Headed by a Snake



Neerin Neelia's expression fell further into grief-- further improving Tycondrius' mood.

The filth-blooded whore leaned forward, prostrating fully with her forehead to the floor. 

"What. a. sight!" Tycon grinned, "The... mighty... dragon race... lying prostrate before a mere mortal. Have you no shame, Neerin Neelia?"

He was pleased. 

But...

--that was not enough.

"Does your shamelessness stop there?" Tycon teased. 

Neerin lifted her head-- but only enough to strike her forehead against the stones. 

Again and again, enough to draw blood. 

"Tyrael, please..." she sobbed, choking on her tears, "I'm sorry... It's all my fault."

Yes. Whatever she was referring to, that was probably true. 

But still, nothing would be enough. 

"We're done here," Tycon waved. 

The miserable wretch sat up. 

She removed her gauntlets and began untying her armguards. 

Odd.

Tycon was planning to leave, but his curiosity bid him to stay and watch for at least a short while longer. 

She reached behind her back, releasing the straps on her chestplate. 

Stretching her long legs forward, she removed her boots, her shin guards, and the rest of her outer armor. 

In a smooth motion, she lifted her chain shirt, up and over her head. That too, she folded and placed neatly beside her. 

Her tears had become silent, but they did not stop. They mixed in with the blood trailing down her forehead. 

For one of her kind... Ancient and ever-respected throughout the history of the Realm, shame was a far worse punishment than death. 

Finally, down to just her tunic, Neerin held her hand in front of her chest as she took in a deep, quavering breath. 

After that brief moment of hesitation, she began to undo the buttons. 

Folded with care, her tunic went atop her chainmail to the side. 

Out of all the women in his life, Tycon did not expect to see the scarcely clothed form of Neerin Neelia... and granted so willingly. 

He found no pleasure in the sight... but droll amusement. She had a human body and feminine form-- and it was likely she appealed to human standards. 

But that was all. 

She was still a lizard. 

Even a human wouldn't be able to deny the fact. A series of unsightly blue scales lined the back of her neck and spine. 

And then Neerin reached her arm behind her back-- behind her brassiere. 

"Hold, there," Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What the hells do you think you're doing?" 

Neerin closed her eyes, squeezing yet another pair of tears to fall down her cheeks. 

"Answer," Tycon demanded.

"I'm... showing my sincerity."

"That's enough. You know I won't change my mind."

"Then... it's not enough."

"Stop this, at once."

Yet, she did not stop. 

The woman stripped off her undergarments, then returned to the kneeling. 

Annoyed at her disobedience, Tycon looked away.

Her natural feminine scent was intoxicating, especially at the intimate distance. Nonetheless, his pride neither allowed him to retreat nor give in to his base desires. 

Thankfully, his disgust for her kind allowed him to safely ignore his lust. 

"...I recognize thy conviction, girl. You may dress."

"It's still not enough... not for me."

Tycon furrowed his brows, turning back with an incredulous glare. 

That may have been his thoughts throughout the conversation, but it was... unexpected to hear it from Neerin's mouth. 

"Lie with me, Tyrael. I'll receive your everything-- your rage, your hatred... your guilt and regrets."

Tycon grit his teeth. The woman had stripped down to her barest form, yet it still felt like he was the one being mocked.

"You can't be serious."

"You... are well aware of the mana reserves of my bloodline," Neerin said, bowing her head. "I'll... give you my mana. It's the least I can do."

She was even offering a ⌈Mana Transfer⌋ ritual? And judging by her seriousness, doing so would disadvantage her to a significant degree.

Tycon lifted the woman's chin. 

He stared into the woman's eyes... 

And, unfortunately, he could not find the duplicity he so desperately searched for. 

Neerin broke her gaze. 

How insolent. 

"No," Tycon frowned, "Don't look away."

Placing his thumb on her chin, he gently guided her to meet his gaze once more. 

She shivered again, but she finally met his eyes. 

"I'm the only one here," he said. "Don't look at the walls. Look at me."

The hue of her eyes had shifted to blue... the color of her disgusting scales. 

"Ugh."

Tycon removed his handkerchief from his pocket, wiping off Neerin's tears, then at the drying blood on her forehead. 

She closed her eyes, kept still, and received the cleaning without comment... allowing him to do as he wished. 

Tycon was confused... by Neerin's trust... and by the strangely compelling feelings of guilt and sympathy mixing in with the omnipresent hatreds. 

"Neerin Neelia..."

He needed to ask... 

'Who was I to you?'

The question was smoldering cold in his chest. 

He felt that a simple vocalization of the words would extinguish his discomfort immediately. However, he was struggling with a myriad of other emotions, most all of them insisting that any form of intercourse with the *enemy* was dangerous, foolhardy; and, above all, anathema. 

"Tyrael," she whispered.

Perhaps that was answer enough to Tycon's question left unsaid. 

Neerin asked for Tyrael. 

She had insisted he was-- or *once* was that Tyrael. 

...But that 'Tyrael' was not the current him. 

Thus, he was not the true recipient of the favors Neerin sought to grant. 

Still... those offers could potentially grant him significant benefits. 

He would not be in the wrong to accept them. 

Further, accepting them would be granting Neerin a service... granting her some sort of closure-- or perhaps forgiveness from whatever asinine slights she performed in the past. 

But. just. why. would he grant. that. Abomination. even. that?

"I refuse," Tycon said, "You know why."

He cared not for her past, even if it might have, at one point, intersected with his. 

Her problems were her own and if she needed his participation to heal her traumas, then she'd die broken-- and hopefully alone. 

Neerin lowered her head, whimpering quietly, but otherwise saying nothing. 

Tycon stood up and headed for the door.

...But as he reached for its handle, he stopped.

"...Neerin," he called, without turning back. 

"Y-yes?" came her soft, defeated voice. 

"Fix your attire. Compose yourself. This conversation never happened. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," she said... "I do."

Her voice was filled with an emotion Tycon could not discern.

...but he'd already decided not to pry. 

He'd already decided not to care. 

He and Neerin did not have that kind of relationship... even if that was different in the past. 

Tycon stood at the door quietly for a few more minutes. 

...Against his better judgment, he retrieved a high-quality healing potion from his spatial ring and left it on the counter. 

As soon as he sensed that woman put her tunic back on, he opened the door and left, heedless of her gaze on his back. 

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