Tease and Denial

Steven and Melissa stirred from their tangle of sheets, the morning light spilling into the cramped guild room. As they dressed, her clothes strained against her new form—her top gaped, revealing a generous swell of cleavage, and her pants rode low, unable to contain her rounder ass, the crack peeking out playfully. She laughed, tugging at the fabric. “Look at this mess—my cleavage is staging a breakout, and my ass is mooning you!” She wiggled it at Steven, grinning. “Gonna need a whole new wardrobe, but gods, it’s worth it!” Her glee was infectious, her new body a jiggling testament to his work.

Before she danced out, Steven caught her arm. “Hey, my skills—the armament on fists, feet, and that full-body version—I wanna name ‘em officially. How do I do that?” Melissa paused, then smirked. “Head to the mage tower, ask for Rebecca. She’ll sort you out.” She blew him a flirty kiss, winking. “Later, stud,” she purred, sashaying out with a bounce, her longer hair swaying, her curves testing every seam.

Steven rose, stretching, and headed to the dining hall. He paid 1 copper for a hearty breakfast—crisp bacon, a fried egg, and a thick slice of buttered bread, a D-rank step above the old gruel. Sated, he ambled to the lobby, only to find the Wild Cats waiting. Brad stepped up, grinning. “Heard you hit D-rank, Steve—that’s wild. So wild we want you in the Cats. Thought it over?” Steven shook his head. “Sorry, gang—I’m goin’ solo for now. Not the right time for a party. No hard feelings?” Brad clapped his shoulder. “None taken. Good luck out there.” They waved off, heading for their own quest, while Steven skipped the board, aiming for the mage tower.

The deep purple tower loomed as he approached, its black windows glinting. Inside, he faced the towering elf at the desk—her ancient beauty and massive breasts still striking. “I’d like to see Rebecca,” he said. “One moment,” she replied, her voice a melodic hum. Soon, Rebecca emerged—a 5’10” blonde elf in modest mage robes, heels clicking, her presence poised yet sharp. “Yes, may I help you, sir?” she drawled, lingering on the “sir.” Steven nodded. “Yeah, Melissa sent me. I need to name some new spells.” Rebecca’s brow arched. “Ah, the Radiant Armament prodigy. Very well—follow me.”

They ascended—stairs upon stairs, a winding climb—until a hallway led to double doors. Beyond was a marvel: the cataloging room, walls lined with glowing tomes, a massive desk strewn with parchment and quills. “Demonstrate the skill, then name it—got it?” Rebecca said, firm but curious. “Got it,” Steven replied, “but I’ve got three.” Her eyes widened. “Three? You sure?” “Yeah, watch this.”

He ignited his fists in golden flames—Fists of Holy Fury. Rebecca cast a spell, and a sigil flared on parchment, intricate and glowing. “Hmm, interesting,” she murmured. “What’s that?” Steven asked. “The sigil—every skill has one. This… it’s foreign, unlike anything I’ve seen.” He shrugged, spinning a quick lie. “I’m from a small village, another nation—washed up here after pirates sank my boat.” She nodded, half-convinced. “Might explain it. Name?” “Fists of Holy Fury,” he said. She scribbled it down. “Simple, clean—a warrior’s mind.”

“Two more?” she prompted, skeptical. He sparked his feet next—Feet of Holy Fury. Her spell summoned another sigil, similar yet distinct. “Intriguing—related, but different,” she noted. “Name?” “Feet of Holy Fury.” She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Should’ve guessed.” She filed it away. “Last one—show me.”

He ignited fully—Saiyan Fury—golden flames cloaking him head to toe. Rebecca gasped, stumbling back into her desk, half-sitting on it. “Okay, maybe you’ve got something,” she conceded. Her spell flickered—a sigil sparked, then fizzled. “Odd,” she muttered, grabbing a larger sheet. This time, it worked: three sigils appeared—a central circle flanked by two smaller ones. “Fascinating—the smaller ones match your fists and feet, but this big one…” She tapped her quill against her cheek, pondering. “Name, youngling?” “Saiyan Fury,” he said. “Spell it.” “S-A-I-Y-A-N.” She wrote it, smirking. “Full of surprises, aren’t you? If that’s all, see yourself out.” She sank into her desk, already lost in studying the Saiyan sigil.

Steven left, the tower’s mysteries behind him, his spells now named and etched into Vyrthralis’s arcane annals.