Reincarnated as a Mushroom?-Chapter 64 - 63: The Crowned Cunt and the Blue Comet — A Game of Teeth and Tag

Chapter 64: Chapter 63: The Crowned Cunt and the Blue Comet — A Game of Teeth and Tag

Chapter 63: The Crowned Cunt and the Blue Comet — A Game of Teeth and Tag

Before me sprawled a vision dipped in hunger and ancient divinity: Onyx, wearing nothing but confidence and a circlet of suppression forged in gold and set with emeralds, her psionic signature partially muted only so the nearby drones wouldn’t fall into convulsions from proximity alone. It was the Hive equivalent of modesty.

Her nude form was pure contradiction. Power coiled in her frame—taller than me by a whisper, statuesque at six-foot-four, with D-cup breasts that swayed like twin declarations of erotic war. Her light brown skin gleamed with a sheen of energy-slicked perfection, musculature hidden just beneath the softness like buried blades under silk.

Her face? An artist’s rebellion against symmetry. Glossy nude lips curled in a smirk that dared me to kiss or conquer—probably both. Her chin was angular, chiseled to a razor, leading into cheekbones that could draw blood. Straight nose. Curls of deep brown hair danced around her shoulders in a calculated chaos. But those eyes—those gleaming emerald eyes—burned with something I almost recognized. Lust, yes. Hunger, certainly. But behind all that, a whisper of darkness. A depth unplumbed. A promise of danger wrapped in satin sheets.

She radiated playfulness. But beneath that shimmer was the undercurrent of death. Velvet over venom.

"Onyx," I said, voice tight. "How coherent are you right now?"

Her body shifted on the bed, limbs stretching with predator leisure. She ran a hand—no, caressed herself—like she was the prize and the winner.

"I’m completely coherent, my sweet Irvine," she purred, each syllable wrapped in silk and arsenic. "I’ve distanced myself from the Hive’s neural resonance far enough. Only the closest drones will feel my... influence."

That assurance was enough for me to relax my metaphysical shields. I crossed the room and sank down onto the bed beside her.

Kimchi remained frozen in the doorway, a static sculpture of betrayal incarnate. I made a mental note to fix that later.

"It’s good seeing you in meatspace again," I said. "Beats you whispering dirty thoughts into my brain when I’m trying to solve recursive DNA locks."

I leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Mistake.

Her hand snapped up, dragged me in, and devoured me in a kiss so aggressive it deserved military classification. Our mouths wrestled like gladiators in heat, her tongue attempting to conquer my own with calculated precision.

It was five straight minutes of saliva and psychic thrusting before she pulled back—panting, flushed, but conceding defeat.

I grinned.

"What do you want now that you’re not living in my skull rent-free?" I asked. "If it’s bedroom acrobatics, I’d advise against it. From what I can feel, Kimchi’s emotional state is on the verge of murder-suicide."

CRACK.

I glanced over. Kimchi had snapped one of my weight bars in half with her bare hand.

Onyx laughed, musical and mocking.

"Oh, darling. I’d love nothing more than to rut you until time forgets its purpose... but I’ve already seen our first time." She winked. "Today is not that day."

Another kiss—quick, firm, and punctuated by a smacking mwah that echoed like a gunshot in Kimchi’s skull.

"I’m just here to spend time with MY IRVINE~" she cooed. That last word thrummed with psychic dominance, a claim staked in blood and moan.

She caught herself. Smiled sheepishly.

"Oopsie," she whispered.

I groaned inwardly. With the two of them in the same room, one possessed by jealousy and the other by possessiveness, I had the sudden craving for... anything else.

"Alright," I said, tapping my temple, "mental stability is low. Time for emergency protocol: Watch warfronts. Stay quiet. No explosions. No orgies. Just... sit."

To my surprise, they agreed.

We lounged—one on either side of me like sexy, nuclear landmines—until sleep reclaimed me.

---

I was awakened by a tongue.

Not Kimchi’s.

Too rough. Too dry.

Too feline.

Blinking awake, I found myself nose-to-nose with a pair of glowing sapphire-blue eyes, their size comically disproportionate to the face they were attached to.

Fucking Sapphire.

My oversized, two-tailed, 600-kilogram psionic cat had decided I was a salt lick. She licked me again. Sandpaper across my face.

"Hey, hey, hey—down, girl," I whispered, pointing toward Kimchi, still glued to my chest like a clingy barnacle in heat. "Go sit over there before she wakes up and starts another round of ’Who Touched My Man?’"

To her credit, Sapphire moved silently. Impressive for a living tank.

Now came the hard part: extricating myself from Kimchi without waking the love-crazed murder queen.

Fortunately, Onyx—ever the voyeur—had shifted back into her stalker form while I slept. She silently slinked in, swapped positions with me, and took Kimchi’s full-body cuddles without complaint.

Kimchi’s nose twitched. She frowned.

But didn’t wake.

Good girl.

I mouthed a thank you to Onyx and made a silent vow to reward her with something suitably sinful later.

I padded over to Sapphire, scratched her between her nose ridges, and slipped out the door.

---

What followed was one of the most chaotic games of tag the Hive had ever witnessed.

Picture this: a glowing blue panther the size of a motorbike—2.5 meters tall, 3 meters long, with twin tails tipped in psionic blades—sprinting through sleek, organic corridors while being chased by a genetically enhanced, shirtless human who’d decided today was Leg Day.

That was me.

Every time she tried to cut a corner, I pounced.

The moment came—Sapphire slowed just a fraction to make a tight turn, and I launched forward using every ounce of hydraulic power in my thighs. With a glorious TWACK, I slapped one of her tails.

She stopped.

Her head slowly emerged from around the corner like something out of a horror flick. Our eyes met.

Ten seconds of mutual stillness.

Then I saw it—a twitch. A flicker in her shoulder.

I turned and ran like the fucking wind.

I don’t know how long it lasted—hours, maybe. She chased, I juked. I crawled through drone tunnels she couldn’t fit in. She ambushed me by phasing through walls and clotheslining me.

Eventually, exhausted, we collapsed in a heap.

I was sprawled against her flank, using her massive blue chonk as a breathing pillow.

"I may call you Chonk Girl," I gasped, "but fuck me, that’s all power."

She licked my hair in agreement. Mlem.

After a breather, I climbed onto her back—wedging myself between her shoulder spines—and together we explored the rest of the ship like two kids who’d hijacked a living amusement park.

---

Back in my room, Kimchi stirred.

Eyes still closed, she leaned toward where she expected her mate to be. She sniffed.

Nothing.

Her arm wrapped tighter. Still wrong.

Her eyes opened—and what she saw turned her soul inside-out.

Onyx, back in full seductress mode, brushed a hand through Kimchi’s hair and whispered, "Good morning, sweetheart. Last night was incredible~. You really taught me a thing or two about what Irvine likes with that filthy little mouth of yours."

The joke failed.

Hard.

Kimchi didn’t reply.

She punched.

Her fist slammed straight into Onyx’s face, launching the psionic temptress through the wall in a burst of shattered biomass and splattered haemolymph.

Warrior drones scrambled to patch the breach.

Kimchi stood, checked herself for contamination, then melded into her full battle armor—a skeletal beauty of blades and biometal—and reached beneath the bed for her twin swords.

Onyx returned, casually resetting her nose.

"Flimsy thing," she muttered. "Should just slice it off and get a fucking faceplate."

She looked up—and saw the rage beast before her.

"Oh come on, Kimchi. It was just a joke. Irvine loves when I tease you."

Kimchi didn’t flinch. "Where is MY IRVINE?" she growled, eyes scanning Onyx’s stomach for any suspicious bulges.

"Calm your chitin," Onyx said, waving a hand. "He left with Sapphire. Said you needed rest. You’ve been... clingy. I get it. I feel the same way. But he didn’t want you stressing."

That worked.

Kimchi’s blades retracted. Her eyes dimmed.

Fine.

She wouldn’t chase him.

For now.

But the stalker bitch had better tread lightly.

---

Chapter 63: The Crowned Cunt and the Blue Comet — A Game of Teeth and Tag

Before me sprawled a vision dipped in hunger and ancient divinity: Onyx, wearing nothing but confidence and a circlet of suppression forged in gold and set with emeralds, her psionic signature partially muted only so the nearby drones wouldn’t fall into convulsions from proximity alone. It was the Hive equivalent of modesty.

Her nude form was pure contradiction. Power coiled in her frame—taller than me by a whisper, statuesque at six-foot-four, with D-cup breasts that swayed like twin declarations of erotic war. Her light brown skin gleamed with a sheen of energy-slicked perfection, musculature hidden just beneath the softness like buried blades under silk.

Her face? An artist’s rebellion against symmetry. Glossy nude lips curled in a smirk that dared me to kiss or conquer—probably both. Her chin was angular, chiseled to a razor, leading into cheekbones that could draw blood. Straight nose. Curls of deep brown hair danced around her shoulders in a calculated chaos. But those eyes—those gleaming emerald eyes—burned with something I almost recognized. Lust, yes. Hunger, certainly. But behind all that, a whisper of darkness. A depth unplumbed. A promise of danger wrapped in satin sheets.

She radiated playfulness. But beneath that shimmer was the undercurrent of death. Velvet over venom.

"Onyx," I said, voice tight. "How coherent are you right now?"

Her body shifted on the bed, limbs stretching with predator leisure. She ran a hand—no, caressed herself—like she was the prize and the winner.

"I’m completely coherent, my sweet Irvine," she purred, each syllable wrapped in silk and arsenic. "I’ve distanced myself from the Hive’s neural resonance far enough. Only the closest drones will feel my... influence."

That assurance was enough for me to relax my metaphysical shields. I crossed the room and sank down onto the bed beside her.

Kimchi remained frozen in the doorway, a static sculpture of betrayal incarnate. I made a mental note to fix that later.

"It’s good seeing you in meatspace again," I said. "Beats you whispering dirty thoughts into my brain when I’m trying to solve recursive DNA locks."

I leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Mistake.

Her hand snapped up, dragged me in, and devoured me in a kiss so aggressive it deserved military classification. Our mouths wrestled like gladiators in heat, her tongue attempting to conquer my own with calculated precision.

It was five straight minutes of saliva and psychic thrusting before she pulled back—panting, flushed, but conceding defeat.

I grinned.

"What do you want now that you’re not living in my skull rent-free?" I asked. "If it’s bedroom acrobatics, I’d advise against it. From what I can feel, Kimchi’s emotional state is on the verge of murder-suicide."

CRACK.

I glanced over. Kimchi had snapped one of my weight bars in half with her bare hand.

Onyx laughed, musical and mocking.

"Oh, darling. I’d love nothing more than to rut you until time forgets its purpose... but I’ve already seen our first time." She winked. "Today is not that day."

Another kiss—quick, firm, and punctuated by a smacking mwah that echoed like a gunshot in Kimchi’s skull.

"I’m just here to spend time with MY IRVINE~" she cooed. That last word thrummed with psychic dominance, a claim staked in blood and moan.

She caught herself. Smiled sheepishly.

"Oopsie," she whispered.

I groaned inwardly. With the two of them in the same room, one possessed by jealousy and the other by possessiveness, I had the sudden craving for... anything else.

"Alright," I said, tapping my temple, "mental stability is low. Time for emergency protocol: Watch warfronts. Stay quiet. No explosions. No orgies. Just... sit."

To my surprise, they agreed.

We lounged—one on either side of me like sexy, nuclear landmines—until sleep reclaimed me.

---

I was awakened by a tongue.

Not Kimchi’s.

Too rough. Too dry.

Too feline.

Blinking awake, I found myself nose-to-nose with a pair of glowing sapphire-blue eyes, their size comically disproportionate to the face they were attached to.

Fucking Sapphire.

My oversized, two-tailed, 600-kilogram psionic cat had decided I was a salt lick. She licked me again. Sandpaper across my face.

"Hey, hey, hey—down, girl," I whispered, pointing toward Kimchi, still glued to my chest like a clingy barnacle in heat. "Go sit over there before she wakes up and starts another round of ’Who Touched My Man?’"

To her credit, Sapphire moved silently. Impressive for a living tank.

Now came the hard part: extricating myself from Kimchi without waking the love-crazed murder queen.

Fortunately, Onyx—ever the voyeur—had shifted back into her stalker form while I slept. She silently slinked in, swapped positions with me, and took Kimchi’s full-body cuddles without complaint.

Kimchi’s nose twitched. She frowned.

But didn’t wake.

Good girl.

I mouthed a thank you to Onyx and made a silent vow to reward her with something suitably sinful later.

I padded over to Sapphire, scratched her between her nose ridges, and slipped out the door.

---

What followed was one of the most chaotic games of tag the Hive had ever witnessed.

Picture this: a glowing blue panther the size of a motorbike—2.5 meters tall, 3 meters long, with twin tails tipped in psionic blades—sprinting through sleek, organic corridors while being chased by a genetically enhanced, shirtless human who’d decided today was Leg Day.

That was me.

Every time she tried to cut a corner, I pounced.

The moment came—Sapphire slowed just a fraction to make a tight turn, and I launched forward using every ounce of hydraulic power in my thighs. With a glorious TWACK, I slapped one of her tails.

She stopped.

Her head slowly emerged from around the corner like something out of a horror flick. Our eyes met.

Ten seconds of mutual stillness.

Then I saw it—a twitch. A flicker in her shoulder.

I turned and ran like the fucking wind.

I don’t know how long it lasted—hours, maybe. She chased, I juked. I crawled through drone tunnels she couldn’t fit in. She ambushed me by phasing through walls and clotheslining me.

Eventually, exhausted, we collapsed in a heap.

I was sprawled against her flank, using her massive blue chonk as a breathing pillow.

"I may call you Chonk Girl," I gasped, "but fuck me, that’s all power."

She licked my hair in agreement. Mlem.

After a breather, I climbed onto her back—wedging myself between her shoulder spines—and together we explored the rest of the ship like two kids who’d hijacked a living amusement park.

---

Back in my room, Kimchi stirred.

Eyes still closed, she leaned toward where she expected her mate to be. She sniffed.

Nothing.

Her arm wrapped tighter. Still wrong.

Her eyes opened—and what she saw turned her soul inside-out.

Onyx, back in full seductress mode, brushed a hand through Kimchi’s hair and whispered, "Good morning, sweetheart. Last night was incredible~. You really taught me a thing or two about what Irvine likes with that filthy little mouth of yours."

The joke failed.

Hard.

Kimchi didn’t reply.

She punched.

Her fist slammed straight into Onyx’s face, launching the psionic temptress through the wall in a burst of shattered biomass and splattered haemolymph.

Warrior drones scrambled to patch the breach.

Kimchi stood, checked herself for contamination, then melded into her full battle armor—a skeletal beauty of blades and biometal—and reached beneath the bed for her twin swords.

Onyx returned, casually resetting her nose.

"Flimsy thing," she muttered. "Should just slice it off and get a fucking faceplate."

She looked up—and saw the rage beast before her.

"Oh come on, Kimchi. It was just a joke. Irvine loves when I tease you."

Kimchi didn’t flinch. "Where is MY IRVINE?" she growled, eyes scanning Onyx’s stomach for any suspicious bulges.

"Calm your chitin," Onyx said, waving a hand. "He left with Sapphire. Said you needed rest. You’ve been... clingy. I get it. I feel the same way. But he didn’t want you stressing."

That worked.

Kimchi’s blades retracted. Her eyes dimmed.

Fine.

She wouldn’t chase him.

For now.

But the stalker bitch had better tread lightly.

---

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l