The Gloomy Black-Haired Busty Girl (4)
Black flames erupted from Idwild's shoulders, slamming into the basement ceiling and spreading wide to either side.
"Bertrand...! Become one with me...!"
"Cut the bullshit!"
I drew the Holy Sword. Its blazing white light overwhelmed her dark inferno, flooding the basement with daylight brightness.
"I like 'em tall!"
The sword flashed forward, slicing through the flames at the waist. The upper half billowed upward and scattered into wisps, while the lower sputtered out like a marionette with severed strings.
"The Goddess's blessing... still?"
Overpowered by the Holy Sword, Idwild trembled uncontrollably, hunching in on herself. I spun the blade in a full circle before resting its edge squarely on her shoulder.
"Guh...!"
Black smoke rose from where the blade touched her skin—her body's black magic reacting. Idwild groaned and dropped to her knees.
She looked up at me with pitiful eyes, but I didn't lift the sword. Unable to bear it, she bent at the waist, hands slapping the floor. Collapsing into a dog-like pose of utter humiliation, she gradually buckled under the blade's weight.
Her knees sank low enough that her thighs pressed against her belly, forehead grinding into the dirt as she kowtowed before me, gasping raggedly.
"Urk... Bertrand... please..."
Gazing down at her relatively slim waist compared to those massive tits, and the plump ass clad in a thong, I finally spoke.
"Don't pull any more stupid shit, black mage."
"Don't... take it away..."
"Answer me."
"I... I understand..."
"Apologize."
"I'm sorry... forgive me..."
I sheathed the Holy Sword.
"Hic... sob..."
Face buried in the floor, Idwild sobbed quietly. The spot on her shoulder where the blade had touched was flawless now, no mark left behind. It didn't sear the flesh—it burned the black magic within. No scars, but the pain must've been excruciating.
So who told you to mess with black magic?
Still prone, she wept for a good while, shoulders heaving. I walked to the desk, sank into the chair, and waited her out.
A sansa—some poor bastard's shrunken head—stared at me from the desk. Pissed off, I grabbed a nearby book and swatted it to the floor like a fly.
"Kyagyagyagyagya!!"
Suddenly, the book flapped open on its own, belting out a grotesque cackle.
"Goddamn it, for real!"
I hurled the book down and stomped it flat.
"Grkgrgrgrgrgh!"
"Ha... your workshop's always such a mood-killer."
Glancing over, Idwild was still facedown, those huge tits pillowing her as she sniffled.
Idwild was nuts. But not your run-of-the-mill crazy—she was a different breed. That black mage killed without a second thought. Not out of malice, just... needed materials for her research.
And she didn't even know it was wrong. Whatever her upbringing, it was fucked beyond repair. She wasn't normal.
To Idwild, murder was just sourcing lab rats. Like any mage gathering rare herbs.
That sansa on the floor? Probably from some poor soul she decapitated. They died clueless, reduced to a misfortune charm.
And on top of that, she had this unnatural fixation on me. A fellow saintess once said it was her seeking what she lacked in herself. When I asked what that was, even she didn't know.
Anyway... we'd teamed up briefly for her black magic know-how, then split. And here she was again.
She looked thinner than before. Though her tits hadn't shrunk a bit. Staring at her thighs and ass from behind as she lay there, the thought hit me. Been through hell somewhere? Her feet were filthy... no shoes...
"Idwild."
No response.
"Hey. Idi."
Only at the nickname did she slowly lift her head.
"Get up. Floor's hard."
"You... forgive me...?"
"Forgiveness my ass—put some clothes on first."
She straightened her waist into a kneel but didn't stand, twisting to face me with a lost look.
"What're you doing? I said get up."
"I... I'll just stay like this..."
I rose from the chair and approached. She shuffled her knees, turning her body defensively toward me.
"Stand up and get dressed."
I slipped a hand under her armpit to haul her up. She let out a short yelp.
"No...!"
Only then did I see why she'd resisted. A puddle had formed where she'd been sitting.
"Ah..."
Head drooping with her arm still in my grip, Idwild stared down. Droplets trickled from between her legs, plinking into the pool.
"Pissed yourself...?"
"Let go of my arm..."
I released her on reflex. She backed away, eyes on me, retreating to a dark corner beyond the candlelight.
The sword must've hurt like hell. She pissed a lot...
Staring at the circular puddle, I felt unexpectedly guilty.
"Sorry, but... c-can you... get my clothes...?"
I picked up her fallen robe without a word and approached. She was already untying her thong.
"Don't look..."
"It's too dark anyway."
"If it was bright... would you look...?"
"Jeez."
I turned my back. Moments later, robed Idwild crept up behind me, hands clasped shyly.
"What's behind your back."
"Panties..."
"...Never mind."
She fidgeted, thong hidden, stealing glances at me. Timid as she was, she'd never speak first...
"Why're you still here? Didn't you move somewhere else?"
"Nowhere as good... so I came back..."
"Where was that? Stay the hell away from there."
No joke—black magic workshops poisoned the whole area, turning it unlivable.
"Oh, and fuck, Idi. You."
"Sorry... I was wrong..."
"You even know what I'm mad about?"
Instead of answering, she eyed the fallen sansa. I followed her gaze to the creepy thing.
"You swore you'd never make those again."
Silence. I gripped the Holy Sword's hilt threateningly.
"Right...! I did! Sorry...! Forgive me!"
Startled, she dropped to her knees, hands clasped in plea, eyes darting fearfully to the sword.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
I hadn't meant to go that far, but whatever.
"Why keep peddling that crap?"
"Needed money... that's why..."
"You gambling or something? A mage short on cash?"
"No gigs coming in... no commissions..."
"No curses or hexes? Plenty of shady types begging for illegal shit."
"It's..."
Competition among black mages was fierce these days—even flesh-flaying rituals were hard to book. They needed salesmanship, connections. Staring at skull decor all day didn't attract clients.
So this gloomy big-titted cow couldn't drum up business, couldn't even afford shoes.
"Hate to say it, but... you kill easy. Don't you rob the corpses?"
"Just hobos and loners... I pick carefully..."
"How considerate."
That was her secret to dodging the capital's guards: targets no one would miss.
"You... came back 'cause you got evicted for back rent, right?"
"Yeah..."
"You poor thing."
"Worried about me...? Bertrand's so kind..."
We lapsed into awkward silence.
"Hey. Sell me something then."
"Wh-what...? I can make anything. Just say."
Her eyes lit up.
"Something to keep it hard longer... or help go all night..."
"Nah. Make me a small version of those gatekeeper statues for the entrance."
"Statues...? For what...?"
To guard the wagon lot, I explained. She pondered.
"Statues'd work great... but... wagon lot...?"
"Got one now. Can you do it?"
"Of course...! But..."
She trailed off, gauging me.
"Any chance... upfront payment...?"
"...How much."
"Hundred gold..."
I snorted. A hundred for one spell?
"No dice. I'm out."
"E-eighty...!"
I shoved her shoulder aside, heading for the stairs. She lunged, grabbing my sleeve.
"Fifty...!"
"Fifty gold? I'd just hire a guy."
I shook her off. She wrapped around my arm like a koala, those soft, heavy tits pressing in.
"Thirty... thirty's fine..."
I pried her loose and climbed.
"Bertrand...! Where...!"
She chased. I glanced back.
"Realized I could just take the one out front. Saves cash."
"Th-then do that...!"
"Cool. See ya."
"Twenty...! No, ten!"
At the entrance stood the statue, still bound by her spell. I hoisted it onto my shoulder. Idwild collapsed in despair.
"Five... please... I'm starving..."
Tears streamed silently. Her robe hem revealed soot-black feet. I set the statue down.
"Ten gold."
"Th-thank you...!"
She crawled over on her knees, clutching my pant leg. I sighed deeply.
"You eaten today?"