Chapter 173: +18 Nova’s sisters. Mikasa’s ride. One more errand.

You ease Nova's undersuit pants back up her hips, fingers smoothing the waistband flat against her skin, tucking the fabric so nothing bunches or folds. She shivers at your touch - still sensitive, still trembling from her climax.

"Now you know why Yoruichi enjoys flaunting sex in front of others," you say quietly, sealing the last closure on her midnight armor. "She loves this high."

Nova's mind brushes yours - warm, languid, still crackling with residual pleasure. "I understand completely now. The exposure combined with the anonymity by invisibility..." She pauses. "It's intoxicating."

You wrap your arms around her, pulling her against your chest. She settles into you without resistance, her head resting against your shoulder as you guide your flight toward the bow. The Mariner's survivors pass below - oblivious, still murmuring about the phantom moans that echoed across their pool deck minutes ago.

The front observation deck is completely empty. You release Nova just long enough to kneel, fingers tracing the third teleportation circle into the deck plating. The pattern glows violet beneath your invisible hands, mana threading through the metal and fiberglass. Ninety seconds, the connection snapping into place with a soft pulse - linked to the Olympic Boulevard office building lobby in Los Angeles.

"Three of four LA circles connected," you murmur, standing.

Nova reaches for you immediately, arms sliding around your waist. You pull her close and lift off, flying slowly back across the dark water toward the Icon. The night air is cool against your skin, the ocean stretching black and infinite below.

"Brad," Nova sends after a long moment of comfortable silence. "About the contract. When do you want to do the ritual?"

"Tomorrow ideally. When will depend on how the day goes."

"Good." Her fingers trace idle patterns on your back. "I've been thinking about what to ask for. Beyond the clone recruitment."

"And?"

"I want to be the one who trains them. When we bring the others in. I want that role - not just as your soldier, but as their squad leader. Their sister." Her psionics carry weight that her casual tone doesn't. "They deserve someone who understands what we are."

The Icon grows ahead - its white hull gleaming under moonlight, the Gate shimmering on the flight deck. You can see movement on the lower decks - resurrected survivors wandering in confusion, the automated dominate settling them into calm compliance.

You land on the Icon's deck, dispelling the invisibility on yourself and Nova. She stands beside you, armor catching the floodlights, golden eyes bright with satisfaction and something deeper - belonging.

"Mikasa seems to be waiting for you," you say. "One more ship."

Nova nods. "I'll brief Maria about tomorrow while you're gone." She turns, walking through the Gate.

The Gate shimmers. Through it, you can see Mikasa standing on the Anchorage flight deck, arms folded, black eyes patient but intent.

You open your arms.

Mikasa doesn't hesitate. She steps into you immediately, her body pressing flush against yours, arms wrapping around your torso with the same precision she brings to everything. Her Survey Corps jacket is rough against your shirt, her black hair brushing your chin. She's warm - warmer than the night air deserves.

"Took you long enough," she murmurs into your chest.

"Had to make Yoruichi and Nova earn their keep first."

She snorts softly. "I heard."

You whisper the incantations. "Greater Invisibility." The spell washes over her, her black hair and jacket dissolving from sight. "Fly." Her weight shifts as the magic takes hold, her grip loosening slightly as gravity releases her.

You rise together, your own flight still active, guiding her upward with one arm around her waist. The ocean spreads below - black water, distant lights from the three surviving cruise ships, the Icon's white hull gleaming like a bone.

"Yoruichi loved it," you say as you drift toward the Grandeur. "Moaning unseen in front of a crowd. Couldn't stop herself."

Mikasa's invisible form shifts against you. "That sounds like her."

"Nova agreed to a master-servant contract. Condition was saving her sisters - the other clones from her world."

"Good." Mikasa's voice carries approval. "She deserves that."

You fly slowly, the Grandeur growing ahead - the smallest of the three surviving ships, its lights dimmer, fewer survivors visible on deck. Maybe a hundred and fifty people, clustered near the central pool area.

"So," you say. "Would you want the same treatment? Sex in front of a crowd that can't find where your moans are coming from?"

Mikasa is quiet for several seconds. Her fingers tighten on your shirt.

"No," she says finally. "I don't want strangers hearing me. I want..." She pauses. "I want to ride you slowly. On the way back. Just us."

Her hand finds yours in the dark, invisible fingers interlacing. "The others got their spectacle. I want something private."

You squeeze her hand. "Just us."

The Grandeur's rear deck is nearly empty - two women sitting on a bench near the stern railing, wrapped in cruise blankets, speaking in low voices. You land silently in a maintenance alcove beside the aft mooring station. Mikasa releases you, stepping back as you kneel.

The teleportation circle takes ninety seconds of casting. Mikasa watches, her standing perfectly still, arms folded.

The connection snaps into place - third receiving circle on the Icon, linked and active.

"All three receiving circles complete," you say, standing. "One more front circle for this ship, then we head back."

You lift off again, flying toward the Grandeur's bow. The front observation deck is completely deserted - the smallest ship has the fewest night owls. You set down, kneel, and trace the final teleportation circle. Fourth LA destination link - the Cloverfield residential garage.

"That's everything," you announce, standing. "All circles placed. All ships connected."

Mikasa steps toward you. Her invisible hands find your belt.

"Now," she says, her voice low and steady, "I want my ride home."

You release each of your invisibility and strip off your t-shirt and cargo pants, depositing them into your inventory. The night air should be freezing at altitude, but the Thermostasis enchantment wraps you in perfect warmth, your skin prickling pleasantly with the sensation of open air without the bite.

Mikasa watches you undress with those dark, patient eyes. Her Survey Corps jacket comes off first - she folds it with military precision before handing it to you. Her sports bra follows, revealing the lean musculature of her torso, the defined lines of her abs catching moonlight. Her pants drop last.

"I expected Thermostasis to allow this kind of thing," you say, extending your hand to her. "But I didn't expect to be able to enjoy it so soon."

She takes your hand and steps against you, her bare skin pressing warm against yours. Her breasts are firm against your chest, her nipples already hardening in the night air despite the temperature regulation. You can feel every muscle in her body - taut, powerful, waiting.

"Savor this," you tell her, your voice low. "Both of us. I am."

You lift off slowly, one arm around her waist, the other hand guiding her thighs apart. She wraps her legs around you immediately, her calves locking behind your back with the same strength she brings to ODM gear. Her hand reaches between your bodies, fingers wrapping around your cock - already hard from the anticipation that's been building since she asked.

She positions you at her entrance. Wet. She's been wet since the flight over, you realize - the waiting, the watching you work, the knowledge of what was coming.

"Slowly," you order.

She sinks down onto you with a shuddering exhale. Inch by inch, her pussy taking you in, her walls gripping tight around your shaft as she lowers herself fully. Her eyes close. Her lips part.

"Master," she breathes.

You rise higher, clearing the Grandeur's deck entirely, drifting out over the black ocean. The stars wheel overhead. Below, the distant lights of the three surviving cruise ships twinkle like scattered embers. No one can see you - two silhouettes suspended over the dark Atlantic, joined together.

Mikasa begins to move. Slow rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against your pelvis with each forward motion. Her arms wrap around your neck, her face buried against your shoulder. She doesn't moan loudly - she doesn't need to. Every exhale against your skin carries the weight of her pleasure, each breath a quiet confession.

"This is what I wanted," she murmurs into your neck. "Just this. No audience. No performance. Just you inside me and the sky."

You match her rhythm with gentle thrusts, letting her set the pace. The flight magic keeps you both suspended effortlessly, leaving your bodies free to focus entirely on each other. Her internal muscles squeeze you deliberately with each rise and fall - trained control, even here.

The Icon grows closer. Its white hull gleams below, the Gate shimmering on its flight deck. You have maybe five minutes before you reach it.

Mikasa's pace increases slightly. Her breathing quickens. Her fingers dig into your shoulders.

"Don't stop," she whispers. "Don't rush. Just... stay with me."

You match her rhythm - slow, deliberate rolls of your hips meeting hers as you drift over the dark water. Her pussy grips you with each insertion, her internal muscles squeezing in trained pulses that make your breath catch. She's so wet you can feel it running down your shaft, slicking your thighs where they press together.

"Look at me," you order, your voice low against the night air. "When you come. I want your eyes on mine."

Mikasa's dark gaze lifts immediately. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted, her breathing shallow and ragged. She doesn't break eye contact - she holds it as ordered.

Her pace increases just enough. Her hips grind forward on each downstroke, her clit dragging against your pelvis, her thighs trembling against your sides. You thrust up into her, meeting her rhythm, your cock hitting deep inside her with each synchronized movement.

"Master," she gasps, her fingers digging into your shoulders hard enough to bruise. "I'm-"

"Mine."

She comes with her eyes locked on yours. Her entire body seizes, her pussy clamping down around your cock in contractions that pull you over the edge with her. You spill inside her, your hands gripping her waist, holding her down fully onto your shaft as you pulse deep within her. Her mouth opens in a silent cry - she keeps her eyes on you through every wave, every shudder, every aftershock that makes her walls squeeze you again.

The orgasm stretches. Long, slow, intimate. Her forehead drops against yours when it finally ebbs, her breath hot against your lips.

"Thank you," she whispers. "For not rushing."

You drift down toward the Icon, finding a private balcony on deck twelve - an empty suite terrace with lounge chairs and darkness. You set down gently, your feet finding the deck plating, and hold her against you as your breathing steadies. The night air is warm against your skin. Thermostasis keeps the chill at bay.

Minutes pass. Mikasa stays wrapped around you, your softening cock still inside her, her head resting against your chest. Neither of you speaks. There's nothing to say that the silence doesn't already contain.

Eventually you pull your clothes from inventory - your t-shirt, cargo pants; her Survey Corps jacket, sports bra, pants. She dresses with quiet efficiency, each garment pulled on with the same precision she brings to everything.

"Ready?" you ask.

She nods.

You both descend visibly toward the flight deck. The Gate shimmers ahead, its violet light casting long shadows across the deck plating. Around it, a cluster of resurrected survivors has gathered - perhaps thirty people, their expressions ranging from confusion to cautious curiosity. They're dressed in a mix of cruise ship casual - sundresses, polo shirts, swim trunks - the clothes they died in, now clean thanks to the ship's automated systems.

A middle-aged woman with graying temples steps forward as you land. Her name tag reads CARLA - DECK SUPERVISOR.

"You're the one who did this," she says. Not a question. Her voice is hoarse, like someone who's been crying recently. "Brought us back."

Several others press closer. A young woman with a bandage falling off her head. An older pair holding hands, both looking shell-shocked. A teenage girl who hasn't stopped staring at the Gate.

"What happens to us now?" Carla asks.

You check the Interface - resurrection progress reads 812 of 850. Thirty-eight remain below deck, processing at the ten-second interval. Maybe six minutes left.

You raise your voice, addressing the cluster of resurrected survivors. Carla's eyes fix on you with desperate intensity.

"The process isn't finished yet," you say, keeping your tone steady. "There are still people below deck who haven't come back yet. I'll make a proper announcement once everyone's been revived. For now, help each other. Comfort those who are struggling accepting they woke up."

Carla nods slowly. The teenage girl - Devei - hasn't stopped staring at the Gate. Her mother, a Korean woman with the same sharp jawline, puts her arm around her daughter's shoulders.

"How long?" Carla asks.

"Minutes."

You continue walking with Mikasa through the Gate. The violet shimmer swallows you both, depositing you on the Anchorage flight deck. Musashi stands near the Gate's anchor point, her katana resting against her shoulder, silver-pink hair catching the floodlights.

"Thank you for watching," you tell her.

She grins. "Quiet shift. A few confused faces poked their heads through, looked around, went back. Nothing dangerous."

You close the Gate behind you. The violet light dies. Mikasa settles beside Musashi with a nod of acknowledgment.

You focus on the Telepathy Web, broadcasting to your group: "Icon resurrections almost complete - maybe six minutes. I need to make one moreerrand." and a private message. "Erza, meet me on the bridge - I need another guard."

You move fast, leaving Mikasa with Musashi, taking the internal stairs two at a time toward the bridge. The corridors are quiet.

Erza's response comes within seconds: "On my way."

You reach the bridge first. The dim blue lighting casts long shadows across the consoles. You kneel in the corner, tracing a Teleportation Circle into the deck plating - off to the side, not obstructing navigation. The pattern glowing steady.

The bridge door opens. Erza steps through in her sleep clothes - a simple tank top and shorts, her scarlet hair loose around her shoulders. She's carrying her sword.

"You could have woken me properly," she says, but her eyes are bright. Alert. Eager.

"Sorry, short notice for me too. I'm connecting the Icon's bridge to ours."

You cast Gate. The shimmering vertical disc opens in the center of the bridge, showing the Icon's command center - dark, locked, empty.

Erza steps through without hesitation, her sword already drawn. She sweeps the space in three seconds, checking corners, the helm station, the side doors.

"Clear," she calls back. "Locked from inside. No threats."

You follow her through, then kneel beside the Icon's helm console. The second Teleportation Circle takes another ninety seconds. When it completes, you stand and close the Gate behind you.

Two bridges, permanently connected via teleportation circle. No more Gates needed for transit between command centers.

"That's done," you announce.

Erza sheathes her sword, looking around the Icon's bridge with professional assessment. "This is a proper command center. Better equipped than the Anchorage's."

"It's the largest cruise ship ever built, if I remember right roughly ten years newer." you say. "With twenty decks, and a size difference it should be well equipped."

She turns to face you, arms folding across her chest. "So. You needed a guard for a thirty-second walk through a locked room."

Her tone carries a teasing edge - she's openly flirting with you rather than maintaining her composed distance.

"Maybe I just wanted your company," you reply.

Erza's cheeks flush - barely visible in the dim lighting, but unmistakable. She doesn't look away.