Chapter 11 – Cores
The fire had changed the cave.
What was once only a damp, dark shelter now had a constant point of light near the entrance. The skins dried stretched on improvised structures of wood and stone. The smell of roasted meat mixed with the ancient scent of earth and serpent. Luna seemed to have grown accustomed quickly. Many times she remained coiled near the embers, her blue eyes reflecting the flames, as if she appreciated the heat in a way he had not expected.
But what truly occupied his mind were the cores.
He had gathered them in a drier corner of the cave, protected by a small depression in the stone. There were seven so far. Variations in size and brightness. The largest came from an exceptionally aggressive boar he had taken down alone two days earlier. The smallest belonged to a dark-furred creature that barely reached his knee. All of them, however, shared the same characteristic: the concentration of mana inside them was absurdly higher than in any other part of the body.
He spent hours examining them.
He held each core under the light of the fire, observed the particles of mana that still remained, felt the density with his fingertips and with his own internal perception. The more he studied, the more the logic confirmed itself. Monsters did not "generate" mana uniformly. They compressed it. The core was the final result of a natural process of extreme condensation.
'If they can do it… I can too.'
The decision came without drama. Only a cold certainty.
He began to test.
On the first day he simply held the smallest core against his chest while meditating in the Mana Pool. The residual mana of the core reacted to the presence of the white water. A thin thread of energy tried to enter him. It was uncomfortable, almost painful, like trying to force a thick liquid through a narrow pipe. He stopped before anything went wrong.
On the second day he tried to pull deliberately.
He sat inside the pool, the core in the palm of his left hand, and used the internal flow of the Pink Mist as an anchor. The mana of the core resisted. Then it yielded a little. A minimal amount flowed into his body and mixed with what already existed. The result was immediate: lust rose like a warm tide. His cock hardened in seconds. Breathing grew heavy.
Luna, who was watching from the edge, raised her head. Her intention was clear and interested.
Again.
He did not refuse.
The serpent approached inside the water. The wide mouth found the already fully erect cock and swallowed it to the base. The tight, hot throat worked with the addicted dedication she had been showing in recent weeks. He held the blue horns and let the pleasure rise while the newly absorbed mana circulated. When he came, Luna swallowed everything with a long, satisfied hiss, her tongue cleaning to the last drop as if it were precious.
The testing continued in the following days.
He absorbed minimal amounts from different cores, always inside the Mana Pool, always with care. Each time the Pink Mist responded more intensely. Sometimes it came out denser. Sometimes it took longer to dissipate. Once, after absorbing a slightly larger fragment, the mist remained around his body for almost a full minute before vanishing.
He was compressing.
Slowly. Very slowly. But he was.
Luna accompanied everything. At some moments she seemed almost fascinated. At others, protective. When he overdid it and the lust became too painful, she forced him to stop, coiling her body around him and dragging him back into the water until balance returned.
The hunts continued.
Now he went out alone more frequently. The stone tools went with him. One edge for opening, another for separating. He returned with clean prey, almost intact skins, and cores already removed. Luna sometimes accompanied him, sometimes not. When she went, the hunt became even more efficient. When she stayed, he felt her confidence as a comfortable weight in his mind.
At night the ritual repeated.
Fire. Roasted meat. Then Luna's body opening for him or the wide mouth swallowing him with that growing hunger. She was truly addicted. The taste of his semen seemed to have become a necessity. The more she drank, the more intense the intention of wanting more became.
He did not complain.
Between one orgasm and another, between one careful absorption and the next, the certainty grew.
The path lay in compression.
Imitate the cores.
Force the Pink Mist to stop being gas and become something denser.
The Mana Pool glowed in silence while he thought.
Luna slept with her head on his chest, sated.
And for the first time since he had arrived at that cave, the future seemed to have a concrete direction.