Chapter 58: Death of Marcellus Severan (2)

{Tatsumisaki, The Airfield.}

The airfield was surrounded by three high-rise ridges that took the wind. They were the main mechanisms why airfield usually had mild tornadoes, and storm winds.

On the third and open ridge. Opening beyond the jungles of Tatsumisaki. There was a tungsten nail that stood upright in a drilled socket at the ridge center.

It was thick as a human body, dull grey, and heavy enough that ordinary tools would just break to nail it.

Two identical tungsten nails were already pinned on the other two ridges. This was the last one.

George Fallon had smuggled a group of people into Tatsumisaki. Among them was a crazy woman.

As crazy as she was...she ranked among the global top hundred combatants.

George stood off the socket of the nail. The spectacle of the airfield caught cold air as his tall frame held still.

He was important because he carried the heir card of Roan Severan. A payment meant for the veil that is going to stop the entirety of Severan Island from knowing their heir is being assassinated.

Dagny could have killed George and taken it, but she did not. She enjoyed her strolls.

Her skin was lightly tanned. Platinum hair dragged sideways by the wind. From the waist down she was barely dressed. A narrow black triangle covered the front, just enough to hid her crotch, and tight enough to show the shape of it. From both hips, long sheer black veils hung down.

When she stood still, they fell over her thighs, when the wind moves, they opened.

On top, she wore micro-bikini triangles for the chest that nothing to hide the curves of her breast. She wore a lot of gold. A waist chain low on her hips with coins chiming when she moved. Layered necklaces, with the longest dropping between her breasts.

Thick cuffs on her arms and ankles. A tight gold collar at her throat, and a thin chain from the waist piece that ran down to the centre of her bikini bottom, and ended on a small weight resting against her clit.

Dagny Hammera. A global top hundred combatant. Some call her the seductress, because she runs a sin-cult, which is evident, considering she holds the power of a global ranker.

’Crazy...all of them are crazy,’ George would repeat that thought every time his eyes would fall on her. She barely wore any clothes, but they were enough to not call her naked.

The work of digging nails into the three high ridges so that veil could work was not going to take much time.

It was a matter of minutes for high ranking awakeners like her. But she began the work in the morning, and she still hasn’t nailed the last nail into the ground, much less made any effort to pull up the veil.

"You look unwell~" Dagny smiled, and set the hammer’s head on the ground. The hammer was thrice her size in the least. It wasn’t something a woman of her stature should be moving with ease, but she didn’t seem to struggle at all.

’...’ But George was just trying his best not to die on a whim.

Then she turned the shaft upright, planted the brick-heavy site of hammer into the ground. Then she sat on the cold metal block as if it were a throne, with her thighs open around the weight, and sheer veils falling to either side.

George’s breath stuck at the site, but he maintained his composure.

"Hah~" Dagny looked at him over her shoulder. She was amused. She drew leaned in on the shaft of the hammer, and slid up between her breasts. She caught the thin strip of her micro-top with two fingers, and pulled it just enough, and guided the hild under the fabric so the hammer’s handle ran the channel of her chest.

Then she moved once. The shaft polished against her and the coins at her waist chimed. The clit-charm shifted with the motion and made her eyelids lower in private pleasure.

"We are on a schedule," George interrupted her once.

"No, you are on a schedule," Dagny rolled her shoulders, keeping the shaft between her tits, "I’m on a mountain, in the open winds, enjoying the time of my life with my hammer,"

She slid the hilt higher under the black strip, squeezed her chest in around the shaft and sighed.

"I know the trade, Fallon," Her voice stayed sweet. "You and I both know, there’re not many who can build this sort of weather into a veil. Enjoy the moment, you’re witnessing a veil that will prevail, even if the head of House Severan were to try and shatter it,"

Then her eyes dropped to the front of George’s trousers. Despite being professional, his body had stopped obeying him.

"Oh...that’s so cute," she murmured. "You know for a man who’s all business, you sure seem to be enjoying your time."

George’s face went rigid, he did not cover himself, instead he just sat down with legs crossed, facing against Dagny.

"But then, you’re boring," She murmured, and returned to her own body.

She shifted her hips forward until the upright shaft pressed along the narrow black triangle between her legs. The fabric was already damp, she dragged along the hard handle, slow enough that the gold clit-charm tugged and swung, and thin sound left her throat.

"Haanh~" Finally, she breathed a moan, and rose off the hammer head. She pulled the shaft free of her top, rolled her shoulders once, and lifted the enormous hammer into both hands.

She set her feet at the tungsten nail, the jewelry shivered as her golden force gathered around the hammer.

"I really do need a thicker shaft than this," And finally, she swung down.

*...THOOOM---*

When it fell, the sound that should have broken Tatsumisaki, was compressed, and forced under her craft until only a deep pressure moved through the ridge and into George’s bones, from the sheer power of the hammer.

The third and final nail had now sunk in.

Dagny rested the hammer against her shoulder, her veils rested around her bare hips, and held out her free hand.

"As the deal holds, I won’t be present when you murder an eighteen year old child in cold blood, but you know how to initiate the formation,"

She then snapped the fingers of her free hand twice.

"Now...the card."

.-.-.-.-.-.

The cabin windows were down. Only a little, soft light made its way into the flight’s cabin.

Maeve reached up, and unwrapped the bandage around her eyes.

Cloth came down in slow layers.

The fresh air touched her eyelids, and she blinked once. Then twice. The dim interior of the flight did not strain her eyes.

’It’s good not to be blind,’ she thought, and smiled.

Then she saw a glass on the table. It sat in front of Marcellus. Filled with red wine which was left untouched.

He had not reached for it once, Maeve leaned in, slid the glass across to her side, lifted it, and stopped.

Her vision was not only back, it was sharper than before.

She could see the thin edge of red where the wine met the glass, the small clinging line it left when she tilted it, and the clean boundary and alluring colour of the red in the wine.

Her mind felt fresh, she could not name the change, but it was as if her eyes sight has improved.

She drank from the glass once, and only then did she look at him.

Marcellus had not looked at her. He sat in the long black coat over the black suit, with one hand on the armrest, and chin resting against his knuckles.

His eyes were fixed past her aisle, locked on the man across the cabin.

Karl Henson is what he introduced himself as.

She had to agree, the stature and appearance did not call for a mere agent of Union. She assumed Marcellus was suspicious.

And asking for a lift from the heir of the family you’re going to visit, is not really professional. It was as if he needed an excuse to be with Marcellus. Which is odd.

"What’s the issue?" she asked.

Marcellus’s jaw tightened. He lowered his voice in a slight growl.

"When..." He was certainly angry. Even angrier than the time he confronted Rafe.

"When he asks for wine, they bring the bottle, present its history, origin, blend, the attendants talk. The glass is set down as if they don’t want to offend him. He gets a presentation."

He then looked at Maeve, and pointed at the glass in her hands.

"But when I ask, they just pour it and ....And leave."

"..." Maeve looked at him as silence held for a moment.

"...That’s the issue?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"You’re jealous of his wine service." She concluded.

"Ye-I mean no. I’m just noting the difference in treatment," Marcellus said.

Across the aisle, Niccolo turned the stemware glass between his fingers with mild pleasure, and smiled. As if he could hear everything Marcellus was saying.

"So..." Maeve noticed that, and it made Marcellus’s frustration spike up.

"Do you want me to inform them so that they present you the same way?" She asked.

"No...that would seem forced. He didn’t ask them to present the wine like that, I don’t want to either...it’d just make it even worse. Ugh...this is so infuriating...!" He clenched his fists and whispered.

"..."

Maeve studied him for another moment. Sipping on the red wine, which seemed to like enough. She has always failed to understand the man in front of her, but she was used to his domineer now.

She couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make the satiation worse.

"Theren’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Young Master," she said.

"Hm?" His attention finally shifted from Niccolo to her.

"Don’t you have any questions for me?" she asked.

"No." Marcellus replied.

"To be honest, using Severan force control is not a cri---huh?" She stopped..

"You don’t want to know how I learned Severan Force Control?" she asked, keeping the glass on the table.

"No." Marcellus replied. "Why would I?"

"Uh-" Maeve was stunned. She already expected to explain herself to Marcellus regarding her powers.

"Because it is Severan’s Force Control and you are the heir of the family?" She replied his question with a reasonin.

"And?" Marcellus still didn’t seem interested.

"And it isn’t something outsiders are supposed to learn."

"I don’t see the problem," Marcellus leaned back into his seat. "If it helps you become stronger, I don’t care who taught you. I might have objections on using it again since it damages your core, but that’s a different matter."

"You...really don’t mind?"

"Again. No."

"I just thought..." she trailed off. She had spent so much time wondering how he would react that she hadn’t considered what she would do if he simply didn’t care.

"But I have my doubts," he said.

"Why do you need it?" he asked.

"Why do I need it?" she blinked.

"Why go so far to push your core beyond its limits?" he asked again.

Maeve hesitated before answering, but Marcellus continued before she could.

"Is it because of that transformation you used in the arena?" he asked.

"Transformation?"

"The one where you grew fox ears and tails."

"Ah, Gumiho."

"Yes, that. Does it require that much force?" he asked.

Maeve lowered her eyes to the glass between her hands.

"...At my current level, yes." She answered.

"But...it’s not that simple, Young Master," she added.

"Why not?" he asked her.

"Merging with shadows is much more complex than just using more for---"

She paused.

Her brows furrowed at the sight as she leaned forward, not believing what she was seeing.

A few strands of her hair slipped across her cheeks.

Something black had moved behind Marcellus’s shoulder. A slender head emerged from the darkness behind his seat. It had two pink and sleek eyes opened against its black surface. They were bright.

Its body followed. It was long, and impossibly fine, covered in black scales that caught the cabin’s dim light without reflecting it.

Pink veins ran beneath its skin. They began behind its eyes, branching delicately along its head, and continuing down its neck.

It was a snake.

Maeve knew how hard it was to manifest a shadow of force that not only imitated a creature, but looked impossibly real. That is one of the reasons why she needed the Severan force control for her Gumiho.

But despite her final form, she had never seen one this beautiful.

The serpent raised its head over Marcellus’s shoulder, it’s narrow tongue slipped out once, tasting the air. It then lowered itself onto his black coat. Its body passed over the fabric without disturbing a single fold.

It curled around his shoulder, rose behind his neck, and crossed to the other side.

Marcellus barely glanced at it, and Maeve didn’t dare blink. The snake moved over his collar, its scales slid against the fabric, reaching down his hand, as it slid over the table.

Its head lowered to the polished surface. Its pink eyes settled on her, and Maeve just forgot to breathe for a moment.

It approached the edge of the table, lowered its head, narrowing himself over to the side, reaching for the armrest beside her.

It climbed onto the seat, then continued upward until its head rested against her shoulder. The serpent raised its head to look at her. Its pink eyes were so vivid against the black that she could see the outline of her own face reflected in them.

"Hh--" A breath left her as she opened her mouth in amazement.

"How?"