Chapitre 122: Guess Who's Back? II
Irwin did not know the last time he awoke to the feeling of warmth bathing his body. He allowed his base instinct to cloud his judgment, nullifying months of hard work not to delude Ella into having relations with him.
Yet, here he was, deep into her embrace, naked and cuddling.
The sun had already risen, sunlight poured through the town with an effervescent effect to the emotions within the manor. The small hubbub below the room made its way to Irwin's ears, thanks in part to his Enhanced Physique, but he chose not to listen to it as he had far more dire consequences he had to take responsibility for.
He turned his head ever so slowly, enough that he could gaze at Ella's sleeping face with comfort and undisturbed. Her heavy breasts heaved up and down, but he already had his fill of her body a few hours earlier.
His gaze was tracing along the sweat dripping from the side of her head down to the nape of her neck.
"You're awake." He said, noticing her irregular breathing pattern and slightly clenched jaw. "I don't know about you, but… I am starving."
"Don't talk to me." She replied, turning her head to the other side whilst still in his embrace.
Irwin sighed in understanding and tried to pull out his arms under her neck, but found it strangely heavy. Sure enough Ella had trapped his arm under the weight of her body and intertwined her fingers on his hands.
A soft smile appeared on Irwin's face as he relaxed on the bed and let his warmth pass through her naked body.
He groaned in comfort as he said, "You know, I'm still a bit tired from yesterday. Might as well–"
"Shut up." She scolded.
"Yes, ma'am."
●●●●●
Three hours later, Irwin stretched his sore arms and neck as he finished his bowl of cereal and threw it unto the sink, only to find a snickering Garth glaring at him.
"What?" He asked.
The hunter scoffed. "You smell like shit and you're not gonna wash your dishes?"
Irwin tilted his head in confusion. "I've been deep in shit for a few months, asshole. Also, why the fuck would I wash my dish? It's just a bowl. Besides, why the fuck are you here? Didn't I send you to Wyoming?"
"Well, certain circumstances happen, one of which was your disappearance. It ain't my fault they needed my expertise on the matter." Garth shrugged condescendingly.
Irwin sighed, "Jesus. Pack your bags, Garth. You're going to New England."
Irwin shook his head and left the kitchen, only for Garth to follow behind him with a curious gaze.
"Why am I going to New England?" He asked.
Irwin didn't look back as he headed towards the study, but he did inform Garth of his purpose. In order to accomplish his goal of monopolizing the corpses of monsters hunted by the American hunters, he would need a base of operations–one that was established long before his time and was entrenched with the hearts of said hunters.
Harvelle's Roadhouse would be the perfect choice. Although he had already decided upon it during the initial creation of the idea, it was best to be thorough before the establishment of his bounty system.
He could contact Congressman Brown for some deconsecrated military base or even use Bobby's junkyard in Sioux Falls as the base of operation, but he figured that already had established a rapport with the members and owners of the roadhouse.
Seeing Garth nod along in realization, Irwin set aside a portion of his attention and dug deep within the pockets of his Trade Counter. He pulled out a silver coin with scratch marks all around its surface. A three-horned goat was engraved on one of its sides while a pentagram was on the other.
"Take this. Keep it in your jacket pocket at all times, never leave it in your car." He flicked the coin towards Garth.
"What does it do?" Garth asked. "Is it like the Card?"
"Yes, and no. Just know that it'll probably save your life." Irwin entered the study.
"Thanks–Wait? Probably?" Garth asked, but Irwin, however, had already closed the door.
Irwin chuckled and locked the door to not let Garth inside, but to his surprise, someone else was in his seat. The striking salt-and-pepper hair, twirly mustache, and the bold tanned skin sat upon the leather chair and was rifling through the documents as if he owned the place.
"Archie?" He asked, perplexed by seeing the owner of the manor. "What are you… what are you doing here?"
Archibald chuckled at his expression, "Who do you think was handling all paperworks when you–I meant Richard–was canoodling half the town."
Irwin laughed outright, inching towards the leather chair adjacent to the office table before sitting on it with a comfortable sigh. He rested his head upon the back rest, waiting for Archibald to finish his current load of paperwork.
"Oh, it appears that your project with the city is finished." Archibald said, placing a single document in front of Irwin whilst he stowed the others on a drawer.
"Which one?"
"The proposed Garden Park north of Willintel lake." Archibald read.
"That's good," Irwin replied and when he noticed Archibald's inquisitive brows flexing at him, he continued, "I received an item as a gift. It'll create like a time capsule for magical ingredients for spell components."
Archibald chortled, "I see. That is certainly helpful, especially when you're no longer draining Anastasia's menagerie."
Irwin agreed wholeheartedly, still frustrated that he was given a weekly quota for her menagerie and had to sometimes dip into his credits for the ingredients. That was why his first order of business, now that he's back, was to create his very own Garden of Eden.
Just from the name alone, it signified something great, and he had an inkling that it would increase a flora's cultivation yield and increase growth.
"But before that," Irwin turns towards Archibald. "I'm glad you've taken over. I may have to rest and will therefore be unavailable in the next few days."
"What? Are you alright, son?" Archibald asked with genuine concern, as far as Irwin could tell.
Irwin nearly flinched when Archibald said 'son', but shook it off with a helpless smile, "You smell that?"
"Well, I wasn't going to say anything since you… well, you know." Archibald shrugged his shoulders.
Irwin chuckled, "That's the smell of my intestines and kidneys being slowly liquified and every other red blood cell in my body rotting at a rate faster than my heart could barely keep up."
Archibald's eyes widened, slamming his hand against the table, "What? Are you alright? What–"
"I'm fine. I don't feel it because of this," Irwin took out an incredibly cracked Over-morrow talisman, as if a single blow of hot air would crumble it into ashes. "But I only have a few more hours. So, I might need the room where Charlotte used to stay."
"Of course, I'll have Ella prepare it." Archibald readily agreed.
"No. I'll do it." Irwin shook his head. "She's, uh, busy…"
Archibald tilted his head for a moment before his eyes widened some more and began muttering and laughing to himself.
"We really should hire some new helpers." Irwin remarked as he groaned out of his seat. "Ella doesn't even lift the books to dust the damn shelf."
Archibald chuckled, "As much as I agree with you, there are risks with a maid. You, of all people, know what we hide in our closets or, in this case, basements."
He was certainly right, but Irwin had over ten thousand credits in his pockets, which could certainly solve the problem of their secrets leaking. Unfortunately for the manor, he was now hesitant to use his greatest weapon in trivial matters.
He exited the study, leaving Archibald to his work, and strained his knees as he ascended up the stairs, going past the second floor where a resting Ella and a comatose Charlotte lay.
The third floor only had two rooms. Lady Anastasia resided in the room to the right, where dozens, if not hundreds, of sigils and wardings were engraved in or around the room. While the room on the left was uninhabited, prior to that, it was the prison cell of Charlotte before she was willfully dominated and converted into his side.
He went past the marble busts, paintings, and a glass tincture with an unknown liquid inside before arriving in front of a metal door. He deactivated its defensive sigil, allowing himself inside, and found the chamber in disarray and full of dust.
He closed the door, locking it from the inside using a specific mechanism known only to him, Lady Anastasia, and Archibald. The room, after all, was designed as a panic room in case of an emergency.
Not even angels could teleport inside and it would take hours before they could batter their way inside. That was, of course, on the assumption that the mechanism was activated and was being supplied with energy.
Irwin sat on the bed and began taking off his clothes, leaving his body to bear the chilly breeze permeating the air. The wounds he had incurred over the months of torture and battle had already healed and regenerated to the point that only the deepest gash remained visible.
It would be deceptive of him to say that he was happy with his return to the manor. All it did was remind him of what he lost and what more he would lose should he diverge from the path he had decided upon.
The only this would end would be freeing Earth from the factions of demons and angels, allowing humans to fend off the monsters native to this planet without the help of otherworldly creatures.
For that to happen, he would first need to resist the aftermath of the corruption being delayed by a slowly crumbling artifact.
He steadied his beating heart before tugging the Over-morrow and breaking its effect.
It was akin to the breaking of a large, thick dam. A swell of unimaginable pain assaulted his whole body. Thick, dark blood poured out of every orifice as his skin broke in large patches, bone cracking under the weight of an irresistible and oppressive aura emanating from multiple points in his body.
His roar caused the very foundation of the chamber to tremble, magical energy pulsating in intervals, as if to relieve him of even the smallest of pain. For an hour, Irwin could do nothing but scream in pain as his body destroyed itself from the inside before regenerating from the residual energy that destroyed it in the first place.
He chuckled in exhaustion after a while, relief flooding his system. But he knew this would only be temporary, a wave finished only to have another at the hems.
"Three more days to go!"
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone