Escape from heavalun, p.35
Escape From Heavalun, page 35
The Kurlatra man thrashed wildly against the Human, savagely clawing and kicking as the Human remained calm and let his will be done.
Gradually, Sheruai’s fight began to fade. His attacks became weak, and his mind went blank. His vision collapsed to near pinpricks; all he could see was the cold, unyielding eyes of a man truly better than him.
Moments before Sheruais consciousness entirely left him, Conor gripped Sheruai’s jaw with unrelenting force and began to pull. Too weak and too close to unconsciousness, all Sheruai could do was listen to the dull popping and ripping as the top of his upper head was torn away.
The last vestiges of Sheruai’s thought were filled with the taste of his own blood pooling in his mouth.
Not a single observer made a sound. They were not watching a duel or a beatdown; this was a predator toying with prey it had known could not survive.
They had at least expected some sort of fight, but there was none.
The moment the duel began, Conor took the initiative, covering the ten meters in less than a second. From there, it was a non stop barrage of gunshot-like strikes. The observers felt every impact, heard each bone snap, and heard every pitiful yelp.
They thought Sheruai might have made a comeback when he punched Conor, but that was quickly dismissed upon seeing his mangled hand.
The ending to the so-called duel would haunt their minds and ring in the annals of Kurlatra history forever. It was a duel that would be remembered as a pitiful example of what pride will get you. Teachers would refer to the whisperings of the event to teach their students humility.
Conor grabbed hold of Sheruai’s jaw and pulled. Conor remained eerily silent, unaffected by Sheruai’s wild thrashing, even as he dislocated the man’s jaw. Most thought that was the end of it because Sheruai had gone limp.
Oh, how wrong they were.
The Human kept pulling, and they watched in shocked horror as Sheruai’s cheeks ripped open, followed quickly by a dull crunch. Sheruai’s head was halfways ripped off, his head crown rested against his back as blood poured over the two combatants.
Like he was throwing away a cigarette butt, Conor threw Sheruai away. The corpse tumbled and landed lifeless in the reddening sands several meters away.
No one spoke as the Human began to move toward the body. Conor was calm and only did what he was instructed to do: fight until the Empress concluded the duel. Only Vuraley and Burlai knew what the Human was about to do.
They could see the essence of the mantra, never shall I fail oozing out of Conor. He was going to keep fighting and bludgeon the corpse until Eyurali managed to compose herself and declare him the winner.
Thankfully, Vuraley was able to advise her about stopping the event before more members of the crowd were scarred by the day’s events.
“Stop!” Eyurali yelled.
Like he was about to step on a landmine, Conor froze midstep. The fight was over, and he had come out on top.
Conor stood upright and took a deep breath before looking over at Eyurali. He rolled his shoulders as if that were little more than a warmup. To him it was. He was built for combat; By Urla, sparring Vuraley took more effort.
That Sheruai was spoken of so highly yet could only survive that long against Conor was pathetic. If anything, Conor felt pity. He might as well have fought an infant.
The Empress shuddered, unnerved by the sight of the Human drenched in blood, his calm demeanor betraying the carnage of mere moments ago.
Vuraley thought differently of the man. Sure, he and Conor had trained with weapons, but now even Vuraley could recognize a vital detail about those sparring matches. Conor had been holding back from day one.
During all those countless hours, Conor was training and knew the point of it. He was there to learn, not to win. If Conor and Vuraley fought no holds bar, even the High Champion wondered if he could win without being maimed.
“I declare this duel concluded. Conor, the Lord of War, and now the God of Close Combat, and the Wolf of Heavalun, shall continue to be Eivaley’s assigned champion. You all are witness. Now, please return to your homes,” Eyurali said.
Conor nodded at her and Therulay before turning to see Eivaley approaching him. She looked as beautiful as ever, but he could not help but glimpse the faintest fleck of worry in her eyes, and she reached for his hand.
“Are you alright?” Eivaley asked, her voice trembling as she scanned his blood-soaked frame.
“I am,” Conor smiled, holding her hand tight.
That same look he had given her over the last few months shone brightly through the blood and gore.
“Let’s go get cleaned up,” Conor replied.
Section Twenty Eight
Yours, Mine, Eachothers
Eivaley lounged on the edge of Conor’s bed as she contemplated everything that had happened that day. To call the events notable would be an understatement of the facts by several magnitudes.
In all honesty, Eivaley was unsure how to feel about all that had happened.
Conor had ripped the head off Sheruai, a man Eivaley had known most of her life. While she was not close to the warrior, she felt almost guilty about his dying in her name.
Was it needed? Likely. Did she enjoy seeing it happen? Not a chance; hell, the images of Sheruai dying so brutally would never leave her. She would still be able to imagine it clearly on her deathbed.
Yet, through her teachings and conversations with her parents, she could see Conor’s reasoning for needing to kill the man.
She understood that if the Sheruai had not perished, Conor would have taken his place in the gods’ judgments and been taken from her for eternity. That simply was not something she could accept. A feeling Conor shared.
Conor was hers; she was his. In the eyes of Kurlatra culture, it did not matter that they had yet to finalize their claims. She yearned for Conor, hungered for his embrace, and accepted that she had to wait for him to be ready.
Understanding that deaths like that were just part and parcel of being a noble did nothing to ease her anguish for witnessing another pointless death. Eivaley wished everyone could get along and that the endless string of deaths could abruptly end, but that was just a pipe dream.
Following the fight, Conor told Burlai to look into something before dragging her off. The exact details of what they needed to know were something she could not hear and something Conor did not wish to inform her of.
From what she overheard, Burlai needed to look into something about her sister’s death. She did not question what it was. If it mattered to Conor, odds were it would to her.
Sure, she knew they, like the royal guard, would investigate why Conor was accused, but she could not guess at their plan hatched in that brief chat.
For all she knew, they were going to go room to room and interview everyone, but that was unlikely; they were just two men—outstanding ones, but they could only do so much.
All she could do was wait until more learned individuals informed her of the happenings.
The only other thing of note between Eivaley lounging in Conor’s room and the fight was their brief conversation with her parents.
They simply assured Eivaley and Conor they were of sound mind after the day’s events.
They hugged Eivaley and apologized for her sister’s death, explaining that it would be looked into and that her burial would be planned for later this week, while Sheruai’s corpse would be shipped off to the badlands and buried in his homeland.
It was something that Sheruai had arranged with the Empress long ago. He might have been an asshole at the end of his life, but until then, he had behaved honorably and conducted his actions as a noble without question. So his wishes would be honored.
But that was neither here nor there; butterflies danced in Eivaley’s chest, as she recalled Conor making his intentions clear before he went into the shower to clean the blood off him.
He had picked up Eivaley and laid her on the bed, similar to how he had done back on Heavalun. “Wait for me here, my little ruby,” Conor growled in her ear while grabbing her hips and pressing his weight against her.
Eivaley’s breath had left her at that moment, and it had yet to return even though it had been nearly twenty minutes. Had she just sat here flushed with anticipation since Conor entered the abode? Of course not; there was a proper way to prepare for these types of things.
She had called for a servant and had them rush to her room to retrieve lingerie, wine, and glasses.
She had already changed into the pink silken garment and filled both glasses. Eivaley might have also emptied her drink once or twice—okay, it was three times. She already had a solid buzz. But she was nervous, scared, and excited all at once. A little liquid courage would not hurt.
What was about to happen was one of the most significant events in Kurlatra women’s lives. She was about to claim a champion and have him give his soul to her.
She adjusted her robe, ensuring her cleavage was deep and tantalizing. The lingerie was perfect. It was little more than a silken robe that showed off her curves. Its draping curtain was nearly see-through, showing off hints of her hard nipples.
She knew Conor would like it. The mere thought of him slowly unwrapping her from it already made her body ache with anticipation. His strong grip, intense stare, and unyielding presence would cement their relationship, finally becoming more in the eyes of the gods and in one another. All she had to do now was wait—thankfully, the shower had just shut off; it would not be long now.
Conor stepped out into his room clad in only a pair of workout shorts and paused dead in his tracks at the sight of his woman. Eivaley playfully flicked her tail back and forth, sipping wine and looking like a delectable treat herself.
The wan light of the setting sun flowed in through the window and danced off her scales. The soft breeze carried the scent of sweet roses and tart wine to him. The sights, smells, and the gentle smile she cast his way melted Conor’s heart.
This was right; it was precisely what he wanted his life to be. Being here with her had shown the Human that there was so much more to life than violence and money. He still did not have much he could give her beyond being a violent man in her peaceful world, but so long as his actions were to protect her, being out of place was fine.
Besides, after tonight, he would have the rest of his life to figure out what he would do; all that mattered was he was with her and showing her the support she needed.
“Got room for one more?” Conor said while walking next to Eivaley and taking the glass she languidly offered him.
As he approached, Eivaley’s eyes might as well have been eating him alive. It was a look Conor noticed. Her look was beyond her usual lust; it screamed at him to take her and never let go.
The idea of picking her up and railing her against a wall was tempting, but they both knew what would happen, so they were in no rush. So Conor interpreted the look as her sampling the full-course meal she would savor throughout the night.
“For you? Never,” Eivaley teased, having adopted a bit of Conor’s snarky, dry sense of humor.
“Well, that’s horrible; whatever will I do?” Conor chuckled, slipping down into the bowl-like bed. “I thought I would have company tonight.”
“Well, I supposed I might be able to make a bit of room,” Eivaley smirked, pushing the blanket away, letting Conor settle and soak in the sight a bit more.
Once he was down in the bed and had his eyeful of her nearly nude form, Eivaley slid next to him, pressing her body close.
His warmth flowed into her comparatively cool body; the chill she reciprocated did not make her presence less enjoyable for the Human. Eivaley’s plush chest molded around Conor’s muscular frame as he put his arm over her shoulder and let her relax entirely in his protective embrace.
They sat in silence for nearly twenty minutes, looking up at the wall of weapons in Conor’s room. His tools of protection and defiance against the will and desires of the Kurlatra empire hung proudly over them.
Conor’s weapons came from across the galaxy, their manufacturing dates as vast as their shapes and functions. The untold stories festooned in their steel, plastic, and aluminum parts were uncountable. He had only known them for a brief time of their existence, but they shielded him from harm and allowed his will to be done in this cold universe.
Similarly, Eivaley had only known Conor briefly, and he did much the same. He was her will-given flesh, her shield encased in steel and an undying will.
The looming arsenal certainly was not what Eivaley had pictured as the background for her first time; she had imagined a beach, her bed, or an impassioned car ride, but this would do; all that mattered was the company the other provided.
“Conor,” Eivaley started as her paramour sipped at his wine.
“Hmm?” He raised a brow and looked down at her, using the hand over her shoulder to cup her chin and look down at the beauty within his reach.
“Thank you for—staying,” Eivaley said, leaning her head into his touch.
“I will always be here with you,” Conor kissed the top of her head. “No matter what happens.”
Eivaley smiled, but Conor could see the slightest flicker of doubt in her eyes. After all the waiting he had made her do, and the massive weight of her potential future, her questioning of his words of undying support was expected.
Conor gently took the empty glass from her hand and placed it next to his own on the floor nearby. Afterward, he picked Eivaley up and shifted her so she was straddling his waist, heat blooming betwixt them as their bodies mingled so closely.
“I mean it,” Conor insisted, running a hand down her back and beginning to flow his exploratory digits toward her tail tip.
“Even if I become Empress?” Eivaley breathed, draping her arms over his broad shoulder.
“Of course,” The Human assured, kissing the small horns on her snout as he gently rubbed the tip of her tail.
Each stroke of his hand sent a drifting breeze of euphotic bliss up her tail; each gust battered against her soul like the tides, eroding her questioning of his intentions.
“What if I do not want to be the Empress? Would you still be mine if we could not be royals?” Eivaley asked, struggling to not moan as he played with her erogenous appendage.
“I would want to be with you even if we were back on Heavalun and scraping by,” Conor replied.
Conor could recall the hundreds of times that Eivaley had expressed her lack of desire to be the Empress—well, lack of desire did not encompass his little rubies’ hatred of the idea in the slightest.
They had chatted dozens if not hundreds of times about how much they did not want to live the life Vuraley and Eyurali were.
If they could avoid being chained to the throne, they would. But as of now, they had no way for that to be possible. Conor had even said he would give up his life if it meant she would be free, but Eivaley only admonished him for that.
She claimed that she would not want that freedom if he was not there. Conor thought she was just being poetic---the first time at least, now he truly understood she meant it.
They hoped that by the time there were only two princesses left, they could find some way to prevent the inevitable. However, as of now, none of the other potential empresses would allow Eivaley and Conor to bow out of the race and live a life of obscurity far away from politics and the destiny Eivaley was born to face.
Well, save for Mulaney, she just might.
The First Princess had seen enough of her sisters die in the name of the throne; Mulaney likely would even have given them support.
For her, letting them go would still have some political gain.
If Conor and Eivaley were gone, the right to rule would be hers—essentially, paying them off to leave and never return would be one of the most effective ways to get rid of them.
Hopefully, the question of whether she would see that option was many years away. And when that day came, Conor and Burlai would not have to try to kill the others woman. None of them wished for that ending.
“No matter what you want. I will help you,” Conor smiled.
“And that’s why I love you,” Eivaley licked Conor’s neck and scooted herself up on his lap. “Now, let’s enjoy our night, I think I have waited long enough.”
Eivaley gently removed her tail from Conor’s hand. She snaked it along his body before using it to pull his throbbing cock out of his shorts.
“Did you get this augmented too?” Eivaley purred, looking down at his cock, slowly coiling the tip of her tail around Conor’s shaft.
“I don’t think so,” Conor joked, using his augmented hand to massage her tits.
The cold metal was just rough enough that she arched her back to press into his touch. She moaned and felt pleasure coursing through her. Both the warmth of Conor’s cock twitching as she gave him a tail job and his hands exploring every scale on her body were to die for.
The feeling of bliss growing in her chest only increased, and Conor showed no sign of slowing down. One of his hands slowly glided across her quivering abs, his target already known, and if his memory was right tasted like honey—but the night was young, and he would get another sample soon enough.
“Fuuu,” Eivaley gasped as Conor rubbed his fingers on her pussy.
She clung to him for dear life; with deft movements, he manipulated her most sensitive area like he did weapons’ small parts. All those hours on end of finagling components no larger than a human hair gave him lascivious dexterity.
By Urla, Conor was glad that his whole body was not augmented; he could not imagine what it would be like not to be able to enjoy this moment with her. Because most of Conor was still Human he felt her chest heaving, claws digging into his skin, her breath dancing on his neck, and the soft wetness of her pussy growing.
