Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 74: Stripes
"Hmmm, how many rolls do I need to rank up both Arkai and Eastiel to Rank 7...?"
Cecilia mused in her mind, scrolling through mental calculations of gacha pity counters and bond thresholds.
[...You haven’t even explained the effects of the higher bond ranks to any of them yet...]
The system chimed in.
"Yes," Cecilia nodded, not missing a beat. "But if I explain what ’Telepathy’ or ’Summon’ entails now, I’m afraid they’ll immediately start misusing it in... creative ways."
Two of the three of them had discovered Sense Sharing less than twenty-four hours ago, and they hadn’t stopped ’experimenting’ with it since. The feedback loop of shared sensation had already been weaponized for teasing, torture, and tactical pleasure.
The thought of granting them knowledge that they could read or send thoughts into her mind... or, heavens forbid, the Summon ability to instantly teleport her to their location from anywhere... it sent a chill down her spine.
"More than that," she continued, "what about the notificati—"
DING!
[Congratulations! You’ve completed daily interaction with Love Interest, Oathran Alicei!]
[Congratulations! You’ve completed daily interaction with Love Interest, Arkai Dawnoro!]
[Congratulations! You’ve completed daily interaction with Love Interest, Eastiel Edengold!]
DING!
[Congratulations! You’ve obtained Achievement: Goodbye Chastity!]
[Met condition: Lost your virginity!]
DING!
[Congratulations! You’ve obtained Achievement: First Gang Bang!]
[Met condition: Have a sexy time with three men or more for the first time!]
[Congratulations! You’ve obtained Hidden Achievement: What the Fuck(s)!]
[Met condition: Lost your virginity in a gang bang!]
DI-DI-DI-DI-DING!
[Love Interests’ Affinities have Leveled Up!]
[Oathran Alicei: Lv. 23 —> Lv. 30]
[Arkai Dawnoro: Lv. 14 —> Lv. 20]
[Eastiel Edengold: Lv. 1 —> Lv. 9]
[Claim Rewards?]
[Yes/No]
...
...
...
Cecilia closed her eyes.
"Nevermind," she said, her voice flat. "Turn it all off again."
Giving up on the System and its lewd scorekeeping, Cecilia let out a soft sigh of surrender. The only constants now were the wind, the cold, and the three impossible pillars of heat surrounding her.
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the solid, unyielding plane of Arkai’s broad back. The dense muscle wrapped in fur coat was a bulwark against the screaming altitude, his body a shield angled instinctively against the biting slipstream.
Beneath them, the world was not crossed by horse or magic, but born upon. Oathran flew in his full, majestic form, a White Dragon of legend, scales like polished alabaster catching the high sun in blinding flashes, his wingspan blotting out clouds with each titanic, graceful beat.
They all could feel the visceral thrum that traveled up through the dragon’s spine and into their bodies.
And Cecilia was sandwiched. Securely between two living furnaces.
Behind her, Eastiel was exhilarated. This was his first flight upon a dragon, and every surge of power, every banking turn that tilted the world on its side, drew a thrilled gasp or a wild, grinning laugh from him. His arms around her waist were tight. This was every child’s dream after all. The sheer, joyous shock of it all.
Arkai, before her, was the opposite. He scanned the view, his dark eyes tracking landmarks, assessing threats in the passing terrain below.
Back to Winter’s Keep they went.
The world tilted. Oathran’s vast, alabaster wings folded with a sound like a mountain sighing, and they descended through a veil of icy cloud into a secluded bowl in the pine forests below. The landing was earth-shaking, sending a shockwave through the snow, powdering the dark green boughs of pine in a concentric circle.
In his full draconic glory, Oathran scales were of blinding white, eyes of misty grey, with only the proud, jet-black curves of his horns and claws providing contrast. As he folded his wings, a shimmering distortion rippled over his form, the immense scale collapsing inwards with a sound of grinding light.
He emerged from the chrysalis of his own power in his humanoid form. For a fleeting moment, the transformation was incomplete. The tips of his long, elegant fingers remained stained that same deep, glossy black, as if dipped in ink or shadow.
Then, like ink receded, the darkness drained away, leaving behind perfectly shaped, pale human hands. The only remaining vestige of his otherness were the two sharp, ebon horns that swept back from his head. A crown that could never be removed.
Oh, and his... pointy ears. Cecilia still wondered why he had those ears when he could’ve transformed them into more human-like ears. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖
Cecilia plunged her hand into the space just below her collarbone, and a bloom of warm, golden light emanated from her chest.
From this intangible inventory, she drew forth the heavy, practical fabrics of the north. A thick woolen tunic, durable pants, a fur-lined coat. The garments glowed briefly in her hands, bathed in the system’s otherworldly radiance, before she passed the bundle to Oathran.
No words were needed. The dragon took the clothes and dressed with her help.
Then, they ran. The quartet cutting through the deep, muffling snow of the forest floor, their breath pluming in ragged synchrony. The distant spires of Winter’s Keep beckoned through the skeletal trees.
It was Arkai who broke the silence, his mind already leaping past the journey to the coming confrontation. "What are you going to tell Anton to do?"
Cecilia hummed. "I’ll ask what he wants to do first."
"And... suggest what?" Oathran prompted.
"And then suggest he play with the announcements Arzhen has already made, of course," Cecilia replied, shrugging as she bounced slightly in Oathran’s secure grip.
"Ah," Eastiel cut in, leaping over a fallen log with feline grace. "To play the grieving and wronged victim? Let the Vasilievs and Delanivis tear each other apart?"
Cecilia twisted her head just enough to shoot a glare back at him, though there was no real heat in it. "That’s your plan," she corrected. She turned her face back towards the fortress lights. "I want to do something else."
Oathran’s arms tightened slightly around her. Arkai’s running footsteps faltered for half a beat. Eastiel’s keen interest sharpened the air between them.
"What?" all three men asked.
Cecilia pouted.
"I thought I already told you," she huffed, the words puffing into a small cloud in the frosty air. "I’m going to mess with their minds. Remember?"
Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss.
Ah, no. A more fitting triad took its place.
Manipulate, Mansplain, Malewife.
And the credo that justified it all, of course.
Live, Laugh, Love.
"I’m going to tell Father-in-law," she continued, "to claim he’s forgotten everything due to the traumatic shock of the attack. Complete amnesia. A blank slate."
A sly smile touched her lips. "But also tell him to announce to the world that he’s starting to remember... tidbits. Fragments. Inconclusive, but deeply suggestive flashes."
Psychological poison.
Anxiety.
She wanted them sweating in their beds, jumping at shadows, interpreting every rumor, every glance, as a recovered memory about to be revealed.
She wanted Arzhen and Dorian’s son Nikolas to be so coiled with paranoid tension that their only perceived safe harbor would be to beg Anton to return, to retake his throne and use his ’authority’ to contain the spreading toxin of doubt she was releasing.
"But you know," she said, turning her head, her gaze narrowing to a laser-point on Eastiel. "I think there’s a more pressing piece of intelligence we’re missing."
She asked, "Who did you hire to attack Dorian Delanivis?"
Eastiel blinked. "W-what?"
Oathran and Arkai turned as one, their focus pivoting from Cecilia’s grand design to the lion in their midst.
Under the combined gaze, Cecilia’s piercing demand, Oathran’s silence, and Arkai’s stern, judicial stare, Eastiel’s composure crumbled. A blush from rage and embarrassment crept up his neck and flooded his handsome face.
"Alright, alright!" he burst out, throwing his hands up in surrender. "It was me! I did it myself! I wore a damned mask and painted stripes of orange and black on my tail, okay?"
He glared defensively at Arkai. "Those Arctic mutts can’t tell one big cat’s scent from another anyway!"
"BWAHAHWHAHAHAHAHH—"
"Why are you looking at me? Are you piling me together with those sniveling white wolves? I’m the Black Wolf Ki—"
"—WAHAHWHAHAHAHAHHAHWAHHAHAH!"
"Pfff—"
"STOP LAUGHING!"
