Chapter 786: POV Baker

More salt.

Oats did as instructed, one tentacle scooping up the container of tiny white crystals that tasted sharp while the rest continued to stir the sticky mixture that had not quite yet become dough. She slowly added more salt, careful not to pour in the entire clay bowl like she had once done when she had been less experienced. Once she had put in an amount that she judged to be enough to correct her mistake, she set the bowl of salt aside, carefully, rather than letting it fall carelessly and creating a mess that Hans would have to clean up as she had also done when she was less experienced. She did not want to create more work for Hans.

Good work.

The praise was both encouragement as well as confirmation. Oats felt right, correct, satisfied, warm. She had learned and she had grown. The bread that she made was not perfect, but it was of good quality, good enough for her to receive praise. Good enough that she did not feel wrong to receive the praise. More than good enough for her to feel… accomplished in a way that she had never felt before.

Accomplished.

Proud.

Complete.

Complete?

Oats’ gaze shifted onto the only other being in the room with her. The mortal. The human. The man. Hans. She observed his purposeful movements. The way he moved his arms. He had only two, and he never used his other limbs, his legs, for anything other than to stand on. A waste of bodily function. At least, that had been Oats’ belief at first. Then she had seen the way Hans moved with perfect efficiency, studied his undeniable skill, attempted to emulate with her many limbs what he did with only two, and failed utterly to replicate his extraordinary ability.

Competent.

Capable.

Expert.

He was so beautiful.

She was nothing compared to him.

The Urge had told her to take him. To inhabit his body. To become one with the man and take his skill for her own. To be more. To be complete.

Foolish.

Oats ignored the Urge completely. Stupid. If she stole Hans’ body, she would replace him. He would no longer exist. He would be dead. She would gain his skills, but not his knowledge. Not truly. She would be greater than she was now, but he would be made lesser. Incomplete. Despoiled. Ruined.

How had she ever listened to the Urge? The lie seemed so obvious in hindsight. The deception. Destruction.

Fool.

Oats knew she had done wrong. She remembered those that she had possessed. The powers she had stolen from them. Skills. Memories. Lives. She had destroyed them. She had made them… less. She would not do so again. Never again. Never.

She still wanted to be part of Hans, though.

Oats understood the feeling better since Alex had explained it to her. Taste. Touch. Closeness. Intimacy.

Sex.

She still did not entirely understand that part. The limbs. The organs. The pieces going into other parts. Alex had said not to worry. She had not understood either until she had experienced it. Oats had suggested that it was simply a matter of breeding instinct that she did not possess since she was not a prince, but Alex had corrected her. Breeding was not the same as sex, as was not the same as intimacy, as was not the same as fucking. Alex was intelligent. Strong. Willful. Alex understood and explained and Oats did her best to follow. Far better things had happened to her since she had chosen to follow Alex than had ever happened when she had followed the Urge.

Oats still was not sure she understood what the point of sex was. But perhaps it did not have to have a point. Oats baked bread because she enjoyed the taste. The texture. The act itself. There was no further meaning or purpose. And yet, the act was the meaning. The purpose. She understood that she could not eat the bread, but she made it anyway because she enjoyed the experience. There was no need for more.

Something wrong?

Oats realized that she had fallen still. Her thoughts had wandered far. Hans had grown concerned.

Nothing wrong.

Hans nodded at her response before he turned back to his own task of preparing the filling for the meat pies he had expertly perfected. He understood her movements. Her communication. Her intention. She did not need to use the movements that Jadis and the other mortals had taught her to be understood. Hans understood her. She understood him. They were… compatible.

Alex and Jadis were compatible. Alex and Jadis had sex. They had sex well together. Did that mean Oats and Hans should have sex well together as well? Oats was not sure. She and Hans were not Alex and Jadis. She and Hans baked well together. Baking was their sex. There did not need to be more.

And yet…

“—saying that it’s guaranteed, but it’s going to do something,” Jadis’ voice interrupted the quiet of Oats and Hans’ baking.

A moment later, the door to their kitchen opened and one of the Nephilim’s bodies entered. The one called Sorcha was with her, as was the one called Noct. They were talking. Discussing. Arguing? Not fighting. Debating. There was stress. The taste was of confusion and also excitement.

“Caution,” the Noct stated, declaring that Jadis needed to slow down from whatever rush she was in.

“Don’t worry,” Jadis insisted. “Ammy is taking all possible precautions.”

The three came to a stop by table that Oats occupied. All attention focused on her. Discomfort. Confusion. She did not slow her kneading. The dough was at a delicate stage. The texture was not yet correct.

“Oats,” Jadis addressed her. “I think I found a way for you to have your own body. A body like Alex. Without possession.”

Suddenly, Jadis was of far more interest to Oats than the dough.

“I need you to understand,” Jadis spoke slowly and clearly, making words with her hands as well as her mouth. “We do not know for sure what will happen. This is an experiment. If you do not want to participate, you do not have to. I promise that no harm will come to you. If you want to wait, we can test on one of the other Demons first.”

Test. Experiment. Unknown result.

Danger.

But Jadis promised there would be no harm to her. And it was a chance. A chance to have a body. A chance to be closer to Hans. A chance for something more.

“We’re setting things up so that there are lots of healers and back up potions and ways to reverse the transformation if it goes badly,” Sorcha spoke quickly, her hand movements not matching all of her mouth sounds. Oats understood her meaning anyway. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Do you want to try?” Jadis asked, holding out her hand.

Anxious. Nervous. Panicked.

Yes.

Yes, Oats wanted to try. But…

Go. I will take care of the bread.

Hans reassured Oats, his hands sliding over her tentacles, taking over the kneading that needed to be done.

Thank you.

Her tentacles slid over his arm, squeezing him in a way that she knew he understood. Then, Oats crawled across the table and onto Jadis’ hand. She trusted Jadis. Alex trusted Jadis. Neither had ever harmed her. Both had led her to the best moments of her life. She would follow. She would trust.

“We’ll be back soon,” Jadis spoke to Hans.

Movement. Speed. Jadis was fast, carrying Oats through the cavernous stone construction that the many mortals surrounding her inhabited and out into the sunlit world. It was morning. Early. A concept that meant nothing to Oats, except that she had learned from those that she had possessed in the past that the day and the night were divided into sections the way a pie was divided into sections. This was an early time, which meant that the mortals would be hungry and they would want to eat the food that she and Hans made for them.

Soon, Jadis carried Oats into one of the other stone constructions. Building four. The one where the Demons were kept. Sunny, Lapis, and Grape were there. They were with others. Many others. Other Jadis’ and other mortals. And Alex.

Come. Be with me.

Oats did not resist as Alex took her in her arms. She was so powerful. Dangerous. Frightening. Beautiful. Kind. Demon Lord.

Oats did not understand how that happened. Alex had not been Demon Lord. She had changed. Her taste had changed. She was still Alex. But she was more. Even more than the more that she had been. It was confusing. Strange. Not unwelcome.

A part of Oats wanted to become more for Alex. She knew that if she became great, if she became a Matriarch, she could breed with Alex. The knowledge was there. She barely remembered her own matriarch, except that she was powerful, and she had accepted the seed of Ruin from Demon Prince Vinea many times, breeding countless more eggs, countless kin, countless Demons. That part of Oats yearned for her to follow the same path.

That part was no more right than the Urge. Alex and Jadis belonged to each other. Oats could taste that as easily as she tasted the sweetness of grain. She did not belong with them.

But maybe… with a body…

Hans…

Jadis will help.

Oats curled into the strong hands of Alex. She understood. No noises. No movements. No taste. Alex simply knew.

She was a good Demon Lord.

“What’s that going to do?” Sorcha asked. “That’s not—”

“It’s for skin-based absorption,” Amarantha replied. “It’s not like Demons have mouths. At least, not in their natural form. I don’t even know if drinking a potion the usual way would work on a Demon with a mouth like a mire hounds since they don’t really have stomachs.”

The two were gathered around a table meant for their size. There were many in the room. All of the ones who bred with Jadis and Alex, but also the furry one who tasted of great danger and a beautiful one who tasted of sweetness and powerful magic. They were all paying close attention to what the one called Amarantha was doing, though some were talking to each other.

Oats could also see Grape, Sunny, Lapis, and Cobbler. They were watching.

Curiosity.

Anticipation.

Anxiety.

Their tastes mirrored her own.

Except for Cobbler. Cobbler only tasted of annoyance. She was focused on the feet of Amarantha. Oats could guess what bothered her without seeing.

“What if it changes the formula too much and affects the outcome?” Sorcha asked, her noises displaying concern. “There’s a reason why alchemists don’t use featherfinger blooms for more potions!”

“Look, I know what I’m doing, pickle cock,” Amarantha mixed different liquids into a bowl. “I wouldn’t waste this potion if there was a chance I thought it could ruin the effect. I barely have any left and the ingredients for this stuff aren’t cheap. Not including Jadis’ dick cream, of course.”

“But what if it—”

“The only other option is to cut Oats open and pour it directly into her,” Amarantha stated in a tone that denoted frustration. “And if you know anything about potions then you know that direct bloodstream application fucking sucks. That isn’t even guaranteed to work either, since this isn’t a healing potion and Oats still doesn’t have a stomach.”

“Let her work, Sorcha,” one of Jadis commanded while putting a hand on the mortal’s shoulder. “She’s got this.”

“Damn right I got this,” Amarantha poured the glowing liquid into a glass vial and held it up. “I’m about to go down in the history books for this little experiment. Probably.”

Amarantha moved away from the table and stepped close to Oats. Alex lowered her hands so that they were eye to eyes, giving Oats a good look at the vial that the one with a fiery head was holding. The liquid was light in color. Greenish blue like the small beans that Hans always put in the filling of his meat pies. A glow surrounded the liquid, pale white. Oats could taste the flavor in the air. Sweet. Crisp. Warm. Powerful.

Very powerful.

Too powerful.

Oats could not help but edge away from the vial. She could feel the magic radiating from the liquid. It tasted like Jadis but it felt like Alex. Unrestrained. Unstoppable. Wild.

Chaos.

If you are frightened, you do not have to try.

Oats looked up at Alex, their gazes meeting. No condemnation. No complaint. Only understanding.

I will try.

“Ammy… You may… Proceed…”

Alex placed Oats on the floor and stepped away.

“Here we go…” Amarantha made a soft noise before upending the liquid over Oats.

Oats closed her eye.

She waited.

She changed.

She became more.