looks mouthwateringly seasoned, and the food is still warm.The demon must have done this. The demon knows how to cook now? Is this the thanks he gets from the demon for the previous night?...He scarfs down the food, feeling fulfilled by it. It's delicious. He gets dressed, grabbing the lumber he set on the ground, and steps outside the cabin.The moment he sets foot outside the cabin, the door closes behind himself, and when he tries to open it once more, the door is mysteriously already locked.It was definitely a supernatural encounter... but he's alive, and well, and he has a full belly on top of everything else. What's more, he can tell that he's close to his village, so he makes his way over......As it turns out, it stormed the previous night (though he didn't notice, within the cabin), so the story Shiro gives the elders of the village is that he took shelter from the storm and the night in an abandoned cabin (which isn't strictly a lie). Everyone is just glad he is back. As he unloads the lumber he chopped, he realizes he has twice as much lumber as he thought he'd chopped - did the demon do this as well?...Two days from then... he goes out to chop more lumber. Everyone was so grateful for the first time, he was sent out to gather more. Maybe he'll stop being thought of as just an apprentice and a kid soon.So, off he goes, down the same road as last time, to chop lumber in the same place......and he stays until the sun starts going down and the skies tinge with yellow... and, down the same road, he lets night fall.And... once more... he's greeted by a tall, mysterious figure in black. The figure turns around, the glint of the lit pipe illuminating its facial features......and with glowing eyes and sharp fangs... the figure smiles.

This story contains incredibly graphic depictions of gore. Dismemberment, decapitation, and the like. In a roundabout way, it's consensual, because it's Algol doing it to himself, to see how far his regeneration powers go, so in that same way, I suppose they could constitute self harm too.It also contains depictions of Algol having incredibly stupid priorities and making dumb decisions. I don't know if that requires a warning, but yeah.

Covered by silence of night, Algol retreats into his bedroom. He has a free day tomorrow, and all the free time in the world, since he already got his roughly-two-hours of sleep for the day earlier, at his office at work. Without much to grade or prepare for his classes and students, he decided to take "a quick nap", that soon after became collapsing for approximately two hours, on the dot.He can't help but wonder if, maybe, his body does have the trappings of being an older man in some way. Even though chronologically he is somewhere around his early thirties (he never kept very close count, and it especially became meaningless once he was transformed), his physical body is clearly that of an older, more mature man. He doesn't experience the joint pain that comes with age (for the most part), but when he stretches or gets massages, his body crackles like Far Eastern New Year firecrackers in a terrifying way, and he experiences relief in parts of his body he didn't even know were under tension, or existed to begin with. Of course, this scares everyone around him, but at that point he feels so much like putty (in a good way) that he cannot be assed to care.Still, feeling the urge to sleep, then sleeping the same amount he needs each day on the dot, in the middle of the day, has catastrophic consequences for him. As it turns out, having a lot more time in the day by only needing to rest two hours and not knowing how to fill them is a bad thing. If he just lays in bed, he is left alone with his thoughts, which... is never a good thing. Never, ever a good thing.Intrigue over his own body and abilities drive his actions at this very moment. Even though he knew, from the moment he awoke after the ritual, that he wasn't human anymore, and that he also had a craving for aether that was completely indescribable before he was transformed, but that he is now all too intimately familiar with... coming to understand what his body does and what his powers are capable of has been a gradual process.Learning what his body does in sex has been fun and also constant. They're all things he had no idea bodies could do beforehand, considering he was a virgin before that point. Now, he has tried out so many things that he isn't even sure what his own fetishes are.Learning what his powers do has also been fun, in its own, different way. Fun, fulfilling... overwhelming, and terrifying. No one mortal can hold such an amount of power without their soul being literally destroyed, which is an all too bitter reminder of what he is, in its own way.Learning what his body can physically do, however, has mostly occurred on accident. Despite his augmented reflexes and speed, and the fact he quite literally has an inherent, perfect impression of time and can slow down his perception, accidents still happen. And, given the caliber of the foes he tends to face for his hunts, and the things he tends to do, said "accidents" tend to be of the "would be completely incapacitating and/or fatal if done to a normal human" variety.The first time he had a limb chopped off was quite scary. He thought, at that moment, that he could attempt to heal it back, even though he knows healers normally don't have that level of power, and he concluded maybe he didn't feel much in the way of pain because of the adrenaline from the battle, but once the battle had ended, he didn't feel the pain at all... and, in fact, he could still feel his fingers. When he looked down, he realized that his hand had just... grown back. All on its own. Sure, he could feel that he'd lost some aether in this activity, but then and there, he learned that his limbs, at least, could grow back.Further accidents revealed this healing factor wasn't limited to limbs, and could regenerate vital organs as well, allowing them to function perfectly. Not that he really uses his intestines for eating much, nor very often (his guts have other, more pleasurable uses most of the time), but the first time he got disemboweled, and he grew everything back, he was quite scared of trying out the steak dinner he'd finished the day prior. Nothing bad happened, at any point.Even further accidents have seemed to prove that this healing does not have any limit whatsoever. He's received would-be fatal wounds directly to places like his lungs, heart, and even brain... and everything is just resolved if he allows his healing to occur. Hells, not even his hair seems to be affected, and it always maintains its same volume and length, without bald patches or scarring anywhere on his body or his scalp.He has lost so much tissue over these years and grown it back that he's sure if he collected every part of himself that's somehow been ruined or discarded, he'd have enough to open a butcher shop and keep it in business for months. That is an absolutely revolting thought, and he shakes his head in disgust at himself for having it.But...It might be the fact that he is, at (strange, seemingly invulnerable) heart, a man of science. It might be the fact that he has just this much free time on his hands......but he figures that this phenomenon must be measurable. That there may be some limit, and it's in his best interests to figure out where it may lie. That he should, somehow, be able to measure the rate of regeneration of tissue, outside of knowing that it happens in a given, specified amount of time that he knows to the dot - his body is comprised of mass, right? Does it regenerate mass at a specific rate? Is the rate consistent? Is it the same for vital organs? Does it all behave the same?He knows he is basically made of putty at this point if he puts his mind to it. But what does that truly mean?So, sat at the edge of his bed, after having a good "meal" of several young men in preparation, he holds a few research implements...A sheaf of papers to take notes with, tools for diagrams, a pencil, a pen and quill... and a few devices similar to torture devices. He knows how to use those, and what he intends to do. Next to him is also a tarp of waterproof material, wood, nails, and several buckets.He knows it's going to be messy.Having taken stock of everything, in the darkness of his room, he leaves his things on the bed, being only in his underwear, and moves to the closet in the corner of the room - the one that contains clothes and a pretty absurd amount of sex toys. Moving slots on the polished wooden boards of the floor with his feet, he undoes a series of hidden latches with his tentacles and drags the closet to the side along hidden rails......to reveal a hidden door, normally kept concealed by the closet being flush against the wall that surrounds it.For a moment, he contemplates the arrangement of latches, tiles and rails on the ground, and how ridiculous it is that he even had this idea, or that he actually sat down and did it at one point. Teaching himself metalworking and carpentry just for this...Shaking those thoughts from his head, he opens the door, grabs his implements, and walks inside.What's on the other side is the reason the apparent floor plan of his apartment doesn't really match the others in the building - a hidden room, with its walls bare in brick, quite spartan, filled with many instruments for more... extreme bondage and dominance play, that he whips out sometimes when he feels like it. For all intents and purposes, a kink dungeon located entirely within his apartment.Also not what he's looking for at that moment. Even this room, hidden as it is, isn't big enough to explain the missing space in Algol's apartment. At the very back, behind a strange and heavy contraption that is definitely made to restrain human bodies for (probably) pleasurable purposes, is another hidden door.Effortlessly, like they all weighed nothing, he lifts the various kink equipment and puts them along the walls, to clear space in the middle. Lastly, he grabs this contraption and pulls it to a side, revealing this hidden door.Past it, there's an immediate turn left. A simple row wall of bricks separates this tiny room from the rest of the house, but calling it a "room" is a bit of an overstatement - it's more of a very thin and claustrophobic hallway, barely wide enough to fit Algol's (admittedly absurd) shoulder span, at the very back of which... is a desk and a chair, piled high with research material on Voidsent and Black Magic. All things dark, all things occult, all things heavily illegal according to the laws he lives by. Not that he exactly respects authority, but he understands why these very specific things are law to begin with - they are genuinely dangerous in the wrong hands.Maybe he is wrong hands. But who's going to stop him?The tiny and claustrophobic "study" is where he conducts all his research and calculations on matters related to forbidden magic and demons. It's all a science, if you know what you're doing, so he feels the need to document everything, but it's not something you can actually talk about in polite, law-abiding company... and it's also so impossibly dense it's tough to think of anyone that would be interested in this stuff anyways.Normally, he'd just sit at this chair (needing to step over it to even be able to fit, because there isn't enough space to pull it to a side for him to step in front of the desk) to conduct his research and calculations, but for the stuff he intends to do today, he needs... a lot more space, and ways to contain messes. This tiny nook is not an adequate space for this whatsoever.Carefully moving the piled-up research to the ground, he grabs the desk, lifts it up, and (awkwardly walking backwards) takes it out of the hidden hallway within the already hidden dungeon room. He sets it against the wall, like the rest of the kink equipment, knowing that he'll need it to write on. There, he sets the paper, pencil, diagramming tools, and pen. He's already prepared formats for the observations he intends to take.Next is the wooden boards, nails, and the tarp. First, he grabs some of the tarp, rips it carefully, and drapes it over the kink equipment in the room and the desk - even if this stuff is supposed to sometimes have a bit of blood on it, certainly it isn't to the level and amount of blood he intends to shed that day with his experiments. Once everything is properly covered, he conducts some measurements of the free space in the room, with a measuring tape, and, using his own magic, he cuts the wooden boards down to size - sabers of light that emerge from his fingers and hands, and are meant to kill with light and magic, go through wood like hot knives through butter. That's the easy part.Normal people would probably need to use a hammer to drive nails into wood and build things. He looks outside the window of the dungeon room - it's night. Midnight, in fact, with a beautiful, full moon in the sky. He can't use a hammer, because the noise would wake his neighbors up, and they would ask questions. Fortunately, as he knows, he has enough supernatural strength and resilience to simply grab a nail, place the tip against the board......and just... push it in with his thumb. The incredible depth and pigmentation of the marks this leaves on his thumbs tell him that this action would be incredibly painful and harmful to a real human, but he hardly feels anything, and he knows if he ends up wounding himself somehow, he can just heal it all away....Once he's done, there's a square frame of wood on the ground, about two feet tall, and his thumbs are purple and bent out of shape. Even with his power, the concentrated force he had to do was enough to fracture and dislocate his joints and bones. He grunts in annoyance, gripping his left thumb with his right palm... and just tugging, quickly and with a sickening crunch, to reshape it, before healing the fracture away. As usual, it works perfectly. He does the same with the other thumb, and he laments, in annoyance, the fact that he has to do all of this just to not wake up his prissy, obnoxious neighbors.Done with this, he drapes the tarp over the wooden frame and tucks it in... and the contraption he intended to construct is done within half an hour. An incredibly crude construction, similar to a tub or swimming pool, that covers almost all of the ground in the room, meant to capture blood and other fluids and make cleaning up easier. A pool this deep and wide should be enough.Probably. Hopefully.With everything set, he is prepared to begin. It's not like the procedure is as strict and scientific as he'd like - measuring his own energy levels has always been an unsatisfactory activity in the past. He'd initially assumed that using an aetherometer would show changes in his body's composition, given that at a fundamental level he is consuming and spending aether whenever he feeds and then uses his powers, but he's never been able to see any changes in the readings, no matter how much he attempts to fine-tune the machine. Of course, he knows how it feels. He can sense when other Voidsent are hungry, and, presumably, others would be able to sense him being hungry and needing aether if he stopped masking his Void nature for long enough - the information is real, and it has to exist somewhere, but wherever it is, it can't be accessed by even the finest equipment at the Scholasticate's disposal.So, the next best thing he can think of is trying to measure if his physical strength changes in any way as his aether is spent healing his body, or if the speed at which he heals changes at all, depending on whatever it is that he's doing. For this, he has a set of cubes of solid metal, prepared to the same exacting specifications......and, he figures, he can just crush them in his hand, applying all the force he has, and then attempting to measure changes in the time it takes to do so....He growls to himself. It's so crude and primitive. Smash rock (or metal) with force and see how good you can smash rock. Bigger strongerer better, unga bunga. Ugh. He cannot imagine being the sort of person that is actually satisfied by this, but he knows individuals such as those exist, unfortunately. He'd rather use equipment that gives actual strict measurements, but... if he were to attempt and use equipment that measures force and weight, and he actually used his full force, he knows the equipment would be destroyed. At the very least, his current method works on things being destroyed to begin with... so it's the best he can do."...control sample, first attempt." He grabs a cube. He isn't physically winded in any way, and this is a reading he is taking at the start of the experiment. As he speaks to himself, he writes on the prepared sheafs of paper, all the other parts of the report already written down - he just needs to perform the experiments, document what he's doing, and draw conclusions.So, he fetches one of the metal cubes from the bag. It's heavy and completely solid. It's large enough to fit in his hand, each side roughly the length of his fingers. He holds the cube on his right hand, grabbing the pen with a tentacle to still be able to write. His writing with his darkness tendrils is a bit rougher and slower than that of his hands, but what can he do.Earlier in the report he had already written down the properties of the metal cubes, how he'd procured them, and how he'd made sure they were identical. Thankfully, the metalworkers didn't ask many questions when he said he needed them for science. That isn't strictly a lie.To perform the first experiment, he just takes a deep breath. He concentrates. "Visible effects observed in..."And he squeezes, with all his strength......and, for a split second, he sees his fingers squeeze against the cube, before it is completely pulverized, the solid metal shattering within his hand and scattering all over the tarp. Just a split second."...thirty milliseconds." He's glad that he has such a perfect notion of time, or else he would not be able to take any readings at all. "Subject completely pulverized, broken into pieces... scattered by the input force." He opens his hand...

Some of the shards of the metal have sunken into his skin, the rest remaining within his fist falling to the ground like sand. He has to shake his hand to get the rest off, his skin showing several dents and some bruising... but nothing managed to pierce his skin or draw blood. That's to be expected. On top of regenerating himself, his body is a lot more resilient than that of a normal human.Normal weapons cannot harm him easily, and when they do, he can heal the wounds away anyways. What a nightmare.That's the first reading of his power done with. Once his hand has recovered, he prepares to perform another experiment. This time..."To test regeneration and potential energetic loss product of blood loss, an incision is performed on the left forearm of the subject." He looks at his left arm. "Longitudinal, approximate depth of... 5 centimeters." He'll have to pierce very deep to actually draw blood, given the size of his body. It's not like he has a scale to measure how much blood he loses, but at least he has a rough idea of how fast he loses blood when he's wounded. For some reason, he can just tell.Holding out his index and middle finger together on his right hand, he produces a blade of violet light. It's not very long, barely as long as a table knife, but obviously a lot sharper. He'll need something like this to actually pierce his skin with ease.Again, he takes a deep breath......and he stabs into his forearm, close to the elbow, then slashes, dragging the blade towards the wrist. "...ngh." Immediately, blood gushes out, of course. He withdraws his blade and deliberately curbs his regeneration, to allow blood to flow. "...approximate length of cut... approximate rate of blood loss..." He jots down numbers......and just watches the blood pour from his arm and onto the ground. His blood is... darker than that of a normal human. If he weren't willing it to be so, his regeneration factor would have already healed this wound without any scarring - even though a wound this deep, placed like this, would almost definitely be fatal for a human without proper and immediate care and healing."...one liter..."The blood drips down his fingers in a solid, uninterrupted stream. He knows what the effects of blood loss are on a human body - he studied that, just to prepare for this experiment. Motor functions impaired, dizziness, nausea, general weakness..."...two liters..."And, of course, when that happened, it would start becoming fatal for the human in question. Of course....He keeps observing. "...three liters... four..." There's pooling on the ground around him, scarily so. He gulps. Despite all the blood he's lost... he feels no changes in his body. He lifts his other arm, swings it around (trying not to make the blood pouring from his left arm spray anywhere), opens and closes his fist, stares at nearby and far away objects to see if his vision has blurred at all... nothing.He has to curb his regeneration consciously to allow this to happen. It feels the way it feels when you're flexing a muscle - a conscious action. Automatically, his body heals itself, and he needs to make it not do that. It's the same as when he conceals his horns, teeth, darkened eyes, glowing tattoos, claws and tail, to look like a (semi-) normal person. The natural state of his body is being a strange monster that heals itself and is difficult to take down, if not impossible."...six liters." No changes observed. He's had enough. He exhales, allowing his body to heal itself, and his arm immediately shrouds in wisps of thin, dark, blue/purple mist following the contours of his wound. The wound closes and relief comes to his body. It... didn't hurt as much as it should have. It never does. While he can tell when harm is coming to his body, be it via cuts or amputations or organ destruction, all the pain is... distant and dull. Hardly there at all. Natural. Barely a concern. A cut this deep and fatal barely feels any different from being scratched by a cat - and it would have been fatal for a human, losing this much blood.The wound disappears completely, but his arm and hand remain soaked in blood, and the pool of blood remains. That's just how it works. "Total blood loss of approximately six and a half liters. No observable changes in body mass or weight. No observable changes to bodily functions... no observable harm." He feels flawless, indeed, like he didn't just lose enough blood to feed a whole family of vampires.But this has to mean his blood regenerates, right? He has blood vessels, he has a heart, he bleeds. His blood has to accomplish some function, so losing it means that he is also making it back. That's not a kind of regeneration he feels, and therefore he can't really stop it. He grabs another one of the metal cubes."Second attempt, following loss of six and a half liters of blood. Observable effects in..."...and he crushes the cube, same as he did the first time. The only real difference is that now the shards fall into the pool of blood at his feet, making splashing sounds, but thankfully not getting any blood anywhere outside the tarp."...thirty-one milliseconds." Okay, that is a change. Not... a big, meaningful one, but a change nonetheless.He wipes his hand on his thigh, getting most of the blood out of it, and while the blood on his arm dries, with his right hand, he grabs his pencil and draws diagrams of his arm, the cut he made, the "tool" used to make the cut, and prepares a table comparing each instance of the cube crushing experiment against the time they take. He'll graph these times later.Next up..."To test regeneration and potential energetic loss product of organ regrowth combined with blood loss..." He looks at his left hand, the grey skin tinted red with dried blood. He squeezes it into a fist, then stretches it back out. Normal function. "...left hand of subject is severed from the rest of the body, at height of smallest diameter of wrist."It's not scary. He's lost limbs before, and they've grown back. He knows his body can do this, but he has to at least try to do it scientifically - as much as he can, given the circumstances."...start."Producing a blade from his right hand, he slashes across the wrist. The blade goes through his body, producing a clean cut... and his now-severed hand falls to the ground inelegantly. He has to curb his regeneration, once more, as blood pours from his hand."...blood flow from severed stump... pulsates rhythmically. Follows pattern of heartbeat." Roughly once every second. Slightly less than that, actually. His heart rate seems to not increase at all from the regeneration or the wounds he sustains.Though his hand is now on the ground, and he now has only a stump where his left hand once was... he hardly feels anything. Still, just the vague sensation of a scratch, barely painful at all, more annoying than anything - but obviously he cannot feel his hand anymore. For all the things his body can do, he can't control his organs at a distance once they're cut. Yet."...two liters of blood lost." Yet more blood falls to the ground and pools around him. He allows it to flow for a bit, some minutes, before he allows his healing to set in. The moment he does, the hand on the ground melts into darkness and dissipates into thin air. The bloody stump is shrouded in the same healing blue and purple energy of the previous cut... and it keeps expanding, and expanding, and his hand grows back under this energy.It regenerates perfectly. Identical to the way it was before. He can sense it again. He squeezes it into a fist, stretches his fingers out... "...no observable changes in function of regrown hand." The hand grew back clean, so now the stain of blood on his arm seems to just abruptly stop at his wrist for some reason. He runs the hand down his chest and belly, feeling the texture of his own body hair. "...no observable changes in sense of touch on regrown limb. No observable changes or effects from blood loss." All the... ten liters of it he lost just now, approximately.Gods."Third..." He grabs another cube with his right hand and prepares to perform the experiment again. Surely, if the previous blood loss caused an increase in the time it took, and he can tell he consumed aether in regrowing his hand... this would cause an even bigger increase, right?..."...thirty... milliseconds." Huh. The time went back to thirty. He blinks. The results were the same - the cube was completely destroyed and pulverized, the effects on his skin were the same as they've been all this time. Yet, it seems the time didn't increase. Maybe... the previous time reading was an error in measurement. Something very slight. He isn't timing himself - he can't, after all. He only has to rely on his own supernatural perception of time.This... is frustrating."...another test is performed, to test the same properties as the previous time. This time... cut is performed at height of elbow." Same as last time, he produces the blade of light, and slashes at his own arm, with the same ease as the previous time, except this time he cuts off more of his body. Now, it's his whole forearm and hand that come off. The blade performs the clean cut, he can no longer feel them, he can only feel vague stinging after doing that, he knows he no longer has a left forearm--And the forearm and hand come crashing down into the ground, splashing blood everywhere.His eyes shoot open. "Shit." Instinctively, he crouches, trying to stem the splash of blood with what remains of his body, and he manages to be splashed some. He stands, looking around... what a mess. But... no blood seems to have left the tarp... thank the Gods.He sighs. He allows blood to flow for more minutes, stopping his regeneration, until he feels it's been enough. Five minutes with a bleeding stump for an arm. While he waits, he jots down what he assumes is the rough mass and weight of the body parts he's losing, and the tissues lost in them. Blood vessels, muscle, bone, skin... claws? He should write down his claws too. Are they part of his osseous system? He draws the diagram with his remaining right hand, showing the height at which he performed the cut... and staring at his own bleeding stump to do this... is slightly surreal.Only slightly, though. He's grown used to it. Which is, in itself, scary....He lets his arm grow back, and, once more, the discarded limb fades into darkness before reappearing on his body. He notices the arm that grows back is similarly clean of blood stains, and for a moment, he gets the idea that to clean himself he could just chop off parts of his body and let them grow back. Maybe it'd be faster than washing his hands.He moves his arm and hand around... "...no observable changes in function, sensation, or overall state from regeneration or blood loss." Nothing. "Fourth..." He grabs another cube, jots down his data, crushes it..."...thirty-two milliseconds." Okay, that's an increase. Maybe things are changing. He can feel how his aether drains as he regenerates, so there's definitely something changing. Maybe he can measure it like this.But......it's barely two milliseconds over his starting time. Maybe... he needs to lose more...."...another test is performed... severing the subject's leg at the height of the femur. Top... one-fourth of it." His legs are enormous. Surely, losing one and having to regrow it will have some meaningful effect over his readings, right?But, if the falling forearm splashed that much, his leg falling like that would soak the entire damn room in blood. He can't have that....How is he going to do this? He scratches his head. Maybe he should have brought a stool from the kitchen to sit on or something. What he ends up doing is just spreading his legs, still standing, and grabbing his thigh with his left hand. He bends forward, prepares the blade with his right hand......and cuts.It goes through cleanly. "Shit--" And the moment his leg is severed, he loses balance. He has to awkwardly hop into a standing position with his remaining right leg to be able to stay on foot, trying to step softly so he doesn't splash everywhere. The stump pours blood. He's just glad he didn't accidentally nick his arm or, even worse, his groin. He's never lost that before, and he is taking no chances with it.While he loses blood, he awkwardly drops into a squat with his remaining leg, placing the discarded and severed leg on the ground... and awkwardly stays like this, his torso leaned to the right and his arms stretched to the sides to try and maintain balance. He doesn't really want to sit on the ground, because... he's wearing nice underwear, and he doesn't want to risk soaking it in blood and it being ruined without being able to wash it out. He's had to wash blood out of his clothes a lot before, but these briefs just frame him perfectly and highlight his bits so, so well. He's gotten to feed so much thanks to showing off in these, and he won't risk ruining them.......such profoundly banal, asinine thoughts to have while he's missing a leg and actively bleeding out....He stays like this for some moments, starting to feel the burn from squatting on one of his legs, and then, after a few minutes, allows his leg to grow back. The lost leg dissipates into a larger cloud of dark, and his leg slowly, but surely, grows back... completely clean. No, stop thinking about cutting your limbs off to clean them, that's a stupid idea. He slowly, carefully drops into a normal squat... and stands with both feet on the ground. "...no... observable changes in function, sensation, or rest of body..."His regeneration indeed regenerates. That much is clear now. How many liters of blood has he lost from this? Twenty? Thirty? This is dumb."Fifth..." Still, he grabs another cube and prepares to perform the same test. He takes a deep breath, grabs it firmly, squeezes, pulverizes......and... writes down the time..."...twenty... eight milliseconds."...the time went down. Despite the loss of energy in regenerating himself... there's no observable change in his abilities. The time went down. There's a rough downwards slope to the times he's taken thus far - he doesn't even want to graph the times at this point....he growls. He's just going to keep chopping parts off, allowing himself to bleed, and taking readings until he runs out of this bag of cubes.And that is exactly he does. Not happy with just chopping limbs off, he starts incising his torso and removing organs. Liver ripped out, intestines pulled out through his stomach, lungs removed... internal damage makes him cough and bleed from the mouth, and he feels the flavor of his blood, but otherwise he can seemingly breathe normally... even when he removes both lungs. How. All the discarded vital tissue on the ground fades into darkness once he heals himself, and it all grows back, functioning like normal. He keeps crushing cubes and taking measurements.A final test. He drops to his knees, leaning forward slightly. He aims the blade at his neck......cutting downwards... his head is severed from his body and falls to the ground, facing up. As he does this, and he realizes what he just did, he just mouths the word "shit", unable to speak because he no longer has lungs nor vocal cords, as half of his face is now sunken into a pool of dark blood, he can no longer see out of his left eye, but, most importantly and gravely......his hair is now soaked in blood, metal, and organs.That is... disgusting. He is going to suffer so much to wash it.The thought almost makes him want to cry. He attempts to sigh, but what remains of his airways cannot push air out, and it's filled with blood anyways. He can't sense anything below the neck anymore, but looking up with the eye of his that isn't completely sunken in darkness, he can see his body collapsed forwards, ass up in the air. Keeping the underwear clean and above the blood. Perfect. At least that part got saved....Damn, is this what other men see when he bends over? His back, muscles and ass look incredible. So, so sexy and breedable... probably with a lot less blood. Other fluids, however....

He can feel blood pour from what remains of his neck, fully conscious despite the lack of bodily sensations. He's definitely lost more blood than should logically fit in a head his size. It's coming out violently, pouring, yet not with any particular rhythm from a heartbeat... because, of course, there's no heart in his head. That makes sense. Annoyingly, he can't take notes during this, and he'll just have to write things down once he's grown back.And so, after some minutes, he does. Slowly, his body begins growing back, sunken into the pool of blood. As his neck, clavicles, shoulders and chest reform below his head, they begin to fade in the discarded body, which appears to sink forward more and more. Once it loses enough mass, the discarded body falls back onto his knees, since the bottom half of it now becomes the heaviest part. The now-bisected Algol, whose body has regrown its arms and has grown back to around the belly, crawls towards the discarded hips and legs that remain. He knows that he can't reattach severed limbs normally. Maybe he could with normal healing magic, but his own regeneration factor prefers to just regrow things that have been removed. His intentions are different.As his hips begin to grow back, they fade on the discarded body. When this starts to happen, he leans on his side... and grabs the underwear. And, once his groin has finished growing back, and he starts regrowing his legs... he holds the underwear up in the air.He realized, as he was down there and only a head, that once his body faded, the underwear would just fall back into the pool of blood. If he couldn't save his hair, he will at least save this very cute pair of briefs. Of course, now he's naked. But, since his lower half (and most of his body) is now soaked in blood, he can't really put them back on.The way his body grew back from his head basically makes it so that, for all intents and purposes, he was crawling out from a pool of his own blood. This means that whenever this happens, he'll always be all gross and soaked in blood. At least he knows this means he can't just replace showers with decapitation for cleaning his body. That's... good. He thinks.Once he has fully grown back, he stands, feeling the gross stickiness of his own blood. The pool of blood at his feet has grown to about a whole foot in depth. It's a lot. Far more than the body of a person should be able to contain. The room reeks of blood. He's going to have to air it out and freshen it up.He stretches and tries everything out... "...no observable changes in... any function or sensation of the body after regrowth." Which, in a way, is what he expected, but it's still scary to think about.Next, he grabs his last cube. The pool of blood at his feet is floating with plenty of metallic shards already, so what's one more set from a last destroyed cube? He squeezes, and performs the experiment............"...twenty... seven milliseconds."...He just regrew his entire body from the neck down. He can tell he spent a lot of aether tonight - he's hungry. He wants to feed. And yet... after all that... the time required to crush these cubes seems to just have gone down, if it changed at all."..."Sighing, he just finishes writing his observations in the report he's preparing. Several pages have been filled now. Dawn is breaking outside. Hours have passed. At least this whole thing filled some time, he figures. He graphs the times, knowing he won't find anything interesting, and, indeed, it's basically a horizontal line. If anything, it angles down ever so slightly. Calculating the approximate slope... it's a barely, barely, barely negative number."...results from the experimentation show that the regeneration factor appears to be perfect." At least, as long as he doesn't lose his head. Maybe. He's taken fatal wounds to the brain before, and stopped all motion while it healed himself. His mind still existed, it just felt like it was outside his body. He is tired and hungry and isn't about to test that out, though. "No changes were observed in function, and it was impossible to measure any change in physical strength even after all the regenerations and all the blood lost. Amount of blood lost in total..." He almost doesn't want to write down the number. Three figures."Conclusion... results inconclusive... and disconcerting." Now he feels like he just wasted a lot of time, and gave himself another additional task. This is so annoying. He finishes up the report, and, looking down at the deep pool of blood and metal he's standing in......he sighs, grabbing the bucket, and opening a rift portal to his bathroom. Slowly, he begins scooping up the blood... and pouring it out into his bathtub. The grate won't let any of the metal go down the drain, and... he just hopes nobody is checking the sewer lines. If anyone noticed this ridiculous amount of blood, they would probably be horrified, and, most importantly, they would start asking questions. Once he's drained enough blood from the pool that the bucket is no longer useful, there's a lot of chunks of metal in his tub. He grabs the edges of the tarp and folds them inwards, to collect the last few bits of the blood, before emptying them into the tub as well. All the blood soaking his hair has now dried and made his hair clump together disgustingly. Now that he's here, might as well.He turns the faucet and takes a very, very long shower. He rinses the blood from the chunks of metal and puts them back into their bag. Maybe he can resell them to the metalworkers once more. The bucket is cleaned too. He washes his body and hair, conditioning the hair thoroughly, and sighs once he is clean. What a relief. What a nightmare.And this is just his normal, regular life....He closes the faucet, dripping in water and clean, staring at the wall. He sure did something interesting all throughout the night. He blinks, and thinks..."...I need to find a real hobby."

This story contains incredibly graphic depictions of gore and death.

In the dead of night, a plume of smoke rises from a Garlean encampment some malms off the frontier with Nagxia, into the country. For many years, Nagxia had been resisting invasion from the Empire, but that didn't stop uppity commanders from trying and thinking they could get in, somehow. The surrounding aroma is complex - competing pungent stenches of incinerated clothes and armor, lit ceruleum flames, charred flesh, spilled blood, bile, vomit.In the middle of it all, standing over the panting body of a Garlean general, is Algol, the demon, cast in shadow of night, his violet eyes glowing and piercing through the darkness and maelstrom of smoke. This was all his doing. He felt no remorse. In fact, he felt nothing....Pavus' regiment of soldiers had managed to make it past the Nagxian border and were attempting to set up an encampment to later build a Castrum on Nagxian territory. Doma and Ala Mhigo were both lost, and the Empire had suffered great defeat decades ago, but, like any good heartfelt Imperials, there were still some, even within the army, that wanted to return and "right" these "wrongs" of the past. A rural, jungle-filled nation of savages had to be brought under heel, of course. No incursion from an invading imperial force can happen without suffering and death following it, and the nearby town of Kopang, some malms away from the encampment, had been forced to pay the price. Remote, a farming village, it was forced into incredibly asymmetrical trade with the Garlean encampment for food and clothing, in exchange for not being massacred. Without warriors of their own, and separate from any larger settlements, they were forced to agree. To show that they were serious, the Imperial encampment had already taken some of the villagers as hostages, sometimes killing them, sowing discord and weakening the town's identity and willpower.One demon, full of ennui, had caught wind of this, however. He wasn't in Nagxia legally, or even as a tourist, but he was definitely visiting the country and its men, moving in shadows. He roamed the land, for no reason besides wanting to know it, and he'd caught wind of conflict near the border with Garlemald. He saw what was happening, and he was neither shocked nor horrified by the revelations that happened therein. Within the shadows, too, he listened in on the people of the village talking among themselves, discussing the situation, effectively spying on them and stalking from the dark, shedding his mortal shape just to glean as much information as he could, as efficiently as he could.It was confusing. The Empire had already fallen. This was known everywhere on the world. The Teleophoroi nonsense had resulted in failure, and the Empire's supremacist ideology had eaten it hollow, from the inside out, resulting in complete collapse. Garleans were leaving the arid, frozen over land in droves, seeking better lives, and those trapped within the heart of the land were receiving help from the Eorzean Alliance, so as to not literally starve and freeze to death. The Garlean Imperial Army, as an entity, did not exist anymore.So what was this group of upstarts, these complete failures, doing here? Did they somehow not hear the news, even as legions continued to desert? Did they somehow assume they could rebuild the Empire like this, through rape and pillage, as it had once grown fat with power? Or were they rogue assets, poisoned by their ideology, attempting to go out in a blaze of glory at the expense of innocent people from another land, still called "savages" and treated as inferior despite the proven inferiority of Garlean nationalist ideology?None of these questions actually gave Algol pause as, with cover of night, he made the trek to the encampment, on foot. Tenacious and unstoppable, he handily defeated every soldier he found on the way, transporting hostages or preparing to commit more atrocities, tossing them all into their own cages and carts. Pulling at the wagons with his bare hands, demonstrating far more strength than any normal person ought to have, he arrived at the encampment, coming upon its (small) metallic walls, expressionless.Not that he was pretending to be human, of course. He didn't bother wearing the armor he usually wore for these sorts of missions, covering his face. He didn't attempt to conceal his features at all - his horns, his claws, his tail, any part of it. He reasoned it didn't matter if the vermin he was going to meet and probably slay knew his reality. If they survived, nobody would believe them. If they didn't, well, the dead tell no tales.Yanking at the chains used to pull the wagons towards the encampment, he delivered a firm kick to them, knocking them into the walls, causing enough noise that guards and even the general of the camp would come to meet him. Rudimentary watchtowers fill with soldiers, aiming at him, talking among themselves and wondering if their eyes are playing tricks on them. Still, they raise their weapons against what they assume to be a savage, or some sort of demon (he's both, really)...Upon arrival, after being spotted, Algol projected his voice outwards, powerfully, far too much and past what a person ought to be able to do, and spoke a clear, simple warning:Cease your rape and pillage of the village of Kopang. Release all hostages. Lay down your weapons. Accept the fall of the Empire. Abandon your wish for death. Refuse to do these things, and your heads shall be put upon you, and your bodies shall be torn apart.For his mercy in delivering this warning upon the last remaining dregs of the Empire he's blamed for his trauma and the temporary loss of his parents, he received a bullet directly to the forehead. A high caliber shot, hollow-tipped, that penetrated his skull, split inside, and blew out a massive chunk of his brain, bits of bone flying in a pink mist as he fell backwards, dead. Mumbling followed as his blood ran down his nose and the corners of his mouth, his corpse stared at... followed by chuckles and laughter. Had these savages just sent a local in disguise, attempting to intimidate them? Were they hidden nearby, somehow? Maybe they should send a search party....a derisive attitude that very quickly fell apart as the fallen figure slowly rose to its feet, seemingly levitated into a standing position, untouched by outside forces, and its skull and brain grew back. Emotionless, the seeming revenant Algol spit blood and spinal fluid out to the side. Gross. And right after having such a nice dinner, too. He cracked his neck, painfully, twisting his head into a 90 degree angle with a loud snap, and then snapping it back into place, just to show off that he can do this, and to sow panic among his hunt marks. It worked.He just said one last word, before starting his mission..."Understood."...What followed was a grotesque, horrifying bloodbath. Algol may be many things - untrustworthy, violent, sinister, sleazy, two-faced - but one thing he is not is, strictly speaking, a liar. He put their heads upon them and tore their bodies apart. He broke through the walls of the camp, dashing with the speed of a demon, like it was made of paper, and started tearing them to shreds. Bullets coming into contact with his skin didn't seem to have any effect, and neither did slashes and stabs from swords and bayonets and the like. Distant enemies got sniped with explosive magic, the cacophony of screams filling the air. Tanks and equipment got torn apart on purpose, with great efficiency, purely as a display of power, and no survivors were allowed to escape. Every last soldier body was cut down or immobilized in some way, all contained within the circle-shaped boundary of the encampment.And now, he stands in front of the leader of the camp - Pavus, the same general that ordered him to be shot and killed, the same one that approved the kidnapping of men, women and children, and the same one that aided and abetted the atrocities that happened within the month and a half the camp has existed here. No shame, no remorse, no self-reflection... and now, no feet either, thanks to Algol's actions. Algol forced him into a duel in the middle of the screams and stench of his unit of soldiers, just to further humiliate him, crushing and ripping his legs apart at the shins, searing the wounds shut with his flame, and tossing him ahead. Pavus lies face down, his white uniform stained red and brown, panting heavily. He's lost blood. He's dizzy. He knows he's dying. And all for what?Algol takes a step forward. And then another. Pavus loses control of his bladder. Another step...Algol stops just because he senses more movement. A body, mangled, crawling out from under wreckage he made. He recognizes this fading aether as the same man that pulled the trigger of the hollow-pointed round that destroyed his brain, a mere fifteen minutes earlier. Surely he regrets that now, right? Not that it matters.The other figure slowly reaches up towards him, eyes tired, almost like he's begging for mercy. His mouth opens, like he's either trying to speak or struggling to breathe, as a croaking sound leaves him.With a snap of Algol's fingers, a spark of violet departs his fingertips, twinkling, heading towards the man, entering his mouth--An explosion of violet plasma blasts his skull open, obliterating it completely and painting the wreckage in red and pink. The body falls to the ground once more, limp, twitching.Emotionless, he did this. Emotionless, too, he turns towards the fallen general, who stares on in horror at the spectacle, and then in fear and abject terror at his executioner.When Algol finishes crossing the distance between them, he lifts the man up by grabbing the collar of his uniform. Sturdy material... a lot of fabric for Nagxia's weather. Limp, Pavus grabs Algol's forearm, struggling to find support, panting and looking down at him. Even if his eyes betray exhaustion and fear, there's also disgust in them... and Algol notices it."You." Algol's tone is flat as he speaks, the sound of his voice seeming to drown out the crackling fire around them. "I shall give you one last chance. Do you regret the atrocities done in your name, and the bloodstained banner of your fallen Empire? Will you vacate this ideology, stop raping and pillaging other races, and seek to do something with your life that will build order and civilization - something worth more than your mortal flesh and more than the steel of your weapons and ammunitions?"Panicked, panting silence from Pavus. His face is caked in dirt and blood, but his expressions are still readable. He takes deep breaths, trying to stabilize himself. He is going to respond. However... the dogma is too strong. All that which he has ever known is all he has - all his men had. So what if it meant killing savages for entertainment? They were inferior savages for a reason. Their survival was more important. Surviving their boredom was more important, too. And, if they didn't do it, the savages would just do it to them first. Somehow.Because the Empire has never struck first. Ever. They've only ever sought to bring stability and progress, and the savages have always been too locked in their savage ways to understand and accept this stability and technology. All the blood spilled is only their fault. And what the savages did to their Legatuses, all the figures they believed in - figures of blood and flesh, unlike the phony, made up gods that the savages worship...Pavus frowns. He purses his lips, struggling to speak. He stammers out speech, weakly..."...bloody... savages."Algol stares on, emotionless."...go... to hell." Weakly, he spits, blood and saliva dribbling onto Algol's sleeve. He won't ever give in. He is superior.And Algol......is unimpressed. He just looks at the spit on his sleeve, and contemplates, for a moment, how admirable it is that the "man" he's now holding stays strong in his beliefs. Admirable, only in the way a train careening off its rails and slamming into a mountain is to be admired. Like a catastrophe that you can only look at, unable to look away, because there's nothing else to be done.Algol's sight drifts down. He blinks slowly. "Go to hell." He weights those words, savoring them as they leave his lips.As he looks back up, into Pavus' eyes, the smaller man, marked for death, trembles. He hits Algol's forearm, clawing at his skin with his fingernails to no avail.Algol nods, slowly."I'm already there."...With a subtle, small motion, he tosses Pavus a couple of inches into the air, catching him by the neck with the same hand. Pavus chokes and pulls on Algol's forearm more intensely, struggling, the stumps where his feet once were kicking at Algol's torso. Algol doesn't move or react.For a few moments, it seems he intends to choke Pavus to death, until his hair flutters slowly, before it begins swinging in nonexistant wind more violently. A concentration of power, that rises from his feet, taken from the soil, through his body, in through the gate to the hells that his body is, and into his hand...Pavus erupts into violet flame. In his choked struggle, the general manages to gurgle out screams of agony as his flesh is set alight, his uniform burning apart, its synthetic materials melting onto his skin before being peeled away. He's kept alive. The flames grow in intensity, burning at Pavus' skin and muscle, baring his nerve endings open. They keep growing and growing, until they engulf Algol, too, who seems unaffected... even as his clothes begin to disintegrate.The conflagration of violet flame becomes more and more violent, burning with more and more heat and intensity, until it resembles fire a lot less than it resembles pure energy - plasma, light, in a burning pillar of holy and accursed condemnation. Pavus' body stops moving, its last experiences in life being its eyes melting as his brain finally gave way and lost consciousness. But the flame grows more intense. The violent energy, burning hot like a star, burns away all the charred flesh, baring the bone and the skeleton underneath. Algol's squeeze grows tighter, just so he can keep holding onto the vertebrae of the spine. He keeps burning and staring, even as the flame intensifies even more, his hair flying wildly in this violent maelstrom... until the skeleton he's choking and holding up, too, is reduced to only ash, disintegrating and crumbling... and scattering in the wind.The flame grows. It expands outwards. It dries and burns the soil underneath, that which had once been stamped flat by the same soldiers he massacred, the ones that are now being burned apart, melted, evaporated into ash by the violence of his burning hatred. His arm slowly lowers as it no longer holds anything, and he keeps burning everything... and he stares ahead, still emotionless.No smells remain. All organic matter has been burned apart. A crater is formed where he's standing, from the intensity of the pillar of violet plasma. It burns hotter and hotter still, warming the general area even, until it begins to burn away his body hair, and the tips of his hair, white from magic, start to darken and turn to ash......and... slowly, as this happens... the flame begins dying down. It fizzles out, and nothing remains of the encampment that once stood there, besides molten, white hot metal on charred, cracked, black soil, unnaturally dried for the humid jungle weather of Nagxia.He takes a deep breath. Smoke and ash. That's all that remains.All that remains... and nothing else, because nothing remains in his heart after doing this. He felt nothing doing it. Not even anger, or disgust, or wrath, or anything besides a drive to do it - he had to do this. He enacted a justice. He gave them a way out, and they spit upon his outstretched hand. This had to happen.And now that it's done, and now that hardly even their aether, headed for the Lifestream, that which shall forever be inaccessible for him, remains......he feels nothing....

His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness as the last of the flames die out and the metal, still hot, stops glowing with heat. He stands there, naked, having burned away his clothes in the conflagration. His regeneration kicks in, healing the burned hair, and making his body hair grow back. It's like nothing happened to him, or here to begin with. It's like there was never a Garlean encampment where he stands - like he just, randomly, decided to strip completely naked and stand in the middle of a smoking crater. The events that took place here will only stay in his heart. The memory of this camp will only live on in the trauma of the survivors of the village of Kopang - liberated from this oppression and rape, but not from their memories of it. Algol cannot do that. He wishes he could....A drop of cold rainwater falls onto Algol's hair, and then another. The dark, starless sky, cloudy, turns into night rain. He slowly looks up as the rain picks up in intensity, the pattering of the raindrops against the vegetation providing a lovely backdrop that drowns out the sizzling of the metal cooling and the earth being nourished once more. Rain runs down every inch of his skin, down his face, upon the lenses of his glasses, soaking his mane of hair...Stretching his arms to the sides... the large demon, after having enacted justice... just allows himself to fall backwards, laying supine on the ground, his hair splayed out around his head, his body stretched out like a star. The rain will wash away the ash. It will cleanse his body. He feels its cold dropping his temperature... he likes the feeling. He stares at the night sky, feeling nothing, just letting the rain soak him all over, and all the land around him...It's beautiful. This nature is beautiful. The scent of dirt kicked up after rain... beautiful, too. All this movement and flow, a natural order of peace, flowing down into rivers, nourishing the soil, washing away sins and memories......He closes his eyes and continues breathing steadily. He can stay here, like this, a bit longer....In the middle of that crater, soaked in dirt, completely naked, he falls asleep. That's his sleep for the day. A bit longer than usual - two and a half hours. That's how he pays for the energy spent in burning all of this away. The rain continues, mixing the ash into the eroded and burned soil and stirring it into mud. Unwittingly, this makes the land the camp once stood on fertile. It will take months, even years probably, but beautiful flowers and vegetation shall grow here. Could grow here, at least.He awakens once the rain has already passed, and rises to his feet. The cooled metal now lies buried in the mud. Ankle-deep in mud, he walks away from the scene.With a quick soak in the nearby river, swimming one lap across its breadth, he cleanses the dirt and ash from his hair and skin. He scrubs the more stubborn spots with his claws. He steps out, and then steps into a rift in space, walking back to his home, on the other side of the world.He needs a proper shower. He needs to prepare for class. He needs to proctor a test that day, and he hopes he won't have to fail too many of his students.He won't think much about the events of the night. This is normal for him.He doesn't yet know whether he is a prisoner in it, or its king, and he also doesn't really care. He's already in hell, in his own way. It's his home, and his reality.