The night spent in the same bed with Skyds was rather short. Ha! Don't get me wrong, though my new body was involved for the first time, the key thing here isn't the machine, but who's behind the wheel! And I am certainly more than an experienced driver! Not that I'm bragging, heh.
If I think about it, all my experience over the past fifty years was with one particular woman. I must admit, I've gotten to know her quite well, but I can't help but note that I've somewhat lost my touch when it comes to courting someone else. Still, in this world, women are quite ready to throw themselves at you, so there's no need to overthink it. Probably...
Anyway, back to the night I spent with Skyds. Apparently, I overestimated my strength. Damn, no, it was more that I underestimated myself. I think a small bed marathon would've been manageable for my new body. I messed up. Well, actually, my abilities did.
Maintaining the power of Masquerade turned out to be quite a challenge, especially when I was thinking with only my lower head. Sally still keeps the sky dark, thanks to the fact that her own power absorbed the first blow. Her aura protected her while I took the time to, ahem, take my gun out of its holster.
Being a true gentleman, well, or expertly pretending to be one, I simply couldn't leave things unfinished. So, I did my best to satisfy Sally. Surprisingly, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.
I managed to bring Skyds to the peak of pleasure, and even, as she requested, gave her my sperm. But did I enjoy it that night? Hardly. It was too dangerous to give in to emotions again, so I couldn't afford to lose my head.
I stayed in the Morlocks' underground home for another couple of weeks. There was plenty to do, but mostly I fixed the mess Masquerade made. For instance, I completely removed the scars and injuries from Sander's body. I couldn't make the giantess a beauty queen, though—that would've required altering her entire appearance, and she wasn't ready for that.
Surprisingly, Samson was rather reluctant to let me remove the dog hair from her body. After some persuasion, we reached a compromise. I removed the hair from about ninety percent of her body, leaving it only on her hands. She also wanted me to add dog ears, but I couldn't bring myself to deform puppies. Well, tastes vary.
There was the least hassle with Callisto. Masquerade hardly touched her, so I easily restored the future leader of the Morlocks' appearance. Yes, among all the residents of the abandoned subway station, she was the only one who agreed to take on the role of leader.
Skyds might've been able to compete with her, but the blonde decided to forgo any competition. I didn't pry too much and, in fact, I avoided Sally a little. While I thought I would live this life without any regrets, in practice, it turned out to be more difficult than I thought.
The hardest part was with the last two women in the community. Caliban flatly refused to let me try to fix her appearance. Honestly, I couldn't understand her at all, but the pale-skinned girl had always been her own person, and even other Morlocks didn't know what was going on in her head. I couldn't convince her, not at all. Well, whatever, as they say—it's the boss's prerogative.
And finally, the pink-haired Marrow. The girl, from whose body grew bone spurs and other unnatural things. I honestly tried to help, but no matter how much I tried, no matter how many extra bones I removed from her body, they would start growing back. Not very quickly, but still.
Of course, even a fool could understand what was going on. It was all her abilities' fault. Her mutation had a constant nature, so to speak—no matter how much I fought the symptoms, the source of the disease wouldn't disappear that way.
Theoretically, I could've affected the structure of her DNA. Probably. I don't know. The problem with Marrow brought me back to my old musings about the fact that before diving into such levels of interaction with other bodies, one needs to have a solid foundation of knowledge.
I took the failure with Marrow surprisingly personally. In fact, even the girl herself didn't seem as upset as I was. Still, emotionally, I felt crushed and couldn't stay with the Morlocks any longer. The longer I stayed in one place, the harder it became to leave.
The women's community was very reluctant to part with me. Not long ago, I took Masquerade away from them, and now I was leaving myself. They had become too used to relying on a man, even if it was a pathetic worm like their former leader. Still, they would have to learn to live on their own, and I was only hindering that process.
What made me happy was the light, joyful smile with which Sally said goodbye. She didn't try to throw a tantrum or manipulate me with pity; she let me go, accepting that I had to move on, and I was insanely grateful to her, though I also felt like the worst bastard for it.
"Hey, Rascal," she called after me when I had already said goodbye to everyone and was following Caliban who was leading me to the surface. "Remember, once a Morlock, always a Morlock!"
The streets of New York greeted me with quite pleasant weather. The former heat had disappeared somewhere, and I wandered the streets of this incredibly huge city with relish. Only after moments like these do you realize how important the sun and fresh air are to a person.
I felt deeply sorry that my friends were still stuck in the dungeon and couldn't enjoy all the pleasures life under the vast sky could offer. Sure, most of them could now easily blend into human society, not standing out much, or if they did stand out, it wasn't as striking as it used to be. But they still chose to remain in their old home.
There were a few reasons for this. They couldn't leave Marrow and Caliban behind—that's one. And two, they simply didn't have the means or opportunities to legalize themselves in human society. Living in the subway suited them far more than being homeless on the street in the rain and snow.
I promised that I would come back for them once I gathered the necessary resources. Initially, I offered them the same living arrangement I set up with Jubilee. I think Xavier wouldn't have minded taking them into his school, but the Morlocks, as I understand it, were too scared of any changes or upheavals.
They had gotten used to living in their own little world, where waves of turmoil from the larger universe hardly reached. My appearance and Masquerade's death had almost destroyed their quiet refuge. So, I didn't press the issue; innovations had to be introduced gradually, or the retrogrades might rebel.
So, I promised them and myself that once I got my hands on enough resources, I would take care of their living situation. It would definitely take some time, and I hoped that without Masquerade's bad influence, the Morlocks would become a little more rational and reasonable.
After walking around for a while and breathing in enough fresh air to make my head spin, I found a phone booth. Obra Whistler was thrilled when she recognized my voice. She kindly agreed to pick me up.
"You've been gone for two weeks," the gray-haired woman said, shaking her head. "What were you doing? What have you been up to?"
The vampire hunter looked much better than when we first met. Back then, she seemed like a grumpy old woman with a bad temper. Now, as they say, the changes were obvious. Obra looked like she had regressed by ten years, although the wrinkles hadn't gone away, she was glowing from within. And you didn't need to be some unknown cosmic whale to feel that empathically!
"I was finishing up some business," I replied vaguely. I don't want to go into detail about my life, even if I like these people. "How about you? Is your leg still hurting? Any problems?"
"Everything's great!" Obra smiled so widely I could see all her teeth.
"Nothing even remotely like the old pains! Only if I push myself with training, but then my whole body hurts, not just my leg."
"Heh, take it easy with that," I grinned. "Remember your age."
Surprisingly, I had already brought up the not-so-pleasant subject of age for any woman, even the youngest, but I didn't get the usual response. Obra wasn't at all embarrassed when I called her old; in fact, she reacted as if I had said this to some male acquaintance in my home world.
"I remember, I remember," she snorted. "You know, after some reflection, I decided not to return to the hunter path. Even though my hatred for those creatures hasn't died down even after all these years, I've killed enough bloodsuckers. And if not enough… I thought about it a lot and decided it would be extremely foolish to die in my old age. It's much better if I pass my experience on to others."
"Well, you are already teaching Blade, aren't you?" I asked, surprised.
Here is the translation of your text:
***
After some internal doubts, I decided not to ask her what made Obra become a hunter. Clearly, it was a very personal and painful subject for her, and we still didn't know each other well enough to dig into her soul.
"Blade can be categorized as one of those girls who already knows how to do everything," Obra admitted. "Recently, I've taken on a couple of new students. They will never be as effective as a half-vampire, but why not?"
"I think you're right."
This time, the woman brought me to a different place. Although it was essentially another abandoned building, it was in a different part of the city. We wandered a bit through narrow passages between old containers with peeling paint before we ended up inside one of them.
Obra led me into a dead end and pressed her hand against an inconspicuous patch of metal on the container wall. I felt a vibration under my feet, and the floor began to descend smoothly.
"Is this your main base?" I asked, surprised by the serious approach, smiling.
"Not mine," the woman answered.
The question "then whose is it?" was on the tip of my tongue and just hung in the air, but Whistler only smiled and chose to remain silent. However, I didn't have to wonder for long. We descended pretty quickly and ended up in some underground room. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it wasn't a cave.
The room turned out to be spacious, and on one of the walls, there was a rack with many fluorescent lamps. Under the bright lights, a short-haired, fang-bearing figure wielded a katana, striking an invisible enemy — someone I had seen before.
"Blade isn't afraid of sunlight, is she?" I asked my companion, surprised.
"Yes, but that doesn't mean she likes it. In these doses, it weakens her a bit and causes noticeable pain."
"Does she like S&M?" I whispered, asking another question.
"I don't like it," the half-vampire answered loudly and threateningly. "But if you're interested, I have excellent hearing."
This was awkward... it would be if such things still bothered me.
"Don't push him, Erika," Obra immediately protested.
Now that bothered me! Argh, sometimes I just forget what world I live in. It's considered improper here if a woman yells at a guy or in some other way disturbs his emotional well-being. Even if the guy has provoked the girl with his whims.
"Sorry, sorry," I raised my hands in a defensive gesture, conceding defeat. "But why are you still fighting shadows in such inconvenient conditions?"
Erika, judging by Obra's slip of the tongue, that's what my dark-haired acquaintance was called, walked up to the wall and, sliding her katana into its scabbard, placed it on a special stand.
"Training," Blade said briefly and shrugged.
Obra and I got closer and had the chance to properly greet each other. The sweaty, young-looking woman after training involuntarily caught the eye. More specifically, her chest, which was tightly pressed against her thin, soaked T-shirt. Seductively curvy, she could also boast of toned muscles, especially on her arms and legs.
"This face needs scars! Torn edges of skin under the right eye would look just insanely attractive!" - a bloodthirsty voice spoke in my head.
Shit! Shaking my head, I forced myself to suppress Masquerade's voice. The bastard occasionally nullified all the results of my long hours of meditation.
"What's wrong with you?" Obra asked with concern.
She must have noticed how I swayed. Observant.
"N-nothing," I mumbled with a dry tongue. "It's stuffy here, that's all. May I sit down?"
"Erika, help him," the old hunter gave a short order.
The girls helped me up and dragged my scrawny body to another room. After a couple of minutes, they seated me in an old but comfortable chair and handed me a paper cup of water. It smelled like coffee, but that didn't bother me; I wasn't picky about tea.
"Thanks, I'm feeling better," I lied, still hearing Masquerade's voice clearly in my mind. "Let's talk business?"
Obra still looked worried, but I managed to calm her down. Erika, on the other hand, showed with her whole demeanor that my condition didn't bother her at all. Nevertheless, they cheered me up by telling me that the documents were ready, and more surprisingly, the retired hunter had managed to get me a dozen kunai.
To my surprise, they were quite high-quality pieces, and I was quite satisfied with the purchase. This body still had to regain its skills with my favorite ninja weapons, but I was sure I'd excel at it quickly. The key was to eat well and let the body gain mass during breaks between grueling training sessions.
At the end, Obra stunned me by telling me that she had found several potential clients for treatment. People promised generous payment if everything went smoothly. Whistler also honestly warned me that I should be cautious with some of them as they might try to "hire" me if they sensed any weakness.
"Thank you so much," I sincerely thanked the woman and tried to stand up.
It was time to say goodbye and move on. However, my plans turned out to be quite unstable.
"Let me out!" Masquerade screamed again. "Let me mutilate these bitches! I want to see them writhe in pain and puke at my feet!"
The world tilted, and I realized that I definitely couldn't keep my balance. I tried to fall back into the chair, but even then, I failed miserably. Strong hands caught me just in time; a little more, and my face would have met the floor.
"You're staying with us," the owner of the hands said briefly, and I didn't have the strength to refuse. Well, how could I refuse when they pressed me so gently to the still-wet chest of a size-four?