Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 187: Follow Along **

"So," Eastiel put down his glass of whiskey, the cheap crystal thudding softly on the scarred wooden counter. The amber liquid within caught the dim, smoky light of the tavern. "Do you want me to warn you or not?"

Arkai, seated beside him, narrowed his obsidian eyes. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his own glass. The air around them was thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and roasted meat. Quite a far cry from their usual environments.

Their hoods were drawn low, shadows concealing the distinctive points of their ears, the bulk of their hidden tails a constant, careful weight. This tavern, however busy, was a place for merchants, mercenaries, and men who asked no questions.

The perfect place for two kings to wind down.

"If you’re asking me whether you should or not," Arkai finally replied, his voice a low rumble meant only for Eastiel’s ears, "I don’t think you should."

Eastiel turned his head slightly, a flicker of amusement in his sharp golden gaze. "Do you even know what I’m talking about?"

"About Elder Brother?" Arkai guessed, his tone flat.

Eastiel raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Well, actually, I know as much as you about that particular topic. You did say it was between Cecilia and Elder Brother."

"Then what are you talking about?" Arkai’s brow creased, impatient.

Eastiel didn’t answer immediately. He looked deeply at Arkai, weighing the Wolf King’s solidity against some unseen pressure. "Hmm..."

"Man, come on," Arkai glared.

"You’re not a scaredy-cat like me," Eastiel said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "So, I think it’s fine. Just... when she does it, you gotta brace yourself. It’s going to be psychologically enlightening."

The vagueness was maddening. "Alright, spill it out," Arkai demanded, leaning in slightly. The noise of the tavern swirled around them. "What are you talking about?"

Eastiel shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the gravity in his eyes. "I’m sure Elder Brother just had his... experience... just now. That’s why he asked us to leave them for tonight."

Arkai’s eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that the reason you volunteered for us to sever the sense-sharing connection for the night?"

Eastiel nodded, taking another sip. "Elder Brother needs the privacy, I’m sure."

Seeing this little shit, usually a chaotic, self-serving youth, being so uncharacteristically understanding and discreet made Arkai more suspicious, not less. His mind circled back to the central, looming threat. "About Elder Brother..."

"Hm?" Eastiel turned, glass halfway to his lips.

Arkai stared into the dark depths of his own drink. "What do you think... we should do... if we can’t save him?"

The tavern’ noise seemed to recede. Both glasses settled back onto the counter with soft clicks. The conversation had plunged into the deepest dark.

Eastiel didn’t flinch. He met the darkness head-on. "Cecilia talked to me about that," he answered honestly. "Then, it just came down to one question."

"If it’s us... what would we do?"

Arkai didn’t need to think. He knew the answer in his bones. "If it’s us... then we’d rather die too. It seems... whatever it was, it’s not something even a dragon lord could avoid."

Eastiel nodded. "Exactly."

Even if they didn’t know the details, it was obvious.

He drained the last of his whiskey, the burn seeming to fuel his next thought. He set the empty glass down. "But what makes you think Cecilia won’t do the same?"

Arkai’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along its line. His hand, resting on the counter, clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles blanched white against the dark wood.

They didn’t need to say another word. They both knew.

Cecilia would find a way. She would engineer a trade, a bargain, a sacrifice that would tear the world apart to follow him. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a question of when, and how, and how desperately they would have to fight to stop her.

The fear of losing Oathran was now inextricably twined with the terror of losing her in the aftermath.

So... they’d follow right behind her.

***

"Ha... ha... aaahh... mm..."

Grind... grind... grind... thrust...

Oathran caged Cecilia beneath the full weight of his body, his moans low and continuous, vibrating against the shell of her ear and the roll of his hips was slow, deep, like a measured tide.

Only one of his cocks, William, was buried inside her, stretching her with a familiar, filling heat. The other, Richard, rested atop, pressuring and grinding against her clit, the blunt head nudging her lower belly with each deliberate shift of his pelvis.

It was maddening. This drawn-out, intense focus. He was making this last, wringing every possible sensation from the moment, each slow thrust full of control and depth.

But something was... different.

He was loose. The absolute, seamless control he usually held over his features, the iron grip that kept him in an almost flawless human form, had been relinquished, just enough.

This wasn’t the first time Cecilia had seen his dragon tail. But it was the first time she saw it here, mixing with his humanoid form, in this intimate context, arcing from the base of his spine while he moved over her.

It was pure, stark white, a contrast to the black horn that crowned his head. Just like the blackening tips of his fingers, all the way to his sharp, elegant claws.

His tongue, when he claimed her mouth in a kiss, was forked into two. Thicker, longer, an intensely erotic sensation as it stroked against her own.

"Mmmhh... mmmnnghh... mmnn..."

Being taken like this felt indescribably good.

Not like Eastiel’s lion cock, with its distinctive bumps and shape designed for overwhelming stimulation, Oathran’s cocks didn’t have that spike-like texture meant to trigger ovulation. They had their bumps along the underside, yes, but their stimulation was different. Relentless, hard, filling, with quite a different shape from human’s.

Perhaps after days trapped in a frustratingly mortal, limited teenage body, a form that had, to his chagrin, even lost one of his cocks to achieve perfect human anatomy, this was him reasserting his truth.

This was the real Oathran Alicei.

He didn’t say it of course. Perhaps he’d seen the genuine pleasure she took in his human form and didn’t want to diminish that.

But Cecilia wondered.

Did he truly dislike being human? Or did he mourn that he could never be just human?

He would always be the Dragon Lord first. The solitary pillar upon which fates were balanced. Even in a fabricated school days scenario, as a ’normal’ boy, his solution had been the same. Carry the burden alone, and then disappear.

It was strange.

When the memory of him in that fabricated world had slammed back into the minds of its inhabitants, something else had seeped into Cecilia’s own recollection. Something that initially wasn’t there. Straight from the other side of the erasure.

She remembered the morning of the first snow, blasting open his empty dorm room door. She had seen nothing then. But now... now she remembered a presence. A man, frantically trying to reach her.

"Cecilia! I’m here! Can’t you see me? I’m here, my love..."

"Don’t cry—don’t cry, please... please, I’m here..."

She remembered him, desperate and unheard, as she confronted his confused neighbors.

"For fuck’s sake, so what if they don’t remember? Don’t... don’t be sad... Cecilia... it’s enough that you remember... don’t..."

He had run behind her as she tore across the snowy grounds.

"Cecilia—please—my love? My love, let’s meet outside of this world? Let’s end this, don’t try to... don’t try to bring me back, ple—"

"This is just a fake world! Get out of this world and find the real me! Find me, Cecilia! Don’t save me!"

"Cecilia! I’m sorry! Please! Cecilia!"

His final, agonized screams as she stepped through the teleportation gate with Lazuardi, leaving him behind.

"Stop!"

"Please—don’t sacrifi—"

But she left as if he was already gone. A void. She couldn’t perceive him. As if he was no longer there.

He had been there the whole time.

"Does it hurt?"

Cecilia blinked, her vision blurring. Warm tears had spilled over, tracing paths down her temples into her hair.

The dragon above her froze, his slow, grinding rhythm stuttering to a halt. The intense pleasure in his storm-grey eyes was instantly washed away by concern. "Did I hurt you, my love?"

"No..." she breathed, pulling him down into a kiss, tasting the unique, forked stroke of his tongue, a sensation that was now inextricably linked to him. "It feels... good... Your Majesty..."

"Then don’t cry." His voice was soft, worried. He nuzzled her cheek, catching a tear with his lips. "You’re scaring me there..."

"It just... feels too good..." she whispered.

"Is that so...?" he murmured, a faint, wondering note in his voice. "Too good that you cried?"

"Mmm... don’t tease me..." she sniffed, a weak smile touching her lips.

THRUST!

A sudden, deep, punctuating drive that stole her breath and made her back arch.

"Mmhh! Oathran!"

"Heh..." A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest, but the worry still lingered in the way his thumb brushed another tear away.

Perhaps, tonight, this was all he wanted. To be held. To be remembered. To be perceived.

To be seen and to be loved as Oathran.

And tomorrow...

Tomorrow, he’d return to pray to be forgotten.