AnimeCon Harem 15: Big Fucking Bluff pt 2 (Patreon)

Christine wanted to let out a sigh of relief at the man’s departure, but there was no relief to be found. She felt sick with thirst now, those small expressions of power she had leveraged to cow the creeps into submission had completely hollowed out her inner reservoir. Instead of just a dry ache in the pit of her stomach and a painful parched feeling that extended up her throat, it was now as if her entire torso was emptied out of living vitality. The smallest movement made without care might buckle her over. Her mortal guts felt as if they had been carbonized into crumbling powder, every last hint of life-giving moisture had been leeched out of every tissue in her body and she needed to replenish it.

I… I think this might be it for me, Christine thought. She felt light-headed and dizzy to distraction, and a terrible headache had appeared. I need to… eat.

The thought of feeding spread to fill every inch of her mind.

She needed to satisfy this ravenous hunger, all other thoughts, all her fears and worries about what she might become were desiccating into nothingness because she needed blood. Instead of the surging throb of liquid life pumping through her veins, it was as though whatever scant blood she had left was a dry patina of dust. A distant memory of health, tinged with longing.

When her eyes flicked over to the Master who had been left behind by his compatriot, however, Christine’s desire to feed was stymied by her absolute disgust. The cold silver clarity of how much she hated this abominable thing and everything he represented was for now enough to allow her to remain in control. The Chad creature sprawled across the floor there in an exaggerated facsimile of toxic masculinity wasn’t just a rapist, he was the rapist, the sum total quintessence of everything Chloe had ever hated about men made manifest. Grotesque slabs of muscle on a gigantic frame, a massive caveman jawline.

He was still breathing, and Christine found herself stalking across the room to stand over him, intent for a moment only on remedying that error. As much as every cell of her being cried out for sustenance, the idea of drawing any from this tainted filth was so incredibly repugnant that she felt her lips curling back from her teeth in only a snarl of revulsion. He smelled sour. Wrong.

When she was this close to him, when the magic-repelling mirror of her immediate surroundings was held over Chad, it was clear that he was fake. The sculpted picture-perfect muscle didn’t even seem like natural meat to her supernatural senses—it was some textureless facsimile extruded into place, particle by particle, by magic. The vitality of it was wrong, it wasn’t tissue strengthened by challenge and adversity, it was ground up and emulsified leftovers of stolen power, fermented by this vomit-inducing cretin Chad’s desires and shaped into imitation.

Well, Christine thought, fighting back the urge to puke. She wasn’t even sure anymore what might come out if she did retch.

It’s like he’s made out of expired bologna. A mulchy human-shaped pile of over-processed artificial bologna. That’s rotting. Carrion, steeped in unnatural preservatives. At least that helps curb my uh. My appetite. Oh God, I think when he’s within range of my mirror whatever, he’s actually getting more and more gross. I need to—need to hurry up and figure out what to do with him.

A rash of acne, sores, and irritated red spots was appearing across Chad’s slackened features, as well as his bulky shoulders, and his arms. As if he was having an allergic reaction to the silvery imposed-reality of Christine’s presence. She’d been lucky. As much as she hated the way her own mirror effect made her feel about herself, its utter rejection of other outside phenomena had saved her life several times over in a matter of minutes, here.

This asshole tried to, tried to—I don’t know, to fetish snuff film orgasm me to brain death, Christine actually felt bile rise up in her throat. ‘Cum yourself stupid, whore.’ Can’t say I feel any sympathy seeing THAT backfire. I’m sure he deserved worse. Thinking about all of the other victims he might have used that on before… oh God, I really am going to throw up. This is a nightmare. I just—I just—I just want out of this absolute fucking nightmare.

The other one had tried to disintegrate her.

It’s terrifying. He just points at someone I guess, and power shoots out, and—poof. Ashes and nothingness. It’s a real-life fucking Adabra Vekadra spell. Jesus Christ.

Turning away from the apparent vegetable of a man on the floor, Christine made her way over to Brian, carefully taking the crumpled covers and drawing them back over his body again. Unlike Chad, Brian felt real. Battered and maybe broken but real, and a stabbing pang of hunger actually pierced through the miasma of nausea right away at turning her attention towards him. Christine carefully scanned his darkening bruises and traced her fingertips across the once familiar lines of his face.

She thirsted for Brian’s exact flavor of vitality. Needed it.

But, there’s also a slight sort of… reverence, or something, Christine stared at him. I need him, his blood, I NEED him, but it feels like crossing extra lines if I just… take it. Instead of having it given, or offered. I CAN still take it, I’m sure of that. But, I also get this instinctive reluctance to do that. To break that… taboo. Since my own power comes from that, comes from him, I guess originates Brian’s blood in the first place.

It felt like if she drank from him without permission, her own power would be lessened by that action. Diminished, dimmed of their potential. Perhaps the silver of her own scarcely understood mirror thing would tarnish, somehow. She didn’t know what exactly would happen, but she took it for granted that something less than ideal would for sure happen, the fact was stark and obvious now that she was partway vampire—a creature of instinct. Christine could sense there would be a deep personal cost to indulging in that particular craving, and for the moment it was enough to have her gritting her teeth in annoyance.

Rather than FEEDING. God do I need it. Want it. NEED IT.

The temptation remained, and it was enough for Christine to hover over Brian in anguish. She felt so absolutely drained of energy despite all of her incredible power, and she needed relief. Satisfaction. The desire to drink in his lifeblood pulled and yanked in desperation at every drive of her being, becoming a sexual need, a spiritual need, a maddening scream to take in sustenance at any and all cost, and damn the consequences because without it she felt moments away from dying.

Will kissing him help? Christine was all but panting with need and forced her shaking hands back down to her sides. Will ANYTHING other than sinking my teeth into that succulent, sexy neck of his help? Can I, I don’t know. Is there some cheat way to take the VITALITY I need, without actually ripping his throat out and sucking the life out of him?!

“Hhhck,” Christine choked, forcing herself back from him.

Her single step backwards crossed the entire distance of the room in an instant, parting the air like a knife and bringing her back to the doorway of this hospital ward. She wanted to stagger, but her balance was preternaturally perfect and a pivot of her ankle swung the entire world around her in a silvery blur of motion without seeming to move herself at all. Christine wanted to fold herself over as her stomach, no, all of her insides seemed to collapse in on themselves with emptiness, but instead she remained upright and continued to appear calm and collected.

Things to do, Christine reminded herself, putting fingers to her neck again—a sluggish pulse could still be felt there. Slow, too slow. Weak. As if she were already in a deep sleep. Keep it together. Keep it together.

She reentered the room, using single human footsteps one after another to advance even though a step forward with her supernatural speed would bring her to her given destination instantaneously. She had to be patient. Keep it together. Conserve what remained of her energy—moving about like a vampire was only ever going to make her thirstier, deepen the gnawing chasm of hunger clawing away at her insides.

With undisguised distaste, Christine leaned down and pinched the cuff of Chad’s pant leg between her thumb and forefinger. Returning to an upright position then all but lifted the giant of a man into the air. The feat expended power—she could feel that intimately now, the fibers of her back, her shoulders, her arm and even down along her slender legs suddenly biting deeper into that dwindling fount of power within her, stealing away from what remained of her reserves.

Fuck. Fuck, c’mon.

Baring her teeth in frustration and dismay, Christine stepped backward while lowering Chad back to the tile just enough that she was dragging him rather than bearing his full weight up into the air. Reducing the effort as much as she could, turning the voracious bites her muscles ate up instead into steady leeching sips. The constant draw remained exhausting, but Christine had pulled Chad entirely out of the room and was already down the hallway. Curt backward steps and her hunched posture allowed her to pull the much larger burden along far, far faster than any young woman of her stature should have been capable of.

This feels fucking ridiculous.

The elevator wasn’t ready and waiting for her, and Christine dropped the leg she was grasping with a flick of annoyance and jabbed the call button a little too hard—it lit up, but also was jammed inward almost a full inch and didn’t come back out. She was unbelievably thirsty, the need to consume something was clouding her mind, and impatience and irritation jockeyed back and forth with one another as she glanced back down at the unresponsive brutish figure of Chad.

He didn’t even look right anymore—the chiseled definition of his muscles was deformed out into pale, fatty bulges of flab. He’d been enormous before, but whatever modifications he’d done to his skeletal structure weren’t unraveling evenly, and his spine was contracting towards the left and contorting his figure. The red inflammations from before were dotting with postules now, whiteheads were popping up like hives, and the revolting wet stain on his trousers had leaked out and begun to leave a smear of bodily fluid behind him on the hospital floor.

Christine gagged, stabbing her finger in to crush the already busted call button of the elevator deeper into the recess of the mechanism. The button went dark as it broke with a snap, plastic surface splitting into two and giving way to her finger, but thankfully she could hear the rumble of the elevator approaching her floor. She honestly wasn’t sure she could stomach trapping herself in an enclosed elevator with this… thing. Her personal field of denial effect was slowly undoing a bunch of whatever Chad had done to himself, and none of it was any sort of visual image she wanted defiling her memories.

Oh God he STINKS, too, Christine forced herself to look towards the ceiling. He REEKS. I’ll just leave him… somewhere. ANYWHERE. John Doe, just some anonymous dude that got dumped off at the hospital. They’ll figure it out. Or, they’ll shovel him onto a gurney and park it in the morgue until—whatever. Don’t care. Not my problem. He’s out of Brian’s room. He’s out of there, and, and I don’t even want to deal with him for a second longer. I’ll just—here, I’ll just put him on the elevator.

As the doors opened, Christine forced herself to stoop down and pinch a loose bit of Chad’s pant leg between her finger tips. It ripped as she hurled him into the elevator car, and she thought some part of the creep ruptured as his expanding mass dumped itself across the interior. He still looked human, just he was growing obese, the fake muscles drooping out from expanding bulges of puffy tissue.

Yeah… nope. Christine backed away from the elevator, waiting until the doors closed.

I’ll just. Yeah. I’ll take the stairs down, call the elevator from down there. Not sharing any more space than I have to with THAT. Nope. Nope nope nope, not gonna happen. Maybe being outside of my mirror will uh, will get him looking back to the way he was. If I just leave him alone for a bit. Get some fresh air.

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/// Christine's having one of those nights.

I'm actually having a great day today. Did seven miles yesterday, it's beautiful out and perfect weather. Not too hot. Eating well, lifting tonight now that I've recovered a bit. Feeling a lot less stressed by everything, kind of unwinding after some of those super tense winter months of always feeling behind on everything.