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The Tokyo summer was a suffocating embrace, a humid blanket woven with the relentless hum of cicadas and the ceaseless thrum of the Yamanote Line. Akira, his camera slung low, felt the city pressing in, its endless concrete arteries and glass facades mirroring the monochrome uniformity he increasingly found himself capturing. Each click of his shutter felt less like creation and more like documentation of an inescapable truth: beauty, true, raw beauty, was an endangered species in this sprawling urban wilderness. He yearned for something more, something beyond the symmetrical perfection of skyscrapers or the fleeting grace of Shibuya's anonymous crowds. His studio apartment, perched precariously on the fifth floor of a nondescript building in Shinjuku, offered little respite. The air conditioning whirred, barely combating the oppressive heat, and the glow of his monitor cast a sickly pallor over his face. He scrolled through images, each one a testament to his growing dissatisfaction.

The biting wind whipped down the narrow alley, a stark contrast to the humid New York summer night. Karen Paige, heels clicking a hurried rhythm against the grimy pavement, clutched her purse tighter. She'd taken a shortcut, a mistake she was now regretting. The alley's dim, flickering streetlight cast long, distorted shadows that danced with her growing unease. A sudden rustle from behind sent a shiver down her spine. Before she could turn, a rough hand clamped over her mouth and nose. A thick, cloying sweetness filled her nostrils, the acrid tang of chloroform. Her eyes widened in panic, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Shhh, little bird," a low, almost gentle voice murmured in her ear. "Just relax. It'll all be over soon." Karen struggled, her hands clawing at the hand covering her face, but the grip was like iron. The world began to blur, the edges of her vision darkening. The streetlight flickered, its pale glow shrinking into a distant pinpoint. Her breath hitched, ragged

Honeycomb Cactus (Species: Cactocereus melliflorus) The Honeycomb Cactus (Cactocereus melliflorus) is a striking and unusual species of cactus that belongs to the diverse and highly adaptive family Cactaceae. Native to arid regions of North and Central America, particularly in desert environments, the Honeycomb Cactus has evolved distinctive characteristics that make it stand out from its relatives. Its unique appearance and the sweet nectar it produces have earned it its “honeycomb” moniker, as the structure of its flowers and fruit resembles the iconic hexagonal pattern of a honeycomb. Description: The Honeycomb Cactus is a relatively slow-growing plant that features a visually stunning structure, with distinct, segmented columns that give the appearance of a honeycomb. This cactus has evolved to thrive in some of the driest conditions on Earth, with adaptations that help it conserve water while still producing nectar-rich flowers and edible fruits. Plant Structure: The cactus features tall, cylindrical stems that can reach up to 6–10 feet (1.8–3 meters) in height, depending on the growing conditions. These stems are thick and fleshy, designed to store water for long periods. The surface of the cactus is typically ribbed, with 8–12 vertical ribs running along the length of the stem. The ribs create a honeycomb-like texture, giving the plant its name. Spines: The Honeycomb Cactus is covered with small, sharp spines, typically in clusters along the ribs. These spines help protect the cactus from herbivores, but their size and arrangement vary among different individual plants. The spines are often light-colored or translucent, blending with the overall appearance of the cactus. Flowers: The flowers of the Honeycomb Cactus are one of its most fascinating features. They are large, funnel-shaped blossoms, often pink, white, or yellow in color, with delicate petals that open in the evening and close by morning. These nocturnal blooms are designed to attract nocturnal pollinators, particularly bats and moths. The flowers are known for producing copious amounts of nectar, which gives them their honey-like sweetness, making them a valuable resource for pollinators. Fruit: After pollination, the cactus produces small, round fruits that resemble miniature melons. The fruit is often green or yellow, ripening to a reddish or orange hue when fully mature. The flesh inside the fruit is soft and juicy, with a flavor that is a sweet mix of melon and pear, with a faint honey-like aftertaste. The fruit is edible, and in some regions, it is harvested and used in cooking or eaten fresh. Habitat and Growing Conditions: The Honeycomb Cactus thrives in hot, arid environments, particularly in desert and semi-desert regions. It is native to parts of the southwestern United States, Mexico, and Central America, where it is well-adapted to survive in extreme heat and limited water availability. Climate: The plant thrives in regions with intense heat, low humidity, and little rainfall. It is well-suited to desert environments, where temperatures can soar above 100°F (38°C) during the day but can dip to chilly temperatures at night. The cactus can withstand these extremes due to its specialized adaptations to store water. Soil: Like many cacti, the Honeycomb Cactus prefers well-draining, sandy or gravelly soils that don’t retain moisture for long periods. It can tolerate slightly alkaline soils but generally grows best in neutral to slightly acidic conditions. Watering: As a drought-tolerant cactus, the Honeycomb Cactus does not require frequent watering and can survive on very little moisture. However, during periods of heavy rainfall or if grown in cultivated environments, the cactus benefits from occasional watering. Overwatering can lead to root rot, so it is crucial to let the soil dry out between waterings. Reproduction: The Honeycomb Cactus reproduces through both seeds and vegetative propagation. Its flowers are pollinated by nocturnal creatures like bats, moths, and other insects that are attracted to the nectar. Pollination: The cactus’ nocturnal flowers are highly fragrant and produce large amounts of nectar, which are a major attractant for the pollinators. During the night, the pollinators visit the flowers, and in the process, they transfer pollen from one flower to another. This cross-pollination results in the development of fruit. Seed Production: After pollination, the cactus produces small, fleshy fruits that contain numerous seeds. Once ripe, the fruits are often consumed by animals or people, and the seeds are dispersed in their droppings or by human activity, allowing the plant to colonize new areas. Vegetative Propagation: In addition to seed-based reproduction, the Honeycomb Cactus can also propagate through cuttings. A healthy segment of the stem can be detached from the main plant, allowed to dry, and then planted in sandy soil to take root. Over time, this cutting will grow into a new cactus plant. Uses: The Honeycomb Cactus is highly valued in both agricultural and cultural contexts, particularly in the regions where it is native. Its edible fruit and nectar make it a resource for local communities and wildlife, while its distinctive appearance has made it a popular ornamental plant in gardens and landscapes. Culinary Use: The ripe fruit of the Honeycomb Cactus is sweet and refreshing, with a taste reminiscent of melon, pear, and honey. It is often eaten fresh, but it can also be used to make jams, jellies, sauces, or syrups. The nectar, though difficult to collect in large quantities, is also prized for its sweetness and is sometimes used in traditional cooking and beverages. Traditional Medicine: In some Native American cultures, the Honeycomb Cactus is used for its medicinal properties. The fruit is believed to have digestive and anti-inflammatory benefits, while the pulp may be applied topically to help soothe skin irritations or burns. The cactus is also considered a symbol of resilience, and its appearance in local folklore can represent endurance in harsh conditions. Ornamental Use: With its striking, honeycomb-like appearance and large, showy flowers, the Honeycomb Cactus is often cultivated as an ornamental plant in xeriscaped gardens and desert-themed landscapes. It is well-suited to dry gardens and adds a unique visual element with its unusual stems and vibrant blossoms. Trivia: Honeycomb Design: The pattern of ribs on the cactus stem is often compared to a honeycomb, leading to the plant's common name. This pattern is an adaptation that helps the cactus manage water retention and reduce surface area exposed to the harsh sun, contributing to its survival in desert environments. Ecological Role: The Honeycomb Cactus plays an important role in desert ecosystems, providing food and shelter for various desert-dwelling creatures. The flowers attract a range of pollinators, including bats and moths, which are vital to maintaining local biodiversity. Nectar and Pollination: Unlike many other plants that rely on daytime pollinators like bees, the Honeycomb Cactus takes advantage of nocturnal pollination by attracting bats, which have specialized adaptations for feeding on nectar from cacti and other desert plants. This nocturnal strategy reduces competition with daytime pollinators and ensures a steady flow of pollination at all hours. Conservation: The Honeycomb Cactus is not currently endangered but may face challenges in areas where habitat loss and climate change threaten desert ecosystems. However, due to its resilience and ability to thrive in harsh conditions, it is considered a relatively stable species in its native range. Conservation efforts are focused on preserving desert habitats and promoting sustainable harvesting practices to ensure the cactus continues to thrive. Additionally, the cactus is valued in the horticultural industry, and its cultivation in xeriscaped gardens can help raise awareness about water-efficient gardening techniques and the importance of desert plant conservation. The Honeycomb Cactus stands as a unique testament to nature’s ingenuity, blending beauty with practicality. Its water-saving adaptations, sweet fruit, and role in desert ecology make it an invaluable plant in both natural and human-made environments. Whether cherished for its ornamental value or for its sweet, edible fruits, this cactus is a remarkable example of how life can thrive even in the harshest climates.

Warning, no fetish content, just talking animals. The humid air of R.A.S. Headquarters felt unusually heavy. Above the vast world map, the Chairman’s silhouette was sharp against the globe’s soft glow. Bianca sat poised, her elegant fur pristine, her heart a delicate balance of professional readiness and unfamiliar trepidation. “Agent Bianca,” the Chairman began, his voice a low rumble from behind the desk, “we have received a distress signal of the gravest urgency from our network in Australia.” Bianca nodded, her blue eyes fixed on him. “The child, sir?” “Emily Rilke,” the Chairman confirmed. “Daughter of Dr. Alistair Rilke, a brilliant conservationist who was on the verge of exposing a major illegal trafficking ring operating deep within the Outback. Dr. Rilke is… incapacitated. Emily has been taken by the ringleader, a man known as Silas Croft.” Bianca felt a familiar surge of purpose. This was what the Rescue Aid Society was for. “And Agent Bernard? Has he been briefed?” The Chairman sighed, a sound like tired parchment. “This is where our predicament deepens, Agent. A simultaneous crisis has erupted in the Amazon basin – a vital habitat under imminent threat. Agent Bernard, with his unique expertise in… navigating complex social dynamics, we felt, was best suited to lead that operation.” Bianca blinked. Alone? Australia? The Outback? It was a land she knew only from reports and the brief, intense encounter with McLeach. A land of vast, untamed wilderness, unlike anything she had ever navigated without her steady, reliable partner. She swallowed. “Alone, sir?” “We understand this is unorthodox,” the Chairman said gently. “But your record, Agent Bianca, is impeccable. Your resourcefulness, your courage… we have every faith. Our Australian contacts will assist, of course, but the initial phase, the insertion and locating Agent Jake, our primary Outback contact… that will fall to you.” Agent Jake. The name conjured images of daring, of a mouse as wild and unpredictable as the land itself. Bianca had heard the stories. He wasn't standard R.A.S. protocol; he was a force of nature, a legend of the sun-scorched earth. Taking a deep breath, Bianca straightened. This was her mission. Hers alone. “I accept, sir.” The flight via albatross was long and arduous, even for the most seasoned agents. Bianca, usually sharing the cramped space and hushed strategizing with Bernard, felt the solitude press in. Below, the familiar cityscape gave way to ocean, then eventually, the endless, dusty expanse of the Australian continent. Landing near a remote, sun-baked airstrip felt less like arrival and more like being deposited on another planet. The heat was immediate, punishing. The air shimmered above the cracked earth. There were strange, raucous bird calls she didn't recognize, insect sounds that buzzed with an unnerving intensity. Her R.A.S. issue pack felt heavier than usual. Inside were standard gadgets: a mini-grappling hook, retractable wire, code key, emergency rations. But her greatest asset – Bernard’s cautious planning, his quiet strength, his uncanny ability to just be there – was miles away. Her first task: locate the designated contact point, a specific, ancient Boab tree marked on her map. The journey proved more challenging than anticipated. The scale of the landscape was deceptive. What looked like a short distance was an exhausting trek under the relentless sun. She stumbled over roots, dodged scuttling insects larger than her paw, and felt a prickle of unease at every rustle in the dry grass. Panic, cool and sharp, threatened to break through her professional calm. She was a city mouse, trained for urban espionage, for navigating sewers and ventilation shafts, for delicate infiltration. This vast, open space offered no cover, no familiar routes. Every shadow looked like a predator. She forced herself to stop, to breathe, to access her training. Analyze the situation. Read the terrain. Use what resources she had. She checked her compass, re-oriented her map, and pushed forward, focusing on the singular goal: finding Emily. Hours later, dusty and parched, she finally reached the colossal Boab tree. Its trunk was immense, its branches gnarled and ancient. There was a small, almost invisible marker etched into the bark – the R.A.S. symbol. Relief washed over her, quickly followed by disappointment. No sign of anyone. She waited, checking her small R.A.S. timepiece. The sun began to dip, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples. Still alone. Had the contact missed her? Had something happened to them? Was she in the wrong place? Doubt gnawed at her. As true darkness fell, bringing with it a chorus of alien night sounds, panic threatened again. She huddled near the base of the tree, trying to make herself small. She missed Bernard so fiercely it was a physical ache. He would know what to do. He would have anticipated this delay. He would make a sensible plan. She felt utterly, terrifyingly vulnerable. She spent a fitful night, starting at every sound, her senses on high alert. By dawn, she was bone-tired but resolute. She couldn't afford to wait. She needed information. She needed to find Jake. Over the next few days, Bianca ventured cautiously from the Boab tree, using her R.A.S. training to interrogate the landscape – looking for signs, tracks, any hint of activity. She interacted with small, skittish local creatures, earning their trust with cautious introductions and demonstrating her non-threatening nature. Slowly, whispers began to emerge. Not of R.A.S. contacts, but of a mouse. A sharp, quick mouse who knew the desert better than anyone. A mouse who wasn't afraid of anything. A mouse who helped animals in trouble. The stories were fragmented, sometimes contradictory, painting a picture of a near-mythical figure. Jake. He was said to range far and wide. Uncatchable. Legend had it he navigated by the stars, drank from hidden springs, and could disappear into the dust. Finding him felt like trying to catch the wind. Bianca decided she couldn't wait for him; she had to seek him out. Using the fragmented information she gathered, she tried to piece together his possible movements, heading towards an area where several stories placed him recently – near a treacherous gorge known as Serpent’s Tooth. The journey was harrowing. She narrowly avoided a thorny bush that could have impaled her, scrambled across scorching rocks, and felt the chilling presence of larger predators she couldn't even see. Her elegant suit was ripped and stained, her paws sore. But with each step, she felt a hardening within her. Fear was still a cold knot in her stomach, but determination was a hotter, stronger force. She was doing this. Alone. For Emily. She reached Serpent’s Tooth Gorge just as the midday sun turned it into a furnace. The air vibrated with heat. She found a sliver of shade under a rock overhang and scanned the treacherous slopes. And then she saw him. He moved with an effortless grace she hadn't thought possible for a mouse in this terrain. Lean, dusty, with a confident swagger even at a distance. He wore his cork-rimmed hat at a jaunty angle. It was Jake. He seemed to appear from nowhere, hopping lightly over rocks. Bianca, forgetting her exhaustion, scrambled out from her hiding spot. “Mr. Jake!” she called, her voice hoarse but clear. He froze, instantly alert. His hand instinctively went to a small boomerang tucked into his belt. His eyes, sharp and assessing, narrowed. He looked utterly unimpressed, maybe even annoyed, by the sight of a dusty, slightly dishevelled mouse in a tattered suit calling his name in the middle of nowhere. “Well, stone the crows,” Jake drawled, slowly approaching, his eyes never leaving her. “Didn’t expect to see a fancy bit o’ fluff all the way out here. Lost, are ya?” Bianca straightened her shoulders, summoning every ounce of R.A.S. decorum. “Agent Bianca, of the Rescue Aid Society. I believe our headquarters reached out to you regarding a critical mission.” Jake stopped a few feet away, tilting his head. He circled her slowly, examining her from paw to ear. “R.A.S., eh? Heard whispers. Thought they were just tall tales.” He snorted softly. “And they sent… you? All by your lonesome?” His skepticism stung. Bianca held her ground. “Circumstances necessitated a solo deployment. Agent Bernard is on a vital mission elsewhere. Emily Rilke is in grave danger. Silas Croft has her.” Jake’s casual demeanour dropped instantly. His eyes sharpened further. “Croft? That low-down snake. Heard he’s been stirring up trouble, pushing folks off their land, sniffin’ around places he shouldn’t.” He looked at her again, this time with grudging respect. “You came after Croft? By yourself?” “I did,” Bianca confirmed, feeling a flicker of pride. “I need your help, Mr. Jake. You know this land. You know the dangers. Croft’s hideout is somewhere in this vicinity, according to Dr. Rilke’s last communication before he vanished. I need you to help me find it. And find Emily.” Jake was silent for a moment, his gaze scanning the distance, then returning to Bianca. He saw the genuine urgency in her eyes, the grit beneath the veneer of her polished training. He also saw, perhaps, a reflection of his own independent spirit, albeit from a vastly different world. “Alright, alright, settle down, Agent Fancy-Paws,” Jake said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Silas Croft, eh? And a kid? That changes things. And Bernard’s tied up? Blimey. Looks like it's just you and me, then.” He extended a paw. “Jake. And yeah, I reckon I know this land better than the back of my own paw. Let’s go track down a villain.” A wave of relief, so potent it almost buckled her knees, surged through Bianca. She took his paw, a firm, dusty clasp. “Thank you, Mr. Jake.” “Just Jake,” he corrected. “And don’t mention it. Always up for sticking it to blokes like Croft.” He turned, already scanning the horizon. “Alright, Agent Bianca. Where do we start? You got any idea where Croft dragged the kid?” Bianca pulled out her map and Dr. Rilke's last hastily scribbled notes. Working with Jake was a different experience than with Bernard. There was no quiet consensus, no meticulous step-by-step planning. Jake was instinctive, reacting to the environment, reading signs she couldn't even perceive. He moved quickly, sometimes leaving her scrambling to keep up, but he was also fiercely protective, warning her of dangers, guiding her through treacherous paths. He taught her to listen to the buzz of the insects, the calls of the birds, the subtle shifts in the wind. He showed her how to identify different tracks in the dust, distinguishing between native animals and the heavy boots of Croft's men. Her R.A.S. gadgets were useful, but Jake's innate knowledge and connection to the land were invaluable. They followed a trail only Jake could discern, a faint pattern of disturbance leading deeper into a remote canyon. They found evidence of a makeshift camp, discarded supplies, and finally, the heavy, unmistakable tracks leading towards a hidden, abandoned mine entrance. “Bingo,” Jake whispered, his voice tight. “Croft’s always liked places off the beaten track. Nasty business usually goes down underground.” Infiltrating the mine was the culmination of their disparate skills. Bianca used her grappling hook to scale a sheer rock face guarding the entrance. Inside, her miniature flashlight cut through the oppressive darkness and dust. Jake, moving like a phantom, scouted ahead, his keen senses picking up sounds and vibrations far sooner than Bianca could. They moved through the disused tunnels, the air stale and heavy. The sound of their own tiny heartbeats seemed amplified in the silence. They avoided tripwires Jake spotted at the last second and navigated crumbling passages. Finally, they heard voices ahead – gruff, human, and menacing. And fainter, a child’s whimper. Emily. Working together with a silent understanding forged by their shared peril, they devised a plan. Bianca used a small, mirrored device to get a look around the corner. Croft and two of his thugs were in a larger cavern, illuminated by a single lantern. Emily, looking frightened but unharmed, was huddled in a corner, guarded loosely by one man. Bianca created a diversion, using a small, loud sonic gadget to mimic the sound of a rockslide nearby, drawing the thugs' attention. As they were distracted, Jake sprang into action, moving with lightning speed. He used his boomerang to disable the lantern, plunging the cavern into darkness, then darted towards Emily, a small, sharp stone in his paw ready to cut any restraints. Bianca, in the chaos, scrambled towards Croft. This wasn't part of the plan, but she saw her chance. Using her retractable wire, she expertly tripped the villain just as he lunged for the fallen lantern. He went down with a roar, his head hitting the rocky floor with a thud. In the confusion, Jake reached Emily, quickly cutting a rope that tethered her to a mining cart. “This way, kiddo! Fast as you can!” They didn’t stop to engage the thugs. Their mission was rescue. As the thugs fumbled in the dark, Bianca and Jake guided Emily back through the tunnels, their knowledge of the route now crucial. Emily, brave despite her fear, followed their instructions perfectly. They emerged back into the blinding Australian sunlight, gulping the fresh air. They were battered and exhausted, but they had Emily. Jake led them to a pre-arranged emergency signal point – a specific rock formation where he knew R.A.S. contacts could eventually find them or where he could signal higher authorities. Sitting under the vast, clear sky as they waited, Emily safe beside them, Bianca looked at Jake. “We did it,” she said softly. Jake grinned, wiping dust from his brow. “Nah, you did it, Agent. I just helped show you the way. You’re a tough cookie, for a city mouse. Tripping Croft like that… pretty slick.” Bianca felt a warmth bloom in her chest. “And you, Mr. Jake, are an extraordinary partner. I couldn't have done it without you.” He shrugged, a genuine, self-effacing movement. “Guess we make a decent team, huh? The fancy spy and the bush rat.” Later, after Emily was safely taken into the care of the Australian R.A.S. network and Silas Croft was being rounded up by local authorities alerted by Jake's signal, Bianca stood with Jake, preparing for her long journey home. “You know,” Jake said, leaning against the Boab tree where she had first waited alone, “I figured you’d be high-tailed it back to wherever you came from the minute things got rough. But you stuck it out. Came looking for me. Faced down Croft. You got grit, Agent Bianca.” Bianca smiled, a genuine, tired smile. “One finds reserves one didn’t know one had, I suppose. Especially when the stakes are so high.” She paused. “It was difficult, Mr. Jake. Being alone. The Outback is… formidable.” “Yeah, she can be,” Jake agreed, looking out at the endless horizon. “But she’s honest. And she makes ya tough, if you let her.” He turned back to her. “You did good, Agent. Really good.” “Thank you, Jake,” she said, using his first name naturally this time. “Perhaps our paths will cross again. Perhaps the R.A.S. could use an agent with your unique skills more formally?” Jake chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, not for me. Too much paperwork, too many meetings. I like my space. But if you ever need a guide in this neck of the woods… send up a flare. I might just see it.” As the albatross arrived to carry her back, Bianca felt changed. She had faced the unknown, relied solely on herself, and succeeded. She had proven her capabilities not just to the R.A.S., but to herself. The vast, lonely Outback had pushed her to her limits and shown her a strength she hadn't fully recognized. She was still the elegant, determined Agent Bianca, but now, she carried the dust of the Australian wilderness on her paws, a quiet reminder of the mission she completed, alone, under the wide, indifferent sky, before finding the most unlikely and effective partner she could have imagined. She returned not just victorious, but fundamentally, undeniably, stronger. And she knew, with quiet certainty, that even without Bernard by her side, she could face whatever the world threw at her.

- M/F - Foot Fetish - Domination/Humiliation - Sweaty/Smelly - Violence - Forced The Night had finally arrived. A phenomenon that occurs every month, bringing immortal monsters called Voids. These monsters attack humans caught within the Hollow Night, feeding on a power known as EXS. Anyone who survives the Voids' attack becomes an In-Birth, gaining the ability to control EXS. The Manifestation, better known as EXS, is the source of an In-Birth's power and what the Voids seek to consume. It is a form of energy present in all earthly matter, and is described as "the source of all things." Overuse of EXS abilities or gathering large amounts of EXS within the Void itself, however, can cause an In-Birth to lose itself and begin to have its true self replaced by some sort of "alternative self." This "alternate self" begins to emerge in personality traits such as an increased bloodlust or fits of rage. Soon, these traits completely overwhelm an In-Birth and begin to turn into a Void. That alone would sum up the reason for the great clash that was taking place within that Night. Commonly, In-Births enter the Night to battle, many even affiliating with organizations in order to gain an advantage during this phenomenon, increasing their powers and chances of surviving another Night. And today, members of the two most feared organizations that dominate the Night met; Gordeau of Amnesia and Erika Wagner of Licht Kreis. These organizations not only had a natural rivalry through their interests, but also these two members have unfinished business, being one of Gordeau's greatest motivations for joining the Night. Wagner, the "Flame Tyrant", killed a close friend of Gordeau's in one of these Nights. Roger ended up turning into a Void, and Gordeau was unable to put him out of his misery, regretting having put Roger into these affairs in the first place. At that moment, Wagner appeared and did what Gordeau didn't have the courage to do, piercing Roger with her blade, engulfing him in merciless flames that turned him to ashes. Gordeau could never forgive himself for having hesitated at that all-important moment. He was supposed to be the person responsible for ending his friend, soon his resentments fell on Wagner, seeking revenge even if it would lead to his own death. On the narrow and empty street, all the signs glowed vividly as if everything was functioning normally; hotels, stores, everything. However, only two people could be seen in the middle of the scene. A young girl with blond hair styled into two large spiral curls, which danced in the air along with the flames rising from her sword as she made refined, yet incessant violent attacks against Gordeau; a tall and muscular man, with purple eyes and black, spiky hair with a bang that covers his right eye, which gives off a mysterious, purple glow. Great shock waves surged every time their attacks connected, exposing the seriousness of each of them with this duel. Both of them already had small superficial cuts on their bodies, and the first signs of fatigue were beginning to appear. It was not known how long they had been fighting, but neither of them had any intention of losing. But surprisingly, Gordeau's furious thrusts managed to bring one of Wagner's knees to the ground, causing her to lose her composure for a second. In that short distance, a shadow appeared above Wagner as Gordeau lifted one leg to bring the sole of his boot up to her head. In reflex, she was able to use her left arm to fend off the man's stomp that crashed violently against the shield on her forearm. Cracks were beginning to appear slightly in the concrete beneath her as Gordeau's foot remained glued to her shield, preventing her from using that arm. The amount of blunt force had been enough to make her clench her teeth. In an attempt to withstand that pressure, all Wagner could do was remain in that position. Any uncalculated movement would send her to the ground completely. "Losing your rhythm? You're really going to die if this continues." The man spoke in a serious tone, not ceasing the force on his foot for a second. Her crimson eyes boiled with hatred upon hearing those words, but she was forced to ignore it. She could no longer feel her arm, and it was slowly being pushed by Gordeau, until it reached its limit. Just when she thought she could no longer stand in that position, Gordeau moved his foot away for a second, only to kick Wagner hard enough to send her rolling for several meters before stopping face down on the ground. Wagner immediately tried to get up, but was stopped with the pressure of Gordeau's foot now against her back, pinning her to the ground before she was able to react. "Don't even bother getting up, that's as far as you're going to go." Gordeau stated coldly, twisting his foot slowly behind Wagner's back, making the girl squirm in pain a bit, "Actually, I'm glad I was able to find you before you got to Chaos and Hilda. Judging by the hard time you gave me, you'd probably be able to kill them." "...Ghhk! That's impossible! To be forced against the ground like that by an insolent brute..." Wagner muttered angrily, confused by the outcome of the battle. "I'm sure it must be quite a shock. You must be used to always winning, always standing above your enemies. Should I be honored to be the first person who has ever managed to step on you like a rug?" Gordeau asked, seeming to be more calm than angry now. "How absurd. I can still fight!" Wagner exclaimed, extending her direct hand to the fallen sword near her. "If you say so..." Gordeau said as he calmly removed his foot from Wagner's back and stepped over her hand before it could reach the sword. The sole of his boot settled gently over her hand, only preventing her from continuing her action. "Cretin!" Wagner cursed, staring with eyes filled with anger while the man just stood there, stoic, imposing. "Hm? If you think you still have the strength to keep fighting, it should be easy to push my foot away, right? Or better yet, why don't you try standing up again?" Determined to do just that now that the man's foot was no longer on her back, her heart ironically froze as she realized that her body was not responding properly-her left arm was numb from holding Gordeau's previous attack earlier, her legs seemed only to tremble with the effort she was putting into trying to stand up, and her other arm was being immobilized. For the first time she felt helpless in a battle in the Night. As much as her pride was too immense to admit that she was defeated, unfortunately for her, reality offered cruel facts about her current situation. "Satisfied now? You've lost. The only thing left for you to do is to await your death." Gordeau said, holding the scythe resting on his shoulder tighter. Meanwhile, Wagner could no longer even hear what the man before her was saying. Her mind was going through a deep denial process, questioning her destiny to bring justice with her blade. "So...is this how the curtains are going to close for me?" Wagner mentally asked herself, staring at the boots in his field of vision before closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable. Noticing that Wagner gave up, Gordeau couldn't help but smile for a moment. He had waited a long time for this moment, and now that it was all happening before him, something inside him stopped him from taking the shortest route. Instead of raising his scythe, he moved the foot that was immobilizing Wagner's hand away, and without using his hands, Gordeau slid his right foot out of his boot. It was not even necessary for him to open the zipper to slide his foot out of the boot; the vast amount of time he spent wearing them before entering the Night could already be easily felt by him with every step he took. The faithful insole that cushioned the soles of his feet remained firm, but they began to take on a spongy texture due to the amount of sweat that dried on them each time. So as soon as his foot was removed from that boot, the thin and almost imperceptible layer of sweat covering his foot made it clear how easy he had it to do this, especially by the surprising absence of sock covering his foot. Visibly pleased to have at least one of his feet free on this cold wind, the man wiggled his toes for a second, sighing quietly to himself. Noticing that Wagner remained closed-eyed and motionless, he brought his bare foot up to the girl's face; flexing his tanned foot gently without touching her face, Gordeau smiled as he could see the trace of confusion forcing a frown onto Wagner's face. It really was confusing to her. The moment she closed her eyes, the only thing she expected to feel was a stabbing pain from Gordeau's scythe in her body. Instead, a strange wave of heat could be felt not far from her face as steamy, dense air entered her nostrils, bringing a scent that she had never smelled before in her life. It was undoubtedly unpleasant, disturbing her senses in a very specific way as if it reminded her of something dirty and sweaty. Disturbed that she was already smelling that unusual odor, Wagner forced herself to open her eyes once more, tilting her face so that she could see what was above her. She expected to see the face of her enemy staring back at her, but all she was able to see was a wide wall of skin obscuring her vision. The features immediately made her understand that it was a foot, yet she still couldn't believe that something as repulsive as someone else's foot was so close to her face like that. That foot was easily able to cover her face, which made that view intimidating. The sole had a dark reddish tinge at the pressure points, resembling the color of a full-bodied red wine while the arch of his foot had a slightly lighter shade. All five toes of his foot wiggled in a manner agonizing to watch, with his big toe serving as a reference for the other toes that followed in descending order. However, the most troublesome feature for Wagner at that instant was the tiny beads of sweat that seemed to drip down the sides of his foot and wanted to rain down on her face. The sole was in apparent signs of perspiration, and the masculine stench that accompanied the air around that foot only confirmed the worrisome state that foot was in. "What is the meaning of this? I died and ended up in hell?" Wagner asked in genuine surprise, receiving a stomp in response that forced one side of his cheek against the cold concrete of the street and the other against the hot, humid surface of the sole of Gordeau's foot. "Who knew there was a sense of humor in you! But no, a quick death would not satisfy me." "Fool! Remove that filthy foot of yours from me this instant! I will not tolerate such insolence!" "You sealed that fate the moment you bowed your head and acknowledged that you were defeated. The only ones who can decide anything are the winners... what happens to your life from now on is up to me alone. I'm sure you also agree with that philosophy in battle." Gordeau said, keeping his foot planted over the girl's face holding her in place as she tried to free herself from that humiliating prison. The words fell on her like huge hailstones. The frustration of being defeated, of being held hostage at the feet of her enemy like that. She cursed her body for not being able to muster the strength to do anything meaningful, even though deep down she knew it would be futile to try to run in those conditions; Gordeau clearly appeared to have more stamina than she did, soon she would be sent crashing to the ground again even if she managed to run. Still, the fact that she could only shiver beneath that man's foot as she was forced to feel the hot, stuffy, pungent stench of male pheromones bombarding her senses and intoxicating her nerve endings with each inhale forced into her nostrils. "...You are being immature and unfair!" the words came out of Wagner's mouth with a clear and intense anger, "Deep down, you feel grateful that someone else took your place when it was time to kill him. Your motive for seeking revenge was empty from the start, and yet—" Before she could finish, Gordeau stomped a little harder on her face, stopping her from continuing. "Listening to you talk about it rubs me the wrong way. I wouldn't push my luck if I were you, not when my foot is in such a perfect position to crush your head." Gordeau warned with an acid expression, his tone of voice evidencing the annoyance he was feeling at her touching on this delicate topic as he applied more force with his foot, causing Wagner to squirm slightly beneath him, "But what fun would it be to finish you off so quickly? After all the trouble I went through to find you and bring you down, the least you could do is entertain this lonely guy a little longer, am I right?" As he finished saying this, Gordeau ceased the pressure on the side of Wagner's face, allowing her to breathe again the intense fumes that were destabilizing the clean air around her. "Miserable. I never thought I would wish to annihilate someone as much as I do now! At least get that disgusting foot off my face! Did you step in a puddle before you came here? It can't be humanly possible for someone's foot to get so moist like that... how disgusting..." Wagner retorted in anger, hating that he was feeling the man's constant perspiration being flattened against one side of his face. "Wow, that was harsh. Don't tell me you've never experienced something like that on your body. As far as I know, it's perfectly normal to sweat." Gordeau commented amusedly, beginning to find it delightful to tease the blonde below him. "Don't make me laugh. If my feet were in the same condition as yours are now, I wouldn't know whether to go to a hospital or throw them in the trash, you filthy pig." "You really know how to hurt a guy's feelings, that's for sure. Anyway, that makes things more interesting! You seem pretty bothered by my natural odor, but my foot isn't even that close to your nose... try taking a good whiff just to be sure!" Gordeau continued, pushing one side of the girl's shoulder with his foot to turn her face up, not taking long to cover her entire face with the same foot he had forced against her cheek a second ago. The mass of oddly soft and warm texture of the sole of the man's foot molded itself to her face, sticking her chin to his heel, her nose and mouth to the arch of his foot, and her eyes to the wide ball of his foot. The heavy gust of a potent, steamy male stench descended into her nostrils with even more vigor than before, sending a burning sensation throughout the girl's body from such humiliation. To her, it was as if the inside of her body was being corrupted with every sniff she was forced to take. Trying to turn her face away from that dangerous sweaty surface, Gordeau just laughed softly at Wagner's desperate effort, and began to rub the sole of his foot from top to bottom repeatedly like a pendulum, controlling the girl's face so that she constantly had her nose and lips glued to the sole of his foot, constantly inhaling his natural musk. All this commotion was really paying off for Gordeau. Even with all his time working in Amnesia and as a mercenary, for him it had never been so much fun to see a target defeated like that. As much as he felt a small tinge of truth in Wagner's remark, he still felt that she deserved to pay for what she did, and watching her squirm like a cockroach trapped under his foot was being a great way to start. Eventually, Gordeau ceased those quick movements with his foot to bring all five of his toes up to Wagner's little nose. With the base of his toes sealing the girl's two nostrils, his toes wrapped around her nose like the tentacles of a Kraken on a pirate ship, covering her nose completely and consequently forcing her to feel the intensity of his scent folded into that part that seemed to emanate an even stronger, muffled heat. Being forced to stay in that position, her ruby-colored eyes stared at the smug face of the man above with an impressive bloodlust. If Gordeau wasn't sure he had total control over her, even he would be intimidated by that alone. However, seeing this only made him more tempted to provoke her, to try to find out what the limit of her patience would be, how hard it would be to break her spirit. "Good thing you can't shoot lasers through your eyes! Looks like you still have energy left over, so you better use all this to cool my feet with those breezes coming in and out of your nose." Gordeau stated exposing his teeth with a wide grin, pinching the girl's nose between his first two digits. The putrid smell of dirty sweat that was produced in the confines of Gordeau's tight boot was already beginning to make her dizzy, especially with all the jerky movements happening over her face. The urge to hurl insults was strong, but Wagner quickly deemed it smarter to keep her mouth shut, fearing she might end up with some sweat dripping from her mouth in the process. His only response to the man's abuse was to remain with his troubled eyes staring at him. Every sharp gasp of air that was forced through her nostrils made her feel even more upset to be in those circumstances; seeing that that man was clearly enjoying this vexing moment made her blood boil. Of all the possibilities presented to her at the outcome of a battle, serving as a rag for someone else to dry their feet was not one of them. With the amount of sweat sticking to her skin, the acrid, intense stench that constantly punished her lungs, and the friction of the soles of her feet occasionally being rubbed against her face made her consider death a good alternative, but unfortunately for her, Gordeau didn't plan on doing anything of the sort anytime soon. "Don't pass out on me now, I'm not done with you!" Gordeau exclaimed cheerfully, causing Wagner's dizzy eyes to open wide with his next move. It took less than a second. In a quick, precise movement, the man dragged his foot down slightly on the girl's face, forcing his toes between her lips and managing to penetrate them more easily than expected. He didn't know if Wagner's guard was so low or if she simply hadn't expected him to be capable of this, but the startled expression on her face made it clear that she hadn't seen it coming either. The only toes that entered her mouth were the first toes, and they quickly found their way to her tongue, exchanging textures and liquids as soon as those sweaty toes began to be bathed in Wagner's saliva. Repulsive, was the only thing that went through Wagner's mind as soon as that startlingly salty flavor began to flow down her throat like a river of magma. However, it didn't take long for Gordeau to feel a stinging pain that made him stare for a second. Raising his foot slightly, Wagner's head followed the movement due to her teeth digging into the top and bottom of his toes. If she had a little more strength left in her body, she would probably be able to make the man bleed, but for now, her bite didn't seem to hurt any more than that of a small dog. "Resisting like that when you're at a disadvantage is not so smart, missy. I could just do this and..." Gordeau said, taking advantage of the fact that his foot was already slightly elevated to stomp with it, causing the girl's head to crash against the concrete with moderate force, immediately feeling the pain in his foot disappear, "See? So simple." "D... Damn you!" The words muffled by her toes escaped from inside Wagner's mouth as she felt her consciousness slowly going away. "On second thought, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you took a nap. We both know you won't cooperate, so I think I'll settle for just bathing my toes for now." As he said this, the man's toes went back to exploring the moist cavern that was the girl's mouth, occasionally trapping her inexpressive tongue between his toes and forcing her to taste the sharp taste of salt and the unpleasant bitterness that came at the end. She was beginning to feel like crying, but she also refused with all her might to provide any more entertainment to her enemy. In this slow, excruciating way, Wagner spent the last seconds of that Night; feeling the taste of another person filling her mouth in pure degradation in conjunction with the distinct stench of standing odor that continued to contaminate the oxygen around her. The disgusting sensation of having a foot inside her mouth was the only thing present in her mind before her eyes closed. — When she opened her eyes again, she wished that everything that had happened had just been a very specific nightmare. Her vision was blurry at first, and the blinding lighting around her made it even harder to get used to. As she tried to move, she realized that her arms and legs seemed to be bound tightly, so that she could not even try to use her strength. When her vision finally began to adjust, she checked her surroundings once more, noticing that there was something lying next to her head, something with a very familiar smell. It took a moment for her to identify that it was the two boots of the man she had faced. Grimacing, Wagner rolled away from those stinky boots before sitting up and inspecting the place more closely, and that's when their eyes met that same man, except he wasn't dressed the way she remembered. He was wearing a black shirt with rolled up sleeves, a dark grey waistcoat and trousers and light grey tie while he seemed to be drying some glasses on the counter with a relaxed expression. "I see you're finally awake." Gordeau spoke soothingly, still focused on what he was doing. "Explain yourself." "What exactly? You want to know why I haven't killed you yet? Who knows. Maybe I just want to keep you alive a little longer to humiliate you some more, yesterday I could only use your tongue to wipe my toes, so I thought it would be more fun if you did the full job." As those words entered Wagner's ear, a blush of embarrassment formed on her face in conjunction with her furious piercing gaze. Unfortunately, it had all happened for real. She really was defeated and forced to endure the strange punishments of this man who holds a grudge against her. Feeling humiliated just remembering the horrible scent and the sticky sweat dirtying her hair, face and burning her taste buds, she sighed and looked calmer at the man. "Are you an idiot? Why did you bring me to a public place like this?" Wagner questioned, curious to see that the establishment was empty even though it appeared to be working. "The only two customers I have are members of Amnesia. Let's just say a lot of people are afraid to walk into a bar for a drink and run into Paradox." The man replied with a funny air in his tone of voice. "Tch." The girl clicked her tongue as she realized she was stuck in enemy territory, "Whatever. Give me the strongest drink you have. The more alcohol the better." Arching an eyebrow, Gordeau stared at the girl in silence for a few seconds before answering, "Wait... aren't you still in high school? Wouldn't a juice be better?" "Just do it. Quick." Wagner grumbled. The authority present in her voice made Gordeau wonder if she was in her right mind to think she was in a position to make demands. However, the man decided to give in to the request, putting only a small, harmless shot into a glass before leaving the counter and walking over to her. As soon as he positioned the glass on her lips, instead of swallowing the drink, the girl began to use the liquid as a mouthwash before spitting it all out. "...Finally. Imagining that the germs from your disgusting foot could be in my mouth was making me distressed." "Well, like I said, I intend to make you finish what we started, so I guess you'll need another shot later." Gordeau said with an ominous grin before sitting down on the bench nearest them, pointing to his sleek dress shoes. "...Why do you insist on that? Haven't you had enough fun?" Wagner questioned irritated to see that Gordeau ignored her for a few seconds to untie and remove his shoes. Exhaling a long sigh of comfort, the man pushed his shoes aside before settling both feet on the floor, feeling even more relieved to feel the slightly icy tile clashing with his scalding soles. The odor that escaped the shoes and emanated strongly from those feet were not so different from what she had been forced to inhale recently; pure definition of masculine musk. The kind of stench one would expect to smell when opening some athlete's laundry bag in the gym, except that the concentration of that sweaty smell was derived solely from that man's feet. "Ugh, you're not even wearing socks. Do you know how unsanitary that is? The only traces of decency I can tell is that your nails are trimmed and your feet don't have a forest on them, surprising considering you're a troglodyte. That's only the bare minimum anyway." "Yeah, I'll certainly be wearing socks from now on. They would be perfect for shutting your mouth right now, but I think we'll stick to classic and use my foot for this. Come here!" Gordeau commanded with a nod of his index finger as he flexed his toes happily. At this, Wagner stepped back for a moment, feeling like throwing up at the thought of getting close to those feet to put his tongue on them. She could tell just by looking at them that they were just as sweaty as yesterday, maybe even worse now. Noticing that the girl remained petrified, Gordeau sighed in disappointment as he began to consider that he would have to force himself on her again, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. They both looked surprised for a second, but Gordeau's expression became more relaxed as soon as he saw that it was Hilda, the head of Amnesia. Gordeau answered the phone and remained silent listening for a few seconds before speaking again. "Mhm. Oh, if I met any members of the Licht Kreis in the Night? Actually-" Gordeau started to say, almost coming to consider telling for real, but paused as soon as he saw Wagner start crawling towards him like a worm. The sudden desperation on her face puzzled him. Even more so when he saw the girl begin to scrape her tongue timidly across the top of his feet. "...Actually... I don't think I've found it. Only weaklings showed up, so I doubt any of them were Licht Kreis enforcers." Gordeau replied quietly, feeling the comforting wet touches caressing the tops of his feet. Tilting his feet, the man positioned them so that only his heels were glued to the ground, offering the opportunity for the girl's tongue to explore his exhausted soles. "Do you really want to come here later? Well..." Gordeau continued with a smirk, feeling the girl begin to drag her tongue slowly along the edge of his right foot, "Not a good idea. There are some new drinks I need to stock up on, I wouldn't be able to entertain you." Listening to the entire conversation, Wagner proceeded to try to please Gordeau as much as possible, even if it meant the end of his dignity. If Gordeau hadn't killed her already, perhaps there was a chance she could get out of this situation alive later, however, those chances would become nil if the leader of their organization knew of her current situation. So she didn't hesitate to rub her tongue across the salt-sweat soaked surface as if she were genuinely worshipping him as a superior being. Feeling her tongue go around those toes as if they were little candies, trying to restrain her urge to let her tears escape and mingle in the sea of sweat covering those huge feet. For her it would be more pleasant to be licking the floor, but she had to resign herself to her current circumstance. She was defeated. To return without having eliminated her targets would only further tarnish her honor and purpose. It was painful, frustrating and unfair, but necessary if she wanted to live another day to have a chance to turn the game around. She didn't know how she would do it, she only understood that she would be forced to remain subservient to the man who defeated her while he ignored her existence by casually talking on the phone and drinking at the table, all while she had to keep swallowing that disgusting bodily fluid and feeling the soft, rough contrast of the soles of his feet for the rest of the day.

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