Sorry for the slow updates. I ended up breaking three of my fingers and can barely type right now.
On top of that, the medical bills have been pretty overwhelming. If you're able to support me, I'd really appreciate it. My Patreon is $10/month, and you'll get access to 20 chapters ahead.
https://www.patreon.com/cw/Thanarit
Ren rolled up his sleeve.
"Hold this," he said to Needle, handing him the Outer God scalpel.
He reached up with his other hand and pressed two fingers to his collarbone. The skin separated cleanly at the first point of contact, no blood, just a neat line of separation that he widened into a flap and began to work loose.
The arm came first. He peeled the skin from the right arm in one continuous piece, working from the shoulder down, separating it from the underlying fascia with the precise attention of a person who has done this before and knows exactly where to pull. The exposed muscle beneath was a deep arterial red, every fiber visible, the tendons white and defined at the joints. He set the arm skin on the tray.
The left arm followed. Then the back of both hands, peeled away from each finger individually, the skin thin and workable at the fingertips.
He moved to the torso. He worked the chest in two sections, pulling the anterior surface free from the pectoral fascia from the sternum outward, each piece laid flat on the tray. The abdomen came away in one large continuous sheet. He worked around the ribs carefully. The exposed muscle was clean, every structure visible, the tendons white and defined.
The back he did by feel, reaching over his shoulders, separating the broad planes of the dorsal surface. The latissimus, the trapezius, the lumbar fascia. He worked methodically from the thoracic region downward.
The legs: thighs first, the skin thick and firm, then the calves, then the tops of both feet. He kept the soles. Standing on raw muscle was impractical.
He left his face entirely.
From the neck up: a normal person. From the neck down: everything visible.
He placed the last piece of skin on the tray, looked at the accumulated surface area, and was satisfied with the quantity.
Needle stood at the edge of the room and watched all of this without expression. After a long moment, an expression did arrive: something private and genuinely felt, a quality that sat in the line of his eyes.
Father is truly a maniac, he thought. My role model.
. . .
Sienna was awake for all of it.
The anesthesia held her body entirely still. Her eyes tracked every movement. The towel in her mouth caught most of the sound.
Ren stood over her with the scalpel. He began at the left shoulder, making the initial incision with the same precision he had used on himself, the blade finding the plane between skin and fascia and following it cleanly. He worked without hurry. The skin separated from the underlying tissue in long smooth sections, peeled back and held by tentacle retractors that kept the field clear.
She made sounds into the towel. They were consistent and sustained.
He moved down the left arm, section by section, working around the elbow, down the forearm, each finger peeled from the base. He set each piece in its own position on the secondary tray, keeping them in order, the full surface area organized.
The right arm followed. Then the torso: anterior first, the chest and abdomen removed in two careful sections, the tentacles keeping the surgical field open. Every nerve was intact. The skin was alive when it came away, still reactive, still responsive.
He worked down both legs. He left her face, her hands below the wrist, her feet.
The tray held a complete set. Enough.
He stood back for a moment and assessed the material. Then he released the red mist.
It came slowly, bleeding from the clinic's particular darkness into the room, carrying the specific low pressure of the grafting process. It moved over the tray first, reading the material, and then it moved over Sienna's body, reading what was beneath.
Ren pressed both hands flat against the tray. His skin on Sienna's skin. The process began.
The tissue transfer was not surgical in the conventional sense. His skin moved from the tray toward her body with the deliberate momentum of something drawn rather than placed, threading into the exposed subcutaneous layer, bonding at a depth that no suture could reach. It did not simply cover her. It integrated. Piece by piece, the alien tissue found its position and fused, and where it fused the color changed slightly, the tone of her skin coming through the new surface with a depth that was not entirely natural.
The process produced sensation. The tentacles kept her still. The towel kept her quiet, mostly.
He worked through the torso last, the largest surface area, the integration taking the most time. When the final section sealed, the red mist withdrew.
Her body was covered. His skin, her anatomy. The seam between donor and recipient was invisible.
Then it started.
The skin moved.
Not dramatically. A slow ripple, beginning at the lower abdomen and spreading outward in both directions, the surface of her body shifting beneath itself in a wave. Then again, stronger. The tissue bloated slightly at the shoulders, contracted at the waist, and the movement became less like a ripple and more like something breathing.
Needle took one step back.
The skin pulsed. Her body folded inward on itself once, twice, the contours rearranging under the moving surface, and then the whole thing sealed over completely, skin over skin over the form of her, a smooth opaque cocoon that sat on the operating table and pulsed with a slow deep rhythm.
Badump. Badump.
Like a heartbeat.
The shape changed. It took its time. The cocoon shrank at the center and widened at the chest, the hips shifting outward, the proportions of the figure inside reconfiguring steadily over several minutes. Then the surface split at the top and the skin fell away in sheets, dissolving before it hit the floor.
Sienna stood on the table.
Her proportions had restructured entirely. The body she wore was lean and defined, with a curve to the hip and a fullness at the chest her original frame had not held. Her skin had a faint crystalline quality, catching the light from slightly different angles, a depth the eye could not fully locate. Her eyes were very dark, an absence rather than a color.
Around her, the skin cocoon remnants had gathered and reformed into a garment: black fabric, or something that resembled fabric, that moved when she moved and covered her loosely in the style of a priestess's vestments, cut low at the chest with an open back.
Ren looked at her.
Is this a sexy nun cosplay, he thought.
Then the charm hit him.
Not hard. A gentle warmth in the chest that was immediately recognizable as not his own emotion. He noted it, stepped back two feet on reflex, and crossed his arms.
Mana parasite class. Of course.
Sienna stepped off the table. Each step carried a deliberate weight. She crossed the distance between them and knelt.
"Thank you for the rebirth, Father."
Her voice had changed too. Not the words. The frequency of it, something underneath the sound that registered below speech.
Ren uncrossed his arms and crossed them again.
"System," he said. "Scan."
Scanning.
Complete.
MYTHICAL CLASS: THE SAINTESS OF THE ABOMINATION GOD
A Mythical-class existence feared even among Legends. A being worshipped as a goddess of love, beauty, and salvation, while secretly acting as a parasitic divine predator.
Her beauty transcends mortal comprehension. Looking at her for too long causes emotional collapse, obsession, hallucinations, and eventually worship. Kingdoms have gone to war over a single smile.
Class Authority: Divine Dominion of Affection
All emotions of love, desire, admiration, obsession, devotion, and worship are converted into tangible power. The stronger the affection directed toward her, the stronger she becomes. Mana, lifespan, blood, sanity, and free will can all be harvested through emotional attachment.
Mythical Skill — Affection Parasite
Invisible parasitic entities infect all beings who feel affection, attraction, admiration, or emotional attachment toward the host. Infection begins the moment emotional attachment is formed. The parasites alter the victim's emotional state, amplifying affection into obsession. The more affection the target feels, the faster the infestation spreads, the more the host harvests, and the weaker the target's mental resistance becomes.
Passive Harvest: The host continuously drains mana, vitality, emotional energy, and blood essence from all infected targets. Targets experience this as euphoria, longing, addiction, and religious devotion rather than pain.
After five minutes of continuous exposure: the parasites fully infest the brain. The target becomes incapable of harming, betraying, or disobeying the host. Resistance causes immense pain, mental collapse, or self-destructive behavior. The infestation is permanent unless the target dies, the host releases them, or a higher conceptual authority destroys the parasites.
Parasite Detonation: The host may instantly detonate all parasites within a target. Result: instant brain death, nervous system rupture, explosive cranial destruction, mana core collapse. Death is unavoidable for beings below Mythical rank.
"Love me long enough, and even your thoughts will cease belonging to you."
Ren stood with his arms crossed and his mouth open and did not say anything for a considerable amount of time.