Fleshcrafting Technomancer

Stripped of life, the Archon's gored body collapsed on the ground. And in a twister of purple haze, the Wrathful Hunter vanished, leaving Kilian to cram all bodies, dead or alive, in the Hellforge.

First, he brain-wiped the living through the Experience Refiner, then stacked the unfortunate survivors and fallen as a pile, for later work.

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[Name: Kilian]

[Race: Human Fehl Mutant]

[Age: 18]

[Magus Rank: top-level Lesser Emissary]

[Battle Prowess: Quasi Archon]

[Dra Reserves: 1,470]

[Knowledge Points: 8,465]

[Implants: Lv. 1 Cyberkinesis Chip]

[Mutation: Stage II Eye of Fehl]

[Innate Abilities: Eye of Distortion, Eye of Revelation]

[Unique Disciplines: Lv. 3 Fleshcrafting\u003c\u003eLv. 3 Transmutation]

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Though killing only rewarded 30% of the victim's experience, the wealth of experience at an Archon's disposal ensured that the average specimen went for 5,000 kp. Unless, of course, they were one of those young upstarts of mighty houses or races who reached the threshold without much effort.

Alas, without a full wipe, Kilian only got broken and disordered memories from the fallen. The braindead 30, however, that was another story. Gathering all the intel, Kilian now knew how and why he faced this ambush. Through various processes, the Technocracy monitored the brain data of all members below Archon level, thereby ensuring even failed tasks would provide them with exhaustive information.

Only Archons and above stood beyond that process—their status ensuring that the Arch Senate wouldn't subject them to such indignity. By now, the Technocracy already received and processed the intel gleaned from the templars and emissaries—painting a better picture of Kilian's abilities.

Fortunately, templars and emissaries alike saw nothing beyond the first energy blast. With that intel alone, they didn't have the means to infer the existence of his Eye of Fehl. Otherwise, unfathomable consequences awaited.

Exiting the Hellforge, Kilian dragged his bloodied, naked form toward the two ladies, and while in other circumstances, the two might have taken the time to enjoy the fanservice. In this one, they had no such intent. And seeing her master torn by such ghastly wounds, Lena felt her heart clutched by an invisible hand.

"I need you," Kilian knelt before Jezebel and stated without an ounce of playfulness. Understanding his meaning, Jezebel swept his wounds with her amethyst gaze, and heaved a sigh of helplessness.

Typically, due to his quasi-fehl body, Kilian's regeneration abilities far outpaced that of the average man. He could also call on his Lv. 3 Fleshcrafting to mend his wounds. Alas, due to its roots in negativity, Dark Magic was one of those Disciplines whose wounds even fleshcrafters couldn't fix with ease.

With his current wounds and magical expenses, Kilian probably didn't have more than 10% of his dra left. Granted that the immediate vicinity hid no threat, but in such circumstances, they would never reach the Imperial Academy in time.

Only one option remained—drinking fehl blood! From the Compendium of Species, Kilian learned that the blood of some races carried many mysterious properties. Among them, the fehl blood undoubtedly was the most extraordinary. Useful only to non-fehls, not only could a cup of fehl blood instantly heal all wounds and restore strength, but it could also enhance the drinker's physique and boost their maximum Dra Reserves.

However, fehl blood carried two dangers. First, it was highly addictive. Second, it hastened mutations and the descent into fehl beast.

The higher the fehl's rank, the better the results. But at the same time, the stronger the drawbacks. Worse, for Kilian, a third consequence awaited. Any instability to his psyche would enable the fehl within his soul to vie for dominion. A situation whose consequences needed no discussion.

"But, what other option remains? Don't worry, I will tread carefully," Kilian declared, seeing through Jezebel's worries. "I know," she replied in kind, and with a subduing smile, stretched her right hand toward him.

Holding her wrist, Kilian brought his lips down Jezebel's hand, his human teeth elongated to turn into large fangs, fangs he sank into his first lady's wrist, draining her fehl blood like a babe would his milk.

However, when the first milliliter of blood dropped past his throat, even Kilian was forced to admit that he'd underestimated the potency of Jezebel's blood. Just one milliliter and he felt as if he now walked above clouds higher than mount Everest. His mind sank in an unprecedented high, and he almost lost control.

With transcendent willpower, Kilian locked the high in a tiny corner of his mind and focused on the blood-drinking. One, two, three...10, 11, 12... 100, 110, 120...150, 170, 200.

Milliliter upon milliliter, Kilian consumed Jezebel's red liquor. All along, she never winced or jerked in pain, merely maintaining her gentle, loving smile. At the 200th milliliter, Kilian stopped and pulled his fangs out of Jezebel's hand.

Phantasmal blows assailed him from all sides, his eyes went bloodshot, and he arched his head back—trembling to no end. But pulling in a deep breath, Kilian again suppressed the extreme high and sat crossed legged to sing his meditation chant—the Gospel of Pandemonium. Following five minutes of meditation, the mental side effects of Jezebel's blood subsided. At the same time, Kilian sank in his soul, summoned by a call he ignored up till now.

His eyes opened to the flaming world of his tormented soul. There, a tiny, blood-red creature high of 1.2 meters stood bound in chains. With an angular face, a curved nose, and large pointy ears, the creature would have looked like an imp were it not for its size and massive, bulging muscles.

Seeing it, Kilian couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Not because he looked down on the creature for its size or appearance, but due to an eldritch scent that seemed to swirl around its form—Ashera's scent.

"Yo, son of a bitch, you finally show your face! Damn, do you know how long I've been waiting for you? Fuck, how can you be so heartless? Five months! Five fucking months! I, this great imp lord, have been sealed in your goddamned soul for five fucking months with neither pussy nor booze! How is this viable?!" The imp lord bawled while thrashing against his chains.

And for the first time in many months, Kilian's eyes widened in a stupor!

How could one creature spout so many obscenities in three seconds? Was this truly a Fehl Noble? But as if triggered by the lack of reaction, the imp lord's eyes narrowed at Kilian, and he stuck out his massive tongue in a childish display.

"Heeee! What? Cat got your tongue? Faced with the divine presence of this great imp lord, you don't know what to say? No biggy, now that you're in the hands of Lord Urag, Mogul of Excess and Debauchery, your life is taking a turn for the better!

We're gonna make bitches out of the prudes, and cucks out of all mighty men!

Wherever we pass, wives will close their legs to their husbands, and sing our names!" Urag threw his head back and howled the words with matchless passion!

Instantly, even without backstory, Kilian realized why the so-called Lord Urag stood chained in his soul.