Headed by a Snake



Neerin's pacifist stance, her imbecilic offer of gifts, and even the sword she carried-- everything corroborated her impotence. 

--and it all served to further stoke Tycondrius' ire. 

"The True Court is not your enemy," preached the lizard woman, "Accept our help."

She swung her ridiculous sword thrice more. Tycon blocked the first two and stepped in. He took an incomplete third strike while simultaneously kicking the side of Neerin's heel. 

The woman fell, but rolled backward and away. 

The creature had a surprising level of body-control, considering she wasn't in her natural form. 

"I don't want your help," Tycon said flippantly.

Suddenly, Neerin stood up straight, resting her blade on her shoulder. 

"And *you* don't want to fight me."

"I *beg* your pardon?" Tycon said, indignant by the accusation. 

"You haven't used a Skill even once," Neerin said. "You don't really want to kill me. You're under the influence of your bloodline hatred, that's all."

"That neither excuses my current actions nor my actions going forward!" Tycon growled. 

"I-- what? Tycon, what!?" Neerin yelped, "Are you apologizing?"

"No."

"But you just said--"

"I'm not"

Neerin bit her upper lip, somehow managing to look stupider than usual. 

"...Tycon, you can change! You can overcome this-- maybe even together?" 

"I don't want to."

Her expression suddenly changed, "The heroes-- I know you care about them! Aren't you supposed to be their role model??"

"'Best practices' dictate I discourage prejudice in a teaching setting," Tycon explained. "But, on a *personal* level, I willfully and purposely choose to be hateful and prejudiced against you and all your *ilk.*"

"But WHY?!"

"Because I don't like you."

Neerin pulled her sword in, the flat of the blade between her eyes. 

She looked like she was going to activate a Skill-- a grave and potentially deadly mistake. 

"Tycon... tell me... what can I do to prove my sincerity?"

"You can die."

"I mean-- besides that, asshole."

"Tss, right," Tycon sneered. "Lay down your blade."

As soon as he ordered it, Neerin sheathed her blade. Going above and beyond, she removed the scabbard from her sash and laid it down on the wooden floorboards. 

"There. I did it. What else?"

Tycon furrowed his brows. 

Finally, the lizard woman was showing her weakness. 

He walked over toward her and gazed into her eyes... 

They still raged with confidence-- but from whence that confidence came, he could not be certain. 

He kicked her sword away, sending it clattering across the dining hall floor. 

She winced at the noise. 

He slowly lifted his left hand... brushing Neerin Neelia's lips with his fingers before wrapping them around her surprisingly soft and supple throat. 

Her flesh... felt identical to that of a human's. 

She trembled, but once-- as if an electric shock ran the course of her body.

The pace of her breathing was quickening... speeding the circulation of blood and mana, even if unconsciously. 

Even without her sword, their intimate range allowed her a devastating strike if he were to be caught unaware. 

But the same was true for Tycon. He had his other hand on the hilt of Mercy, ready to cut her down at the slightest sign of aggression. 

He was almost *hoping* for it. 

Neerin swallowed her saliva. 

Then, hesitantly... she opened her mouth. 

"Can we... lock the--"

Tycon tightened his grip, cutting off her words. 

"You are not in a position to make requests," he said. 

He released her throat, allowing her to cough. 

She composed herself quickly enough, once more daring to meet his gaze with resolution in her eyes. 

His fingertips had left marks on her neck. 

Tycon laid his palm against Neerin's cheek. 

...She leaned into it. 

A strange, uncertain feeling burgeoned in his chest-- not the bloodlust the rest of his senses were mired in... nor even the feral lust that should have emerged from being a man in an intimate setting, alone with a woman. 

That feeling... was... guilt. 

Tycon took his hand away.

Guilt.

That... feeling... 

...Guilt?

The incredulous notion returned him his anger. 

He struck her on the cheek. 

Neerin fell with a surprised yelp, falling onto one of the rugs.

Tears welled at the corner of her eyes as she rubbed at her knees. 

Her bottom lip had split open. 

Bullets from a pistol did almost nothing to her, yet she was injured by an open-handed slap. 

Either Neerin had purposely let down her defenses or Tycon, in his mental condition, had failed to control his strength. 

--not that it mattered to him, either way. 

Tycon sat down at the edge of the hearth and laid his sword upon his lap. The firepit was lifted slightly above the public bedding area, perfect for him to look down upon Neerin's fallen form. 

His mood had lifted immensely, basking in both the heat from the fire and the suffering of a woman he despised. 

"This form of yours," he said... "have you chosen it?"

Neerin sat up, her eyes downcast. She lifted her hand up toward her face.

"Stop," Tycon ordered, "I did not grant you permission to wipe off the blood."

She stopped obediently and bowed her head, "I'm sorry."

"Now... answer."

Neerin frowned, the expression causing a drop of blood to trickle down her chin. 

"Y-yes, I chose a human form... just like you."

"I don't care for the unnecessary details, whore. Is that human form of yours a Unique Polymorph?"

Being able to adopt a specific appearance at-will was due to a bloodline ability, extraordinary talent, or decades of concentrated practice. 

Most bloodlines that gained a Polymorph-type skill were limited to a single alternate form. 

Tycon considered himself to have an average level of skill in ⌈Transformation⌋ techniques. However, the extent of his abilities were in making minor modifications to his natural form: gills and flippers, shadow-scales, or ice-crystal horns. 

His alternate form was that of a human-- and he was the same human, no matter how many times he activated the Skill. 

Thus, Tycon took great pride in his human body. It was as much his own as his original, snake form. 

"Yes," Neerin nodded... "It is."

Tycon lifted the woman's chin, "Be clear."

"Th... this is my only humanoid form."

"You use it far more than your natural form," Tycon accused. "And you've built a life around it."

Neerin swallowed again. It seemed she had discerned the trajectory of his logic. 

"That's right..."

Tycon narrowed his eyes. 

"...Both statements are true," Neerin confirmed. 

It was the same for him. His humanoid form took less mana to maintain, allowed him to easily mingle with other sentient species, and had a more complex and enjoyable palate. 

"Hm. Very well," Tycon mused. "Kneel."

"Tyrael..."

"No, no, no," he sang. "You shut your gods-damned mouth. You only have permission to speak when spoken to. Do you understand?"

Her pupils dilated slightly... and they quavered, almost imperceptibly. 

"Nod your head if you understand," Tycon cooed. 

Neerin shut her eyes. 

And she nodded her head.

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Now, kneel."

And thus, she got to her knees, as was proper for their relationship and status. 

That was a good start, but...

"So this is the extent of your sincerity?" he yawned. "I'm not moved in the slightest."

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