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Metempsychosis VIII – Firestorm/Crimson

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November 22, 2025. A date that I will never ever forget. The tragic night on which Nick, my waking life mate, left me. His passing and the events that followed would leave a trail of devastation for all who knew him. A loss so sudden that I would never get to say goodbye. Loose ends would never be tied. I still feel this gaping wound within. Like being at the edge of the precipice, body tilting and ready to plunge into the abyss. As it turns out, the devastation would also spread into my dreams.

Yet fate being its usual self – at times whimsical, at times fickle – would have it so that someone quite unexpected would show up to bring me some kind of comfort through this ordeal.

I – Chaos

The very first night I finally found sleep—two full days after his passing, after endless hours of restless staring into the dark—I discovered that even the dreamstate had turned against me.

I always said that my dreams reflected my state of mind, my emotions laid bare. After the sudden, brutal death of my mate, one could only imagine the storm raging inside me. That night, I woke inside the dream to the same barren landscape I had come to know too well: an endless, empty plain beneath a sickly greenish-yellow sky. Nothing moved. No one was there. Only crushing silence and the relentless echo of my own thoughts.

Then the world began to twist.

One by one, I was pulled through every dreamsphere I had ever known, but each was horribly warped. Familiar places felt wrong, corrupted at their core. Colors bled into unnatural shades. Structures bent at impossible angles. Even the air tasted bitter and metallic. I called out for Storm. Nothing. I shouted for Sovran. Silence. When Nevlaan finally appeared, it was not the gentle, steadfast friend I remembered. His face was distorted, his eyes cold and accusing.

“You did this,” he snarled, voice dripping with blame. “It’s your fault he’s gone.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, but the exhaustion from the waking world had followed me here, heavy as lead in my bones. My mind was still too raw, too shattered from the events of two days earlier. Instead of fighting, I simply broke. Tears burned down my cheeks as I collapsed to my knees in the warped dream-dirt. For the first time in my life, a dark thought slithered through me: just let it all end.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, raw and desperate, willing the nightmare to dissolve, begging to be sent back to the empty barrenness that now felt like the only safe place left. What I did not expect was the fire.

A roaring wall of flame erupted from nowhere, devouring everything in its path—warped landscapes, twisted figures, even the accusing version of Nevlaan. The inferno swept forward with terrifying speed, yet when it reached me… it parted. The flames licked at the edges of my skin but never burned. They simply passed through and around me, leaving me untouched in a circle of scorched silence.

I jolted awake in my own bed, drenched in cold sweat, body trembling so violently the sheets clung to me like wet rags. For several nights afterward, sleep became my enemy again. The dream worlds that had once been my private sanctuary, my “safety net” against the waking world’s cruelty, now felt like they were collapsing in on themselves. Everything stable in my life was being ripped away, even the one place I thought I could escape to.

I refused, with every fiber of my being, to turn to sleeping medication. I had watched what it did to my father—how it hollowed him out, turned him into a ghost long before his body followed. So I endured. It took nearly a week of exhausting meditation sessions, quiet breathing exercises in the dead of night, and sheer stubborn will before I could coax myself into anything resembling rest.

II – Firestorm

When sleep finally came, I half-prayed it would be empty. Dreamless. A small mercy. Just a few uneventful nights where my mind could lie still. That was too much to ask. The warped dreamspheres continued for several more nights, each one leaving me more drained than the last. Then, one night, something shifted.

I woke once more in the dreamstate, braced for fresh torment. Instead, I found myself standing in the familiar barren landscape I had come to call the “neutral state.” No twisted horrors. No accusing ghosts. Just the empty plain and the heavy, gloomy greenish-yellow sky. A strange wave of relief washed over me. It was still desolate, still silent, but it was known. After everything, familiarity felt like a kindness. I began to walk, calling out names into the void, hearing only my own voice bounce back at me. The loneliness pressed in quickly. My thoughts, left unchecked, drifted inevitably toward him—Nick. The wound was still so fresh it felt like it had been torn open yesterday. Grief surged up without warning. My legs gave out and I dropped to the ground, screaming his name until my throat burned.

Just when I thought no one—not even the dream itself—had heard me, the sky began to change. The sickly greenish-yellow hue bled away, replaced by deep, angry shades of orange and red. A low rumble rolled across the horizon, too distant to identify at first. I froze, heart hammering. At first I dismissed it as my own emotions running wild. My anger, I thought, is literally setting the dreamstate on fire. I clenched my fists and willed myself awake, forcing my consciousness back to the physical world. I woke in my bed, chest heaving, skin burning hot as if I really had stood too close to flames. Anger and grief still churned inside me, raw and unrelenting. But beneath it all, something else lingered—something I couldn’t yet name.

The next night, I once again woke in the neutral state. The barren plain stretched endlessly under the familiar gloomy greenish-yellow sky. Nothing felt off. No warping, no accusing shadows. Just quiet emptiness. For a while, I simply stood there, letting the silence wrap around me like a worn blanket. Then the sky began to shift. It bled from sickly yellow-green into deep orange, then blood red. This time, I wasn’t angry. No grief-fueled rage burned in my chest. I chose to stay and watch instead of forcing myself awake. I stood in silence as the horizon deepened into crimson fire. Heat slowly built around me, subtle at first, then slamming into my body like an invisible wall. The air grew thick, heavy, and unmistakably scorched.

There’s definitely something burning, I thought.

Determined to find the source, I started walking toward what I guessed was the origin of the heat. The barren ground felt warmer under my feet with every step. Then, out of the oppressive silence, came a low, powerful rumbling. It got louder and louder. Deep. Mechanical. An engine. Something primal took over. Without thinking, I broke into a run, legs pumping with every ounce of strength I had. The rumble grew louder, heavier, vibrating through my bones. On the horizon, a massive silhouette emerged, backlit by roaring flames. Thick black smoke billowed from its shoulders in heavy plumes. The closer I got, the more intense the heat became, pressing against my skin like a living thing. My legs nearly buckled when recognition hit me.

It was him.

A hulking beast of a mech stood there—anthropomorphic yet unmistakably draconic in structure. Crimson red plating gleamed under the fiery sky. Broad wings framed massive reactors that glowed with inner power. Twin enormous cannons mounted on his arms blasted constant waves of roaring flame, while twin exhaust stacks on his shoulders spewed thick, pitch-black smoke. The sheer scale of him was overwhelming. My heart slammed against my ribs—once, twice, thrice. My knees went weak. It just had to be him. This was no coincidence. Nick had created him, just like I had created Cerulea. Nick said he was to be a guardian for me. And now he was gone… and Firestorm was here.

I looked up nervously, voice shaky as I called out, “Firey…? Firestorm… is it really you?!”

The colossal dragon mech slowly lowered his gaze. His piercing golden eyes locked onto me, bright and luminous. The roaring flames from his cannons abruptly cut off, leaving only the deep, thunderous idle of his engines rolling through the air. The heavy scent of diesel exhaust washed over me—rich, acrid, strangely comforting. His golden optics burned down at me with mechanical intensity.

“~ Identify. ~”

The flat, synthesized voice caught me off guard, but there was no hostility in it. I swallowed hard. “You… you don’t know who I am?”

“~ Negative. ~”

“Then, let me ask you this: why are you here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “Why were you trying to burn everything?”

“~ This place. It feels… wrong. ~”

He sensed it too. I pressed on carefully, keeping my tone lighter but as confident as I could muster. “Yeah… I know it’s not right, big guy. But this neutral state isn’t so bad compared to some of the other dreamspheres. And honestly… I feel a lot better now that you’re here.”

“~ Why? ~”

The opening was too perfect to ignore. “Because… you can protect me, for starters. You can be my guardian. Those cannons of yours… they’ll burn through anything that tries to hurt me, won’t they? Can you activate guardian protocol for me?”

“~ Guardian protocol enabled. Name? ~

It worked. I could hardly believe it.

“Jon.”

“~ Rank? ~”

My pulse spiked. I hadn’t expected that. Should I lie? Should I be honest? He clearly had no memory of me. His databanks seemed blank. I took a leap of faith.

“Wait… Firestorm. Can you tell me who created you?”

“~ Unknown. Data unavailable. ~”

Perfect. “I thought so. See… my mate and I… we made you. Nick created you to be my guardian.” My voice faltered as raw emotion surged up. It had only been a few months. The wound still bled. “But Nick, he’s… he’s gone now. He… died not long ago. I’m the only one left.”

There was a long pause. When he spoke again, his previously stoic voice carried an unexpected weight of sadness.

“~ I see. ~”

I quickly tried to lighten the moment. “I know it must sound weird to you, big guy. I don’t know how or why you appeared here… but I’d really like you to stay close. Keep me warm. I’ve needed someone like you.”

“~ Are you… my operator? ~”

I drew in a sharp breath and answered with as much confidence as I could muster. “Y-yeah, Firey. I’m your… pilot.”

“~ Registering. Identification confirmed. ~”

Something deep inside me—the part I usually kept hidden, the mechaphile side—took complete control. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t think about how searing his crimson plates might be. I simply ran forward and pressed myself against his massive leg. The deep, powerful rumble of his engines vibrated through my entire body. A soft, involuntary moan slipped from my throat. He was blazing hot, yet the heat didn’t burn me. Some unseen force let us connect. For the first time since Nick’s death, a wave of genuine relief washed over me. The side I was always ashamed of was now my salvation. How ironic. I felt completely relaxed.

“The sound of your engines… it’s familiar,” I murmured, cheek against the warm plating.

“~ It is? ~”

“Yeah. It’s nice. Comforting. So is your heat… and your scent.” It wasn’t a lie. The hypnotic drone, the rich diesel smell—it reminded me so much of Storm in the best possible way.

“~ I see. Glad to be of use. ~”

The wording stung harder than I want to admit. “You’re more than just ‘of use,’ Firestorm. Don’t say that. You’re not some random machine. You’re my guardian. And I’m really happy you’re here, big guy.”

“~ Glad to be here, pilot. ~”

That single word—pilot—hit me like a warm current. It made my knees weak all over again. I nearly—nah, I choked up alright. All I could manage was a quiet, “I’m glad you’re here too, Firey.”

I let myself sink into the comforting rumble of his systems, eyes half-closed, when suddenly his stance shifted. His massive flame cannons snapped up and locked onto something I couldn’t see. The idle hum of his engines deepened into something more alert.

“Something the matter, big guy?”

Firestorm took a heavy step back. His golden eyes flared crimson. A dangerous energy shift rippled through the air.

That was when I felt it—Nashim had emerged.

By now I was used to him appearing at night, especially in the neutral state or nightmares. Never in the other dreamspheres. I heard the familiar hiss behind me and turned. The large black rubbery adder loomed there, hood slightly flared, clearly displeased with my new “alliance.”

I looked up at him innocently. “Nashim? What’s going on, my Rubber?”

Nashim’s gaze was sharp and threatening, even when he wasn’t angry. He hissed softly, glancing between me and the towering mech. “I could ask you the same, Jon. Who is this?”

There was no point in lying. He’d see through it. “Firestorm is… a creation of mine from a while back. He somehow found his way here after Nick’s passing.”

Nashim seemed to relax slightly. “I see. I apologize for alarming him. His aether signature is… oddly similar to yours, Jon.”

That was unusual—Nashim rarely apologized. Our work together on my demonic side had softened him somewhat. Still, his wording caught my attention. “Oddly similar? What do you mean? Aether signatures are like fingerprints, right? Does that mean Firestorm might be… a demon too?”

Nashim nodded slowly, his expression a strange mix of excitement and concern. “Possibly. Given his aether flow, it is quite likely.” He studied me for a moment. “How odd… Something is stirring within you.”

The air grew heavier. Sigils on Nashim’s hood began to glow. His eyes turned red. A wave of raw aether energy twisted in my stomach. Firestorm kept his cannons trained, waiting for my command.

“Firey, stand down!” I called out. “Relax, both of you!”

Nashim hissed with clear impatience. “Jon, this machine is triggering something in you. Can you not feel it?”

He might have been right. I was being unusually protective, clinging to Firestorm already. But grief had me raw and stubborn. I refused to listen. “Firestorm is my guardian. He’s not going to hurt me—or you.”

Nashim’s irritation grew. He side-eyed the mech. “If you say so, Jon. I will keep watch regardless. There is something… off about him.”

His persistence sparked real anger in me. I don’t know why I defended Firestorm so fiercely, especially after all the time I’d worked with Nashim. The words slipped out sharper than I intended. “Don’t be mean to him, Nash! I trust you, but don’t make me choose between the two of you.”

Aether thickened in the air, feeding the tension. Even Nashim, usually so composed, lashed back. “You would choose this hulking titan over me?”

The question hung between us. In that moment, irrational and grief-stricken, I hesitated. My silence and the way I stepped back under Firestorm’s protective shadow answered for me.

Before I could speak, Nashim acted. A sudden wave of darkness swallowed us both. Everything went pitch black. In the void, I saw a vision of Firestorm turning and walking away. No matter how hard I ran, I couldn’t catch up. I screamed at Nashim in fury, but nothing answered. I called for Firestorm—nothing. I was completely isolated. I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t push back against the darkness. Not even Sovran responded.

Eventually, something yanked me awake. I bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. The room was dark and silent. I sat on the edge of the mattress, shaking, feeling utterly helpless. Even in the waking world, I could still sense Nashim’s lingering presence—cold, watchful, and clearly not finished with me yet.

III – Awakening

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The next few nights were hellish. I found myself trapped in the same suffocating darkness—endless, silent, absolute. No light, no sound, no ground beneath my feet. Just void. I kept wondering if Nashim had sealed me away for good, punishing me for choosing Firestorm. Eventually something has to give, I told myself, clinging to that thin thread of hope. But days blurred together in the waking world too. I grew distant, edgy, snapping at the smallest things. People around me kept asking if I was okay, their concerned glances only making me withdraw further. No one came for me in the dream. Not Sovran. Not Rubber. Not Firestorm. Only the crushing black.

Then came the epiphany. I remembered the aether manipulation exercises I had practiced with Sovran. If Nashim’s shroud was made of aether, maybe I could tear it apart. The next night, I sat cross-legged in the void, closed my eyes, and focused. I visualized reaching out with invisible hands, grabbing a solid “chunk” of the darkness as if it were nothing more than heavy, wet dirt covering something precious. It worked. My fingers sank in, and I ripped away a piece. The sensation was strange—like tearing into a giant, dense marshmallow, soft yet resistant. A sliver of light pierced through, faint and hopeful. For one brief moment, triumph surged in my chest. Then the darkness swallowed the light again.

Frustration boiled over into raw anger. Something inside me stirred, hot and insistent. An urge I couldn’t ignore. This time I didn’t hold back. I grabbed a long strip of the shroud and yanked hard, peeling it away like cheap artificial turf. Then another. And another.

A voice whispered in my mind—playful, high-pitched, almost childish: More! Let your anger be the catalyst. You are the dark, and the dark is you. Tear the illusion open.

I screamed, pouring every ounce of grief and fury into the act. Huge strips of darkness ripped away in my hands until, finally, I could step through the torn veil. When I turned around, the remaining shroud dissolved into nothing. I was back in the neutral state—barren, silent, and blessedly familiar. A soft, high-pitched squeal echoed somewhere in the distance, then faded. I braced myself for Nashim to appear and punish me further, but he never showed. I was free. At least for now.

Who had guided me? Was that squeal from the same presence? I woke up feeling lighter than I had in days. The heavy oppression that had clung to me was gone. The next evening, once the house grew quiet, I lay on my bed and slipped into self-hypnosis the way Sovran had taught me. I drifted down the familiar candlelit passage and called for him. He appeared and to my surprise, Sovran had no memory of what had happened with Nashim or the darkness. Still, just having him there steadied me.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, his coils shifting thoughtfully. “First, a machine you and your late mate created appears in your dreams. Then Nashim gets upset—”

“More like jealous, really…” I interjected.

Sovran sighed, a soft hiss escaping him. “Fine. He got jealous, conjured a shroud of darkness, and you broke out of it on your own.”

I tried to look proud, even if my hands were still trembling from the memory. “Yeah. I used the aether manipulation technique you taught me.”

As my mentor, Sovran seemed genuinely impressed. He hissed softly in approval. “Pretty impressive. Truly. But what interests me more is that whispering voice you heard. It may have guided you, or at least given you the push you needed. You thought it was me?”

I shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I hoped it was you. I didn’t want to admit there might be more going on. The voice was… different. Playful. Kind of childish. High-pitched and cheerful.”

Sovran looked amused. “Definitely not me, then. Or you. Or Nashim.”

“Very funny, smartass,” I muttered. “What do you think it means?”

His coils undulated slowly, tail flicking—a naga’s version of deep thought. “The only explanation I can see is that this machine, Firestorm… may have awakened something dormant inside you.”

The idea felt impossible. “Firey awakened something in me? But I thought I awakened him. So, you think… another demon?”

“I’m not certain,” Sovran admitted, still pacing. “But the way you described it… it fits. And you haven’t seen the machine or Nashim since?”

“Nope.”

“How odd…” He began to turn away. “I will consult with my praetor—”

“Wait!” I reached out instinctively. “Can I come with you? Can I meet him?”

Sovran paused, considering. After a moment he hissed softly. “Hmm. There is reason enough, I suppose. Wait here.”

I waited. It felt like forever.

Then the dreamscape warped. The dark cavern with its candlelit altar dissolved, replaced by bright, open scenery. I found myself standing in a sunlit cove carved into limestone cliffs. The air smelled briny and fresh. Waves crashed gently behind me. The sound instantly eased something tight in my chest.

A familiar, resonant voice broke the calm.

“We meet again, young topsider.”

I turned. Forneus stood beside me, his enormous manta-ray form even more imposing in the open air and daylight. His wings spread wide, floating in mid-air and casting graceful shadows. I bowed reflexively. He chuckled, clearly pleased.

“How polite.” His tone grew serious. “I have heard of your predicament from Sovran.”

I felt small under his commanding presence, yet strangely relieved. As one of the 72 Goetic demons, he would know what to do. “Sorry for bothering you…”

“Not at all.” Forneus studied me carefully. “At the moment, I sense three distinct demonic entities within you.”

“Three??” The word hit me like a shock. “How is that even possible?”

He paused, choosing his words. “In the same way metempsychosis functions, it is entirely possible for one soul to harbor more than one entity.”

“That’s… not very reassuring.”

A soft, amused sound escaped him. “Perhaps not. What is unusual is how different their aether frequencies are. One is very faint. The other two are much stronger—one in particular.”

“Nashim?” I asked bitterly. I was still furious with him.

“Forneus shook his head. “To sustain the kind of conjuration you described, Nashim would need far more power than he currently possesses. No, I do not believe it is him.”

Hope flickered. “Firestorm?”

“Possibly.” Forneus gave me a daring grin. “A better question is: are you ready to accept whatever outcome this brings?”

I hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I’ve got nothing left to lose… and I think I know who the strong one is, and I want him back at my side.”

“Very well.” Forneus gestured gracefully with one wing. “Close your eyes. Concentrate on the energy signature you believe is strongest.”

I obeyed. I focused hard on Firestorm—on his crimson plating, his golden eyes, the deep rumble of his engines. I willed him back to me, desperate to undo what Nashim had done. Forneus began chanting in an ancient, unfamiliar tongue. At first I felt a gentle tug inside my chest. Then it grew stronger—pulling, stretching, until it felt like my very being was being torn open. Pain flared for a heartbeat, then everything went calm.

My knees buckled with sudden weakness, but deep relief flooded me.

“~ Pilot. ~”

That voice. My eyes snapped open. Firestorm stood beside me, towering and ever so beautiful. Forneus had stepped back, his expression one of genuine shock at what had just emerged from me. I lost all restraint. I ran straight for him. He lowered his massive hand without hesitation. I climbed into his palm, then scrambled up his arm faster than I thought possible, all the way to his neck. I threw my arms around him and squeezed as hard as I could, pressing my face against the warm plating. It was a good thing he was synthetic; otherwise I might have choked him. I couldn’t let go. He was the missing piece. The bridge back to Nick. Grief and relief crashed over me in equal measure. Anger at Nashim still burned hot in my chest.

“I’m so sorry, Firey,” I whispered, voice cracking. “It’s all my fault...”

“~ Negative. I let my guard down. Apologies, pilot. ~”

His instant refusal to let me take the blame made me giggle despite everything. “Fine… I guess it was both our faults. I’m just so glad you’re back. You can thank Master Forneus—he’s the one who sensed you and pulled you out.”

I pointed toward the large manta ray. Firestorm turned his golden optics toward him.

“~ Is that so? My thanks. ~”

Forneus scoffed, clearly surprised by the mech’s polite demeanor. “You are welcome, titan.”

I grinned. “Hehe, I like that. Firestorm the Titan.”

“~ Pilot is amused. ~”

“Yeah… it’s cute.” I felt my cheeks heat up.

Forneus cleared his throat, sounding a touch distraught. “I hate to interrupt this touching reunion, but we have pressing matters.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Master Forneus.”

“No harm done, young one.” His tone grew serious again. “If this titan was the strongest source, and the second is likely Nashim, then who is the third—the faint aether signature I still sense stirring within you?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” I admitted, growing weary of mysteries.

“It is quite possible that this third presence was the voice that helped you break Nashim’s illusion. The same entity that guided you.”

I nodded, “I think so too. I can’t imagine who else it could have been.”

“Very well.” Forneus nodded, his presence radiating quiet authority. “Leave Nashim to me, would you? I will handle him from the shadows. You focus on your titan and this hidden presence.”

His charisma made it easy to trust him. “I will. Thank you, Master Forneus.”

Firestorm straightened to full height, standing at perfect attention.

“~ I will protect my pilot, Sire. ~”

“Very well. I leave the young one’s safety to you, titan. We will meet again soon. Sovran will continue watching over you as well.”

Before I could say anything more, the trance dissolved. I snapped back to my body, lying in bed. The room was calm and quiet. Unlike the nights before, a gentle warmth lingered in my chest. I lay there thinking about Firestorm for a long time. A soft, comforting tingle spread through me. For the first time in what felt like forever, I drifted into peaceful sleep.

IV - Partners

I honestly hadn’t expected to reach any dreamsphere at all. Yet someone had reached back. The moment consciousness returned, I found myself standing inside a familiar space. Cool metallic walls surrounded me, their surfaces etched with faint scuff marks and reinforced plating that spoke of heavy industrial use. The air carried a clean, pleasantly sweet tang—something between ozone and synthetic lubricant, the unmistakable signature of a well-maintained hangar bay. Soft overhead lights cast long shadows across the deck plating.

I stepped out of the small side alcove and into the open expanse of the hangar. My breath caught. There, elevated on a reinforced maintenance platform, stood Firestorm. I could fully lay my eyes on him this time.

He was as magnificent as ever—a towering dragon-shaped mech, easily thirty feet at the shoulder, built with sleek, predatory lines that blended heavy military armor with elegant draconic anatomy. His body was a masterpiece of angular deep crimson red plating edged with obsidian black accents that glowed faintly under the hangar lights, like smoldering embers beneath volcanic glass. Powerful, digitigrade legs ended in massive, clawed feet designed for both crushing ground assaults and precise aerial maneuvering. A long, segmented tail with articulated spines rested coiled behind him, the tip occasionally flicking with idle power. Broad, folded wings—composed of overlapping armored vanes and reinforced membrane-like panels—were tucked tightly against his back, their edges sharp enough to cut the air at supersonic speeds. His head was distinctly draconic: a long, streamlined snout with glowing ruby-red optical sensors that burned like twin furnaces. Rows of serrated armor plates ran along his spine and neck like dorsal ridges, and heavy shoulder pauldrons flared outward, giving him an even more imposing silhouette. Behind those shoulders rose twin exhaust ports shaped like stylized dragon horns, currently dormant but promising raw, thunderous power. Subtle heat shimmer rose from his frame, and the low, barely audible thrum of his tertiary systems made the air around him vibrate faintly.

The sight of him hit me like a physical wave. My heart slammed against my ribs. Heat flooded my chest, then my face, then lower. I froze, staring up at the majestic, dangerous beauty of my guardian dragon mech. Relief and joy crashed over me so hard my knees nearly buckled.

“Hi there, Firey,” I managed, voice softer than I intended. “Good to see you, big guy.”

“~ Hello, pilot! ~”

His voice rolled through the hangar like warm thunder—brighter, richer, far more expressive than the flat, mechanical tone I remembered. The subtle modulation in his vocal synthesizer made the words feel almost… alive.

“Wow, you’re starting to sound less robotic,” I said, smiling despite the flutter in my stomach. “That’s good. Are you more comfortable now?”

“~ I believe so. I came out of standby in this place. ~”

I glanced around at the hangar again. It was clearly inspired by Storm’s bay—same layout, same heavy-duty crane rails overhead, same reinforced blast doors—but scaled and detailed for Firestorm’s frame. My subconscious had built this for him. For us.

“It’s… complicated,” I said, walking closer. “Basically, you’re inside my dream right now. This whole place is modeled after another big mech I know. You’re real to me, but not… physically here. Does that make sense?”

~ A metaphysical manifestation of your desires. Created in part to protect you, and in part to offer comfort in your grief for Nick. ~

I almost burst out laughing. The blunt, insightful summary caught me completely off guard. This was nothing like the stoic, clipped responses he used to give.

“Wow… you really just read right through me, huh?” I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “You got one thing wrong, though.”

“~ What would that be? ~”

“It’s not only grief. That’s part of it, sure. But I wanted a guardian of my own. A partner. Someone to stand with me… and play with me.” I looked up at him, warmth spreading through my chest. “You’re perfect for that, Firestorm.”

“~ I see. I am glad to be here for you, Jon. ~”

He used my name. The simple sound of it sent a fresh rush of heat through me. I felt closer to him already—dangerously close. Part of me wanted to claim him. A bigger part just wanted to belong to him. I climbed the maintenance platforms until I could reach his neck plating. Wrapping my arms as far around the massive alloy as I could, I squeezed hard, then pressed my lips to the warm, smooth surface. The reaction was immediate.

A tingling surge of bio-feedback energy rolled through the contact point. Warmth, electric pleasure, and a deep, resonant throb flooded my nervous system—the same intimate link I had once felt through Alswaram’s eyes with Lancer, through Emerald with Saimi, and once with Storm himself. Firestorm’s massive twin diesel engines turned over with a deep, guttural growl. The sound vibrated through his frame and into my bones.

Heavy black exhaust erupted from the ports behind his shoulders in thick, rolling plumes. The unfiltered, earthy scent—hot diesel, burnt hydrocarbons, and metallic tang—flooded my lungs. My body convulsed instantly. Violent tremors raced down my spine as pleasure spiked hard enough to make my vision blur. I moaned against his plating, hips jerking involuntarily.

“~ Pilot enjoys that. ~”

The low, amused rumble in his voice only made it worse. I was still shaking, half-dazed.

“Y-Yeah… you could say that again.”

He answered by revving the engines hard—once, twice, three times. The sound was glorious: a brutal, bass-heavy symphony blending the raw bark of a Detroit Diesel with the deep, throaty growl of a Cummins and the whistling of spooling turbines. The entire hangar resonated with the power. The deep rattling vibrations traveled straight through his frame and into me. I cried out, body seizing as I came hard in my clothes, the orgasm ripping through me with embarrassing intensity. I was left panting, coughing from the thickening exhaust, throat raw, legs trembling.

“~ Does my pilot have enough for now? ~”

“C-Considering you just made a complete mess of me… yeah.” I laughed weakly. “Naughty boy. Honestly, though… part of me wants a lot more.”

“~ Heh. You can have as much as you want, Jon. I am not going anywhere. However… I do have a request. ~”

“Anything for my big guardian dragon.”

“~ I want a full servicing! ~”

I blinked. “You… want me to service you?”

“~ Yes! ~”

A nervous flutter hit my stomach. “Firey, I’m not exactly a trained mechanic. I’ve washed cars and trucks, but nothing on your scale…”

“~ Well, do you want to? ~”

“Oh, hell yes…”

“~ Then I will guide you. ~”

He powered down his main engines to a soft, barely audible tertiary hum and directed me to a nearby diagnostic terminal. I pulled up his full technical specifications. Even though most of the engineering details went over my head, the sheer complexity and elegance of his systems left me impressed.

“Damn… that’s so hot.”

“~ How is the data warm? ~”

I laughed. “No silly, I mean it’s sexy. All these specs… the power curves, the thermal management systems, the adaptive armor layering. It makes you even more incredible to me.”

“~ You are abusing superlatives again, Jon. ~”

“I mean every word. You’re beautiful, Firey.”

He sent a detailed checklist to the screen. I gathered everything onto a heavy utility cart: industrial-grade cleaning agents, telescopic brushes with microfiber heads, polishing compounds, multiple pressure washers (both cold-water and steam), and several sizes of rotary buffers. I hooked up the main pressure washer to the hangar’s water and compressed-air system, the loud hiss of the jet echoing off the walls as I began spraying down every inch of his armored plates.

I worked methodically—first a high-pressure rinse to remove any particulate, then a measured injection of pH-balanced citrus solvent through the foamer. Thick, fragrant suds cascaded over his frame. His optical sensors dimmed slightly, a clear sign he was relaxing into the attention. The warm, soapy water mixed with the faint metallic scent of his heated alloy created something strangely comforting.

After a thorough rinse, I switched to the steam cleaner. Superheated vapor billowed through the hangar, carrying a clean, slightly ozone-tinged citrus aroma as it loosened any remaining micro-contaminants from the microscopic pores in his armor. Finally, I applied a high-gloss ceramic polish with a large orbital buffer, working in slow, overlapping circles the way I’d watched my dad do with normal vehicles. Gentle, rhythmic tail flicks from Firestorm told me he was enjoying it.

When I finally stepped back, the difference was stunning. Every plate gleamed under the hangar lights, mirror-smooth and reflective.

“All clean,” I said, a little breathless. “I thought you were hot before… now you’re just ridiculous.”

“~ You still need to apply the nanogel coating. ~”

“Nanogel…?”

“~ A hydrophobic, self-healing waxy gel. It repels grime, reduces aerodynamic drag at high velocity, and provides an additional thermal barrier. The application booms will descend automatically. ~”

He guided me back to the terminal. I initiated the sequence. Overhead gantry arms lowered with smooth hydraulic precision, positioning themselves in a slow orbit around his frame. High-pressure nozzles released an ultra-fine aerosol mist—so fine it was almost invisible—coating every surface in a uniform nanometer-thin layer. A second set of arms followed with powerful ion blowers, the high-pitched whistle filling the bay as they cured and sealed the gel. When they retracted, Firestorm looked almost wet with how intensely he gleamed.

I grinned up at him. “Are you thirsty, Firey?”

“~ I do not consume fluids the way organics do. ~”

“I know, you big silly.” I walked over to the fuel station and lifted the heavy reinforced hose. “I meant your tanks. Does my guardian mech need his fluid reserves topped off?”

“~ Oh! Then, I am very thirsty. ~”

Panels on both flanks hissed open with a soft mechanical whirr, revealing the recessed fuel ports. I climbed the platform, slid the first nozzle in, and squeezed the trigger. The thick, high-energy synthetic diesel flowed with a heavy glugging sound, the vibration traveling up the hose and into my hands. I pressed my body against his warm plating without thinking, savoring the sensation of fluid pouring into him.

“~ You can engage the automatic pumps. ~”

“I know,” I murmured, voice thick. “But I want to do it myself. I want to feel it going into you.”

“~ Why? ~”

“Because I’m your pilot. This… it’s intimate for me. Like a bonding thing. It’s an activator thing.”

~ I see. …Thank you, Jon. ~

The quiet gratitude in his voice made my face burn. After both fuel tanks were full, I moved to the oil service point on his upper left leg. Just as I was about to top off the reservoir, Firestorm’s playful side emerged again.

“~ We should drain the old oil first. ~”

I located the flush valve above his left foot and flipped it. A rush of warm, used oil exploded out in a thick, viscous wave, completely drenching me from chest to thighs. The hot, grimy fluid soaked through my clothes instantly. The sudden rush of heat and the heavy, musky scent of used synthetic oil hit my senses like a live wire. I moaned loudly, knees buckling as another orgasm tore through me without warning.

“Y-You did that on purpose! You naughty boy…”

“~ Perhaps. But my pilot clearly enjoyed it. ~”

I was flushed, dripping, and grinning like an idiot. “I’m keeping this scent on me for a while. Don’t even think about offering to wash me.” Once the old oil was drained, I refilled the reservoir with fresh, high-spec synthetic. As the tank reached capacity, Firestorm gave a deliberate little jerk, splattering me again, with clean oil this time.

“Seriously??”

“~ Oops. ~”

The playful tone made me laugh. “Oh, you’re asking for it now, Firey. I’m gonna rev your engines until you’re the one begging.”

“~ Is that a promise? ~”

A canopy-like hatch on his chest slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing the tight, intimate cockpit. A small mag-rail platform descended beside it.

“~ You wanted to rev my engines. Think you can handle it without passing out from pleasure? ~”

I swallowed hard, face burning. “You’re being mean… but fair.”

“~ There are multiple external camera feeds available. Including dedicated views of my exhaust ports. ~”

“Of course there are,” I muttered, equal parts embarrassed and aroused.

I stepped onto the platform. It whisked me up smoothly. I wasn’t afraid of heights anymore at this point. Besides, being inside his cockpit was motivation enough for me to relax. The cockpit interior was surprisingly snug—smooth, warm, almost organic in the way the padding and neural interface gel shifted and conformed to my body. The moment I settled in, a sharp neural pinch made me gasp. Then pleasure flooded every nerve as the direct neural link engaged.

“~ Stable neural link established. ~”

It felt completely natural. Deeper and cleaner than anything I’d experienced with Storm.

“Firey… you feel incredible.”

A visor descended over my eyes. Suddenly I was seeing through his optics—full HUD overlays showing every system status, power curves, thermal readings, and flight-mode options. I could think up a command and his systems responded instantly.

“~ Try moving. ~”

At first, it felt like pushing through thick syrup, but Firestorm’s response was frighteningly precise. Within moments my movements translated into his massive limbs with almost no perceptible lag. Walking felt strangely like using an elliptical machine with almost zero resistance.

Then, his engines turned over on their own with a deep, satisfying roar.

“~ Heh heh. Seems someone was eager. ~”

“That was me?” I laughed, dazed.

“~ Apparently your body knows what you want better than your conscious mind. ~”

I switched to a rear camera just in time to watch thick plumes of exhaust roll from his ports. The sight alone made me moan.

“~ Like what you see, pilot? ~”

“Oh fuck yes. You sexy beast, you…”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through both of us.

“~ Ready to take it further, then? ~”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Activate Firestorm mode.”

A deep, resonant growl built beneath me as his engines spooled up into a higher, turbine-like whine. The Firestorm cannons on his shoulders glowed with restrained power.

“~ Firestorm mode engaged. Guardian protocol active. ~”

“You didn’t have to…”

“~ We are partners. I will protect you, Jon. Always. ~”

Safe. Wanted. Claimed.

“I love you, Firey. Good night, my partner.”

“~ Rest well, Jon. I will keep watch. Anything that tries to harm you, I will burn. ~”

Lulled by the heavy, rhythmic thunder of his idling engines, I drifted off peacefully inside him.

I woke up in my own bed, sticky and spent, but smiling.

The wound Nick had left behind finally felt like it had begun to heal.

V – Crimson

---

The next night, the moment my head hit the pillow, I forced myself to lie perfectly still. I slowed my breathing into the familiar rhythm of my pre-sleep ritual, a quiet meditation to coax my mind into darkness. A long, weary sigh slipped from my lips. Then my thoughts drifted… to Lancer, to Storm, to Emerald. A sudden, electric tingling surged through my nerves like live wires under my skin. My senses sharpened to an unbearable degree. Was I still awake? I opened my eyes and found myself hovering several feet above my own sleeping body.

I was floating. Weightless. Paralyzed. A cold, ominous dread coiled in my gut, the same sickening vertigo as standing at the crumbling edge of a cliff, leaning helplessly toward the black abyss below. Aether?

Crimson wisps of energy, thin as smoke and bright as fresh blood, began to swirl and converge around my motionless human form. My spectral chest tightened violently, as if an invisible fist was crushing my ribs, squeezing something massive and alive out of me. Down below, my sleeping feet twitched hard. My toes curled inward with painful force, tendons straining, until the skin split. Ivory-white claws punched through the tips like blades, gleaming and razor-sharp.

Then the peeling began.

My skin crawled as though thousands of insects were writhing beneath it. Layers of flesh lifted and sloughed away in wet, curling sheets, like rotten onion peels, revealing glistening, vibrant crimson scales underneath. The new scaly feet flexed, powerful and alien, toes spreading wide as deadly talons clicked against the sheets.

“I’m dreaming,” I told myself desperately. “This is just a dream.”

But I felt everything. The rustling, tearing sounds grew louder as the shedding raced up my legs. Skin ripped free in heavy, wet strips, exposing thick, corded crimson-scaled thighs that bulged with raw draconic power. Something inside me was fighting, clawing, eager to burst out. Even as a helpless spectator, my spectral throat tightened with grunts and deep, involuntary moans. My floating form twitched in sympathy as the body on the bed suddenly rolled over onto its stomach, hips jerking.

A brutal pressure exploded at the base of my spine. With a sickening wet pop and a long, stretching tear, a thick, heavy tail erupted from my tailbone. It lashed violently, growing longer and thicker with every heartbeat, ridged scales flashing deep red as it slammed against the mattress. My human body was molting like a snake in fast-forward, the old skin splitting and falling away in glistening rags while something far more primal clawed its way into existence.

The transformation accelerated.

My arms thickened dramatically, muscles swelling and knotting under the peeling flesh. Dull human fingers lengthened, cracking audibly as black claws curved out like scythes. My shoulders broadened with a deep, grinding crunch.

Then came the worst of it.

An unbearable, bone-splitting pressure built in my back. I watched in a spellbound mix of awe and horror as my spine arched violently. A gruesome, wet squelching crack filled the room as the skin along my back tore open from shoulder to hip. Massive, leathery black wings burst free in a spray of fluid, unfolding with a powerful snap. They spread wide, membrane taut and veined, casting demonic shadows across the walls.

“This can’t be real…” I thought, panic rising. “It’s Nashim again. It has to be—”

But it wasn’t an illusion. This was deeper. A full, savage mental shift.

My neck stretched upward with a series of wet cracks, vertebrae elongating. The skin on my face sloughed off in heavy sheets as my skull reformed, jaw pushing forward into a long, powerful draconic muzzle lined with sharp fangs. Black horns punched violently through the crown of my new head, curling back with a sickening grind. The creature that had been me rose onto all fours on the bed, chest heaving, crimson scales gleaming wetly in the dim light.

“What a fucking hunk…” the thought slipped through my mind before I could stop it. A hot flush of unwanted arousal twisted through me.

Wait— I was still watching from above. That thing on the bed used to be my human body.

“You sick weirdo,” I scolded myself. “You’re not supposed to get turned on by turning into a dragon—”

Then a new panic hit me.

“Am I still… male?”

The red dragon shifted, sitting back on powerful haunches. I stared, heart hammering, as he spread his legs slightly. Everything had pulled inward into a sleek, masculine slit, yet the overall build, the broad chest, the heavy shoulders, the thick tail, screamed undeniably male. He turned his head slowly… and looked straight up at me. A wide, mischievous, predatory grin split his muzzle, exposing rows of gleaming fangs. It was the kind of smile that belonged in nightmares, creepy, knowing, and far too hungry.

The next instant, I jolted upright in bed with a gasping cry, clawing at my own face and chest. Human skin. Human hands. No scales. No horns. No wings. Just me. Normal. Sweating. Heart pounding like a war drum.

“Creepy as fuck…” I muttered, trying to laugh it off.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just anxiety. Something in the aether was changing me… and whatever it was, it was getting stronger. I told myself I'd ask Sovran.

---

--

-

The following night, the pull to return to Firestorm was almost magnetic, yet the memory of what had happened still burned fresh in my mind. I closed my eyes and willed myself to wake inside Sovran’s lair, seeking the safety of familiar shadows. Instead, I opened my eyes to the same room I’d fallen asleep in. A low growl of frustration rumbled in my chest. I felt… off. Not quite dizzy, but unbalanced, like my center of gravity had shifted. Stress, I told myself. Just stress. Then a soft, familiar hiss threaded through the air.

Nashim slithered out from the shadowed corner, his glossy black rubber coils catching the faint moonlight. For a split second I wondered if I was still asleep — lucid dreaming, maybe — but the relief that flooded me at the sight of him was real. Even if I was still upset with him. I forced myself to stay calm. Anger and aether had never been a good mix, especially for someone as impulsive as me. I took a slow breath and met his gaze. He stared back, head tilted with open curiosity.

“What?” I asked, voice rougher than I expected. “Do I have something on my face? And where the hell have you been, Nash? Rawr—?”

The sound that came out of my throat wasn’t “huh?” It was a low, quizzical draconic growl. My eyes widened. My voice… it was deeper. Rougher. Like gravel wrapped in velvet.

Nashim’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Interesting new look, Jon.”

I blinked. “What do you—”

I lifted my hands. They weren’t hands anymore. Broad, clawed, deep crimson scales catching the light. My feet were the same — powerful digitigrade paws tipped with black talons. Heart hammering, I reached up and felt the long, ridged muzzle that had replaced my face, then the pair of sweeping horns curling back from my skull. I had become an anthro version of this huge red dragon.

“OH SHIT!”

Panic hit like a freight train.

“Your reaction tells me this was… unexpected,” Nashim said, sounding almost amused.

I was still irritated by his sudden reappearance, but he was the one who usually had answers for this kind of madness, and deep down I knew he was on my side. So I told him everything —about Firestorm, about Forneus and the violent draconic transformation that had torn through me the night before.

Nashim listened quietly, then murmured, “Hmm. Your aether flow has grown significantly stronger.”

Forneus’s words were still echoing in my head. I cut in before he could continue.

“Never mind that. Rubber, Master Forneus said there are three aether signatures inside me. If Firestorm is one and you’re another, then this red dragon… it has to be the third, right?”

Nashim’s coils shifted with clear confusion. “This new form of yours is indeed a separate incarnation… but I can assure you I am not one of the three. I have always kept my aether flow independent from yours precisely so it would not overwhelm you. You are not yet ready.”

Uh oh.

“Okay… so if Firestorm is one, and this red dragon is another… then who the hell is the third?”

Nashim let out a gentle hiss, a soft squeak escaping with it. “A very good — and rather worrisome — question. I will look into it on my end. Don’t worry. I’ll warn your mentor and his praetor as well.”

“Thank you, Nash… and I’m sorry.”

He cocked his head. “Whatever for?”

I felt heat rise under my new scales. “I thought you were trying to hurt me. That you were driving Firestorm away on purpose. I was… really pissed off.”

Nashim looked away, his hood lowering slightly. “It is true I was… frustrated,” he admitted quietly. A soft sigh followed. “I was jealous, Jon. I let it blind me. I thought that machine was going to replace me.”

I couldn’t believe how honest he was being. The words just spilled out of me.

“It’s okay, my Rubber. I didn’t do any better. I blamed you for the darkness, for everything. I would never replace you. We’re in this together. You and I… we’re one. I’ve embraced you. Fully.”

Nashim blinked, clearly surprised by my openness. After a moment he said, “What I did, I did to help you gain better control over your aether. It seems to have worked… judging by this.” He gestured at my transformed body with a coil. “I suppose I should apologize too, for keeping you in the dark. Figuratively speaking.”

I let out a short, snorting laugh. “Demon humor?”

“You could say that.” His voice softened. “Tell me, though… what did you see when it happened?”

I almost lied. The memory still stung. But I owed him the truth.

“I saw Firestorm being ripped away from me. I heard you laughing… that’s why I thought it was you punishing me.”

Nashim turned his head away, clearly pained. “I… am truly sorry. I never meant for it to be so terrifying. What matters is that you broke through. Your power is growing. This new form is proof of that. We are making progress.”

A small, sheepish chuckle escaped me. “Heh… I guess so.” I hesitated, then added, “So, Rubber… can I get the usual snugs?”

His eyes widened instantly, bright with obvious delight. “Of course, dear host.”

Gods, I loved when he called me that. It always made me feel… wanted. Cherished.

Nashim glided closer. His thick, matte black coils slid around me, enveloping my larger draconic frame with familiar warmth. Even in this new body — clumsy with my heavier tail and unfurled wings — he knew exactly how to hold me. The discomfort melted away. A surge of warm energy bloomed between us, our aether beginning to swirl visibly in the air: rich swirls of reddish light dancing and intertwining.

The flow was already clouding my thoughts, making me feel bold. Reckless. The thrill of this powerful new dragon form only made it worse. Or maybe I was just done making excuses for something I’d wanted for a long time.

I took the plunge.

“Hey, Rubber…?”

“Yes?” He could clearly sense my sudden nervousness.

“So… you feed on kundalini too, right?”

“All demons do.”

“Do you think—”

A wicked, knowing grin spread across his face as he cut me off. “Yes.”

“You didn’t even let me finish the question!”

“I already knew what it was. And yes… you may.”

I had half-expected rejection. Instead, Nashim loosened his coils just enough to give me access, revealing the smooth horizontal vent low on his body — sleek, snake-like anatomy, just like Sovran’s. The floating aether was already weakening every scrap of my usual shyness, stoking the heat building inside me. I reached out slowly, reverently, and brushed a clawed fingertip along the edge of his slit.

Nashim hissed sharply, hips rolling toward my touch.

Emboldened, I leaned in, pressing my new muzzle against him. The scent hit me like a drug — warm rubber, richer and more intoxicating than ever before. My heightened senses made every detail overwhelming. A deep, throaty growl rumbled out of me as I dragged my tongue slowly along his slit, then pushed inside.

His hiss turned low and guttural. Encouraged, I went deeper, savoring the taste and texture. I didn’t even notice my own cock had already slid free, slicking clear fluid across his coils. Then Nashim’s twin black lengths emerged with a soft, stretching squeak of rubber, already swollen and glistening. The thick rubbery musk in the air grew heavier. My usual submissive nature was nowhere to be found. Right now, I wanted to claim. To take what was mine.

“You’re sexy as fuck, Nash…”

His voice came out teasing, challenging. “Is that so? What are you going to do about it?”

If that was a dare, he was about to learn exactly what I was going to do. I took both of his cocks into my muzzle at once, bathing them with long, greedy strokes of my tongue while a deep, resonant purr vibrated from my throat. Nashim’s hisses turned into soft moans. I nursed on him hungrily, lost in the warm, smooth, slightly musky taste of him. Sliding higher, I pressed my own aching length against his, frotting hard, smearing slick and black precum across both our bodies. My claws traced over his chest and hood as I nuzzled in close.

“Bite me.”

Nashim blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Bite me, Nash. Strike. Dig your fangs in.”

He flashed his fangs in a mix of amusement and surprise. “You do realize I am made of rubber, yes?”

“I don’t give a fuck. Chew, tug, whatever you need to do. You’re an adder, aren’t you? So strike, damn it!”

Lust and aether had me completely in their grip. Nashim hesitated only a moment longer before he struck — once, then harder at my urging. Each bite sent sparks through my nerves. He chewed and clamped down on the side of my neck while I rubbed his hood frantically, moaning his name like a prayer. The sensation unlocked something feral inside me. Something wild. Unchained. Dominant.

I shifted, pressing my cock against his slit and pushing in, forcing his cocks back in and stretching the tight rubbery entrance around me. Nashim hissed loudly.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Claiming what’s mine,” I growled. “Be a good demon and keep moaning and hissing for me.”

“W-What—?!”

He was about to object but I shut him up with a deep, hungry kiss, muzzles locked as I thrust harder, filling the air with wet rubbery squeaks. His coils slid and squeezed over my back and rump. I drove deeper, faster, until I was fully sheathed inside his slit. The pressure built unbearably. With a savage roar I arched back and erupted hard, flooding his insides with hot, thick seed. Nashim cried out in an ancient tongue — Sanskrit, maybe — before he shuddered and spilled as well, black rubbery goo mixing with mine between us.

We stayed locked together as the overwhelming scent of sex and aether filled the room. Nashim fed eagerly on the energy we’d created. When our eyes met again, the kiss that followed was slow, tender, almost reverent. Where we once kept careful distance, we were now bound tighter than ever. I held him close, purring softly as I nuzzled into his hood. He finally relaxed completely in my arms, no longer fighting.

“I love this new you, Jon.”

“Thanks, Nash.” I smiled against him. “But I guess I need a new name. I’m not really Jon anymore… not like this.”

“True…” He considered for a moment. “How about Crimson?”

I glanced down at my deep red scales and grinned. “Yeah… that fits. Alright then. This is Crimson. I’m Crimson now.”

Crimson’s coming changed quite a few things. He soon began to bleed into other dreamspheres. I feared the worst when it showed itself to Nevlaan but it turns out it somehow helped. I quickly got much closer to Nevlaan, somehow. Just like we used to. I think Crimson’s naturally playful nature and dominant edge let Nevlaan relax. We bred countless times at first. Even though Crimson seems to be of demonic origin, Nevlaan seemed to realize I was in control. The same can be said with the others. Crimson seems to inspire trust and safety. His natural lust was a little much to handle at first. After all, I usually am pretty shy and reserved but there is nothing shy about Crimson. However, as I gain more control over aether, I seem to find myself relaxing and getting more playful and open about my feelings.

I don’t know why but as Crimson, at first I was distant with Firestorm. Not that Firestorm didn’t want to play! He was all too eager to play with his newly changed pilot. I guess I was just a little worried just how far I would take it and if Firestorm would deny me. We did end up taking it far and Firestorm was actually glad I was honest with him. From then on, in that dreamsphere I would mostly always be Crimson.

That said, the more it went, the more control I got over aether. Occasionally, I started to feel this tinge of unfamiliar prickling, like pins and needles all over. It happened especially around Nevlaan and Firestorm, probably because of how sensitive and attuned to my emotions they are.

Was it this third demonic force inside me? What was it, exactly? What did it want?

Time to dig deeper…

_ _

(To be continued)