CHAPTER 20: CHAPTER 20: SHOCKING TRUTH.

Stupor and discouragement are the only words that can resonate and define N’Ïrk’s overwhelmed state.

{I met My Lioness yesterday. Why does my chest feels compressed?. Why is this burning knot in my throat impeding my speech?}

Devastated, the young man ponders to himself, unaware and even insecure about how to approach the situation.

{Should i chase her and demand an explanation?. Do i have to act indifferent until she wants to come back?. Did i do anything wrong?}

{Maybe i should have stayed for the lunch even though i wasn’t invited by Madame Throllüsath. Is that the reason why she got mad at me?. It doesn’t seem doable for what i learned from my interactions with Gagk’Xannia}

The status widow flickers when N’Ïrk thinks on his Partner, the shine is only available for the young man’s sight.

N’Ïrk Ignay’Thus

Empiric Energy • [ 1,165 / 1,165 ]

Class • Kinkmancer [ 1★ ]

Level 11 • Growth • [ 550 / 600 ]

Candidates For Bonding • [ 0 / 8 ]

Bonded Candidates • [ 0 / 3 ]

Dormant Candidates • [ 2 / 5 ] [ - ]

Adeptress • [ 0 / 1 ]

{What is this?. Who is the second?}

Gagk’Xannia Throllüsath [ ‹ ]

Empiric Energy • [ 220 / 220 ] (+550)

Class • BLOCKED [ 1★ +100 Emen ]

[ Post-Virginal Negative Imprinting ]

[ Motherhood ]

[ Dormant Bond ]

{The arrow is pointing in the wrong direction}

Káth’Dria Verderben [ ‹ ]

Empiric Energy • [ 245 / 245 ] (+0)

Class • BLOCKED

[ Post-Virginal Negative Imprinting ]

[ Motherhood ]

[ Dormant Bond ]

N’Ïrk mind is clouded with uncertainty, but his mouth mutters a couple of words. "Post-Virginal Negative Imprinting".

The distant intonation deceives the ladies, N’Ïrk doesn’t know about the meaning or context, he only feels that the «Dormant Bond» is a repercussion of the previous line in the status, after all, «Motherhood» is intrinsic of every Tarzön, including the Half Tarzöns.

Evennette search the phrase in the web with her smartphone. The Deck has a wireless charger and fast internet, needing mere seconds to obtain the answer.

"The Post-Virginal Negative Imprinting, is a Biological feature the females of certain species possess to eliminate the emotional attachment they develope for the first sexual partner or mate they have, erasing the male from their memory to not become dependent on them. The visible symptoms are High Sexual Drive. Loosen Morals and constant need to taste or smell their partner. This excess mutates into a mild aversion that functions as a withdrawal syndrome, focused on removing any trace of the interactions shared by the couple...".

"Then...". Niveilia hesitates, chewing to generate saliva and moisten her dried red lips. "N’Ïrk essentially doesn’t exist for Gagk’Xannia?".

"That’s what this research says, Sweet Cheeks".

Vluk’Shïan leans to her side, pronouncing a low whisper. "Evennette, is there a list of what species have this unforseen circumstance. I don’t think i would like to forget about someone i loved. Much less they forgetting me...".

Her gaze inadvertently diverts to the young man, shrugging her shoulders as if she had been scolded. "S-Sorry, N’Ïrk. That was really egoistical and insensitive from my part".

"No. It was not. I want to know too".

The even maturity on N’Ïrk’s demeanor is disturbing. His voice may had been soft and gentle. But his eyes are savagely frightening.

Two slit pupils extremly narrow are present on each eye, showcasing a feral glare that is viciously visceral.

His toned silhouette is exuding ripeness, flexing and twitching his musculature with incessant vigour.

The display is not on purpose, yet, it works wonders as a declaration. Every lady on the dinning room sense it. They are females, and Gagk’Xannia was an idiot to let go such a specimen of a male.

N’Ïrk is not a young man, if not a stallion with a stone heart wrecked apart by the sudden separation. Leaving him with debris that were rudely pulverized into dust, with the dire realization of him being non-existent for his Ex Girlfriend.

But after two decades of life, N’Ïrk is tired, exasperated of always put a smile and withstand the envious ogling and hurtful murmurs.

Ignoring the complains of being different, even before the outpost, when he lived with his family. Just further apart from them.

Confined in isolation, he was alone in a rotten, abandoned hut in the woods. Never building it or restoring it due to the Empiric Energy.

Each hammer blow could shatter the wood into splinters. The nails could be shot out like railguns.

The answer to prevent this outcome was in the records of his family, and he learned a little from those old pages.

Armed with poorly self-taught knowledge, N’Ïrk hunted with his bare hands and feet, rags as attire. «What’s the point of giving you clothes?!. If you’re going to destroy them anyway».

N’Ïrk wanted to retort. «Perhaps if you didn’t make this fancy shirts, and instead you create a gambeson using the techniques of our ancestors!». But at the end of the day, he never talked back.

Everyone was too afraid of how much destruction he could accidentally deliver.

Then he held back.

Still. It wasn’t sufficient for them.

Never is enough. If his family couldn’t accept him. How could he believe a stranger would do?.

Finally, with a gush of clarity, or perhaps insanity. The young man has a new starting point and he would abuse it to the limit, and beyond it.

His horniness is blazing like a furnace, igniting his relentless unweaving passion, using the remaining dust of his heart, smoldering the obliterated raw material, transmutating it to acquire a better version of his lost organ.

N’Ïrk went from the outposts to battlefields and vice versa, thinking that was how he should go through life. The only way he was able to see a meaningful existence, rather than the boring repetitive days in the Ignay’Thus Hometown.

What an error. N’Ïrk fought thinking that way he could be alive. But now, he has uncovered that life itself is an unpredictable and unending combat. And he wasn’t aware nor prepared for this new front called «Falling In Love».

{What a pitfall}

Nevertheless, the young man is a hunter, a predator, a soldier. And one extremly prone to adapt.

But buried down in the deepest corners of his existence, he is what his family wanted to be foregone from their shared past.

An ambitious and ruthless Mercenary. N’Ïrk knew it. He simply chose not to accept it.

But as fate loves to do, he is forced into this path.

{Who i wanted to impress?. Or this was about respect?. The Old Man (Grandfather) say it all the time. Be truthful to yourself. I thought i was. What a bad joke. But i will be}

"So, Choco Lips?. We are waiting for your reply. Isn’t that right, Lemon Vixen?"...