Nestled in the arms of my First Love, I took my time in taking in my surroundings. Chaos and death were the staple of the day, for man, beast, dragon, and monstrosity alike. And while I felt the warmth and comfort of his arms hugging me close, I also felt that spark of new power within me. While I had been a [Courtesan] my whole life, a second Blessing had found purchase, and I found myself eager to test it. But first, I would need to assuage First Love, for while he smiled down at me, worry and pain laced through his features.

  “Worry not, my love,” I whispered to him as my hand found and caressed the side of his face. “I am not so easily broken, not in body nor spirit. I have found a new purpose, one that ever draws me closer to you, and it warms my heart that our Fates should be so entwined. Until the fading of eternity, I will be by your side.”

  When we first met, he was barely a man, for boyhood still offered hints of influence to his features. But now, with the passing of time and the advancement of his [Age] as a dragon, he embodied the full vigor and refined features of man in his early 20’s. Or perhaps a man in his late 30’s, for his appearance was that of a man from everywhere and nowhere, timeless yet relevant no matter where he went, able to blend in with any culture. Handsome, but not in the way that turns all heads in a room. It is more of the insidious variety, one that slowly draws you in, only for you to realize too late that you are in love and helpless to resist his charm and that ever-present smile that is entirely too endearing and captivating. Mature, confident, dignified yet expressive, it feels offensive that the world should give him cause to look so forlorn.

  And so I nuzzle into him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear until his concern melts away in the warmth of my love. It is challenging, not that I should succeed, but that I can hold myself back from taking him right here and right now, as that would be a crass display given the circumstances. Not that those present would not normally eagerly watch, but there is a proper time and place for such things.

  With both of our feelings all managed and arranged the way we need them to be, I can finally get to the fun part. I had thought my second Blessing would need time to grow, and while it certainly has plenty of room to do just that, it still has plenty of Skills unlocked. Unlike with my first Blessing, where I had to puzzle out what it could do and how to wield my new Abilities, this one came with the unshakable knowledge of how to bring my power to bear with adroit aptitude. I wondered if perhaps this is how dragons are, that they are innately instinctual in their mastery of magic. An unfair advantage, but I have no complaint now that I find myself benefiting from it.

  But first, it is time for a little performance to layer magical boosts upon myself and others around me. Sticking with what I am familiar with, I draw my electric shamisen from a dimensional storage item that First Love made for me. As for where said item is located and what it is, well, a woman has her secrets. No tuning is necessary, for there are no physical strings, but rather, ones made of harnessed lightning. I assume a proper position to play, and when I strike up a tune, it is one with the fastest pace my deft fingers can manage, one full of intensity that would be an appropriate theme for a lone hero being chased through the streets by angry thugs. There are no lyrics for this song, for I have no attention to spare as I amp up the tempo. Heart pumping, blood flowing, I feel alive as power courses through my veins.

  The others in the room take notice, not that such an inescapably obvious cacophony that I wrangled into raw and unrepentant energy for the soul could be overlooked. They continue their work with renewed fervor, each one seemingly pleased as they continue to issue instructions and give commands that send good men and women to their deaths. While I am no [Musician], as a [Courtesan], entertainment for my hosts is as core to my Blessing as what I do with them behind closed doors. I still benefit from a magical boost that carries my song to everyone present, but it does not transcend to the theater of war all along the high road.

  My performance complete, I stow away my prized instrument and draw forth my brass knuckles. I tilt my head side to side, cracking my neck and rolling my shoulders as I flex and walk forward. There are lives that need saving, and faces that need smashing, and the line between the two is getting blurry. I wanted to be able to heal those around me, and I wanted to be able to protect myself, and for that to happen, I had to accept an unconventional package of Skills that would form my new Blessing, [Draconian Healer of Furious Love].

  A few of my First Love’s whelps swarm around me as I depart for the ramparts, none of them so close as to be obtrusive, but they are definitely meant to be an escort. One in particular is bigger and clearly more powerful than the rest, so I assume it to be an Imperial Whelp. Commendable, that First Love struck the right balance between giving me free reign to do as I please while also offering protection without hovering, I would have to thank him later. Thoroughly, vigorously. For now, I really want to punch something.

  Something horrid and unsightly is puking flesh sacs up onto the high road, and once they land, terrible and misshapen abominations of sickening proportions rip and tear their way free as they lash and rake at anyone nearby. Without reservation, I slam my fist right into one’s side, my brass knuckles shattering bone as I send whatever it is sailing over the edge. With such harsh ministrations, I feel a surge of power, a reservoir within me absorbing something from its pain and the damage dealt to its form. It isn’t mana, but it is some source of power I know how to use, and I quickly find someone in need of it.

  A woman is screaming nearby, not in hysterics, but more in the way a woman might scream if her flesh, what remnants of it that were not sloughing off of her, were boiling and melting in acid, on account of that being exactly what was currently happening to her. I combine [Tough Love] with [Empathetic Healing, Apathetic Carnage], the latter of which is the basis of how my new Blessing works, and deliver my remedy to solve her medical emergency.

  And by that, I mean I square up and deliver a full-force quick right between her legs. Indeed, a healing cunt-punt, if you will. It does rather immediately cure her flesh, restoring it to whole as if it had never been covered in toxic bile, a remarkable improvement of circumstances for her if I do say so myself. However, she does double over in pain from the blow, and while I know my assault on her person is supernaturally modified to not cause any damage, she still feels the pain of it as if it were as devastating as it appeared. And while she may not have the dangly and delicate bits of a man, as a woman, I can attest that it still fucking hurts. My sympathies go out to her, but I didn't have the time to deliver a more delicate solution. She does manage to grunt something out to me, something between a jumble of profanities and gratitude, so I continue on. She will only have to suffer for 10 or 15 seconds until the pain goes away and she is fit to fight again, so I think we both consider it a fair improvement.

  Another monstrosity appears, this one swiping at a man near me via a limb that is more akin to a scythe or a mantis. I dropkick the monstrosity, hitting a little higher than I had planned and turning its head into a shower of gore as it ruptures like a sour grape. Unfortunately, the man, also a screamer, falls down with his legs no longer attached to his body. I move over to him and pull his legs as close to his nubs as I can, and then straddling his torso and facing him, I begin to relentlessly slug him in the face, alternating each hand.

  Brass knuckles smash into bare meat, and though one would normally expect him to become a bloody pulp, not even a bruise appears, although he still seems to suffer for it. I can “feel” his legs reattaching to his body, my new senses as a healer informing me as to what his body is doing. However, I also know that I am going too hard on him now, and for fine tuning things, I need to take the knuckles off.

  With moderate but controlled force, I alternate slapping him in the face on each side, a small smirk of satisfaction on my face as I feel the fine adjustments to his nervous system as his legs come under his control again. I also sense a change in his blood flow, and I give him a knowing wink as we both realize where that blood is flowing when a strong, scantily clad, and confident woman is slapping him repeatedly in the face while straddling him. Perhaps that was a desire of his that has always existed, or perhaps it has found seed and bloomed all within a few moments as something awakened within him, but both of my Blessings found satisfaction in a job well done as I moved on to my next vict- er, patient.

  Soon, I found myself in a state of flow, socking an enemy here, gut-punching an ally there, all the while moving through the battle lines and gaining more understanding of my new Abilities and limitations. Even if I didn’t damage any enemies to fill that new pool of power, I could still heal allies, although it would take a lot longer and involve me beating them up much more harshly. A gentle slap on the butt could heal a mangled limb if I were topped off, or an uppercut to the jaw could mend a broken finger if I were low. I could choose how much to spend to speed up the healing, but it became inescapably clear that the quality and quantity of healing achieved its best throughput if I either stayed nearly topped off or filled and suddenly emptied it as quickly as I could. It became more efficient to smash my way through half a dozen of the chaff and then tend to a few wounded instead of bouncing back and forth between them one for one. And with each enemy felled and patient restored, I felt my power swell and my new pool deepen.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Simply put, this new Blessing was becoming addictive and definitely played into the more sadistic and dominating sides of my personality and aptitude as a [Courtesan], for some of my paramours have been known to crave it rough, and I, ever the dutiful lover, am happy to please. Beyond the mere thrill of making an impact by hurting and healing in equal measure, I also found myself more attuned to the emotions of a dragon. Specifically, I can feel my bond to my First Love, but also, in this state, I experience a fundamental shift in how my emotions manifest, such that they are not those of a remnimi, but rather those of a dragon.

  And what a wild and alien sensation it is, and yet, seemingly apt and natural all at once. “Furious” is the description given in my Blessing, and maybe it would be better understood as “passionate”, but it certainly has an aggressive nature to it. I am starting to understand that dragons have fewer emotions, but they feel them intensely at times. I would have thought the rage and indignation of an enemy attacking me would be completely different from the love for a friend or companion, but somehow, those are just two manifestations of the same feeling. The fury isn’t explicitly anger or hatred, but more of a focused preparation to act, and imposition of will upon the world ready to be released. There just isn’t a line between unmitigated violence and tender affection, just a direction of purpose that needs to be committed. With this simplicity comes resolute conviction and confidence, for I don’t hesitate to strike to maim and kill, nor do I second guess my choices or consider the deeper moral implications of my actions.

  It is almost frightening, and yet reassuring, like riding upon lightning knowing that it could destroy you if you try to understand how you are doing it. It provides me with focus and clarity beyond what I am used to, with little need to mull over my emotions and my responses to them. It doesn’t mean that I have forsaken benevolence or mercy, but rather, they are just fury directed at the world for allowing someone to suffer, and an enactment of violence against creation to amend such a transgression against one I deem worthy of a better life.

  I am starting to understand how dragons can be good friends and yet try to assassinate one another regularly, or alternatively, be insulted if no assassins are sent after too long of a time. To no longer be seen as a threat by one’s peers is unacceptable; it just shows that they just don’t care if they don’t try to kill you every now and then. It is essentially the same emotion I feel when I give a gift to a friend and see the smile it brings. No dragon has ever died of old age, and with violence, miscalculations, or disasters as the only recourse for death to catch them, they need some way to remain entertained and connected to others as eternity passes them by.

  Humor and pettiness are intertwined, both providing cathartic satisfaction against loneliness. Pride and regret are part of a spectrum, and I understand that dragons aren’t explicitly avoiding direct apologies out of pride, but rather, they don’t want to pollute their relationships with grudges and forgiveness. In other words, if a dragon doesn’t kill you for a perceived slight or direct insult, then said dragon has already moved on and expects no recompense. In a sense, life is a great game, and apologies ruin the immersion for them. An acknowledgement of one’s wrongdoing is sufficient, while an apology is crass and makes everyone uncomfortable.

  Enemies are not a burden, and life without them would be dull. They are a whetstone upon which I could sharpen my claws, a test for my mind to find the limits of my wit, and a mirror in which I can see my true self. As I slay these monstrosities that invade my world, I find no hatred in my heart for them, merely some form of gratitude that they take the time out of their day to allow me to demonstrate my power. This isn’t exactly the same idea as survival of the fittest or might makes right, for neither notion truly aligns with the mindset of a dragon. It is more like we all seek our own path, and sometimes the paths of others end when they cross ours, until eventually we too find where our path ends. The vanquished are not insects to be crushed underfoot, but rather, they are the earth beneath our feet that allow us to stand tall and press forward, and so they are due some modicum of respect for their efforts.

  I am beginning to suspect that not all dragons feel emotions this way, and that this may be a unique perspective of my First Love, with only partial overlap to other dragons. Words feel like paltry tools to explain the unexplainable, to codify that which is ever-changing. This whole experience does provide some clarification on unexpected reactions that the dragons I know express towards situations, and it explains how they can be so relaxed about things most mortals find to be intense.

  My emotions, while heightened, just don’t directly interface well with my behavior or the uncontrollable responses of my body. I don’t tremble in fear, my mouth doesn’t dry up with anxiety, I don’t clench my fists with anger. For some, their emotions rule them, while others bottle up their emotions and let reason and logic dictate their course. For a dragon, emotions are the compass that provide a direction, and pragmatism finds a way forward that will satisfy the emotion in the most optimal means. Emotions set the destination, but they don’t dictate the path to get there.

  I could either destroy a foe or shape his perspective until he is an ally, and both would be acceptable. I could find immense pride in groveling and scraping towards someone else if it leads to a triumph at a later date, especially if that someone else is convinced by my performance. An interloper into my domain to challenge me or to steal from my [Hoard] would just be an unscheduled playdate. Naturally, it would still demand a certain amount of gravitas and theatrics, but it isn’t personal nor offensive.

  With this newfound perspective on life and how to process it, I find myself freed from the shackles of expectation. No one can judge me, nor can they levy expectations upon me that I am beholden to. I choose what to believe, what to follow, and where to go, rather than blindly doing as I am told. I kill and destroy with the same hands that I hug someone close, and none can gainsay my choices. Criticism is best reserved for how I went about something, not what I did, and with each life taken and each life saved, I find myself not more confident in myself, but rather, in the limits of what I can accomplish. Success is an inevitability, and failures are not discouragement, but rather, a refinement of technique.

  And what refinement I experienced. I know unequivocally what my new Blessing offers for individual Abilities and the theory behind how to wield them effectively in tandem, but the application in real-world situations is tricky. With lives on the line, I don’t feel anxious about saving every last one of them, but rather, excitement that I can save some of them and gratitude that I have the opportunity to make an impact. There is no mental quibbling on “should haves”, merely an acknowledgement that it wasn’t my best work and moving on to the next challenge. When I fail, someone dies, and I don’t even feel bad about it. It simply wasn’t their day, because I am doing my best over here, and my best is enough for me.

  And because I am here and not behind a desk, some people get to live to see tomorrow. Granted, being behind a desk has its uses, and mountains of paperwork are what make armies move and supplies arrive on time. But when the paperwork is done and the plan is finalized, there is nothing left to do but to achieve one’s goals through direct action. Breaking bones and crushing skulls is just a natural result of my enemies coming up short; they have nothing to blame but their own ineptitude and decisions for it. I did not force them to come here and attack my people, and so I will not expend my mental resources to have much in the way of feelings for them one way or the other.

  I don’t really know how much time has passed, not that I didn’t have the means to pay attention, but the passing of time just wasn’t as relevant any more. A few hours at least. However, I can feel my exhaustion looming just beyond a few more maneuvers, and so I chose to withdraw to recuperate. Also, I feel something is wrong, that rapidly increasing concern is bleeding over from my connection to my First Love. It isn’t for me, at least, not more than the usual background noise, less one of worry and more about ensuring I don’t push too far too fast. Instead, I can tell he is thinking of someone else, someone familiar.

  As I make my way back towards the command center, passively ignoring the cries for help and the enemies in my midst, I too start to feel this concern of his. It is akin to something precious being misplaced and frantically trying to locate it. I quicken my pace, and once in a relatively safe area, I focus more on that connection between First Love and myself. There exists some confusion, a rapid exchange of impressions from Nabonidus and First Love, and some discrepancy that arises from it. Yet Nabonidus is not the one for whom concern is expressed. And so I delve deeper, pushing my own ideas of each person I know that would matter and seeing if it triggers a result.

  And as I go through the list, I feel a ping in reply, one of fury in the way that I now understand fury in its truest and broadest sense. Bellwright Muddlespoon has found himself in a pickle, and so it seems, may be experiencing a teensy bit of death, or maybe near-death. Death with benefits perhaps. Strange that humor should bleed over with such fury and concern, and yet, I understand it, even though the connection to the mindset of a dragon has faded now that I am not living on the knife’s edge. Perhaps we should look into that, just check up on it a tad and see if he needs help.