Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 27: Human Burrito

Ren kicked the heavy double doors of the King’s Nest open with her boot.

"Room service!" she announced, balancing the steaming tray of congee in one hand and her frying pan in the other.

The room was silent and freezing. The black stone walls seemed to suck the warmth right out of the air.

Syris was exactly where she had left him: sprawled face-down on the pile of black furs, stark naked, and glistening like a glazed donut from the jasmine oil.

He lifted his head slowly. His hair slid off his shoulders like a dark waterfall. His amethyst eyes were dull and heavy-lidded.

"You took too long," Syris whispered. His voice was raspy. "The cold came back. My skin... tightens."

"I was gone for twenty minutes, drama queen," Ren huffed, walking over to the bed. "And I had to fight off your ’Real Housewives of the Swamp’ fan club to get to the stove. You’re welcome."

She set the tray down on a low obsidian table. The smell of the spicy eel congee wafted over the bed.

Syris’ nostrils flared.

He pushed himself up. His movement was stiff. The molting process made his joints ache, like wearing clothes two sizes too small.

"The smell..." Syris turned, sitting up on his knees. He looked at Ren, his gaze dropping to her attire.

He frowned.

"What is that... red bubble you are wearing?"

Ren zipped her puffer coat higher, hiding her nose in the collar. "It’s called a coat. It keeps the heat in and your grabby hands out."

"Hideous," Syris decided. "You look like a swollen fruit."

He reached for the bowl of congee. His hand trembled slightly—the cold tremor.

"Let me help," Ren sighed. She sat on the edge of the bed (keeping a safe distance) and picked up the wooden spoon. "Open up."

Syris opened his mouth. He didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed about being fed. He looked expectant.

Ren shoved a spoonful of hot, ginger-infused rice porridge into his mouth.

Slurp.

Syris froze.

The heat hit his tongue. Then the spice hit his throat.

His eyes blew wide. The dull purple glow flared into a bright, neon violet.

"Oh..." Syris groaned. It was a low, vibrating sound that rumbled in his chest. "Yes. The fire... it moves."

He swallowed and immediately leaned forward, chasing the spoon.

"More," he demanded. "Faster."

Ren fed him. Spoon after spoon. The combination of hot rice, fatty eel, and the [Fire Fruit] chilli was doing its job.

With every bite, the paleness left Syris’ skin. A flush of pink spread across his chest and down his neck. The stiffness in his movements vanished. He started to sway slightly, drunk on the endorphins.

"Hot," Syris murmured, licking a drop of congee from his lip. "I feel... loose."

He looked at his arm. A large patch of dry, dead skin on his forearm split. Underneath, the new scales shimmered with a wet, iridescent rainbow sheen.

"It works," Syris breathed. He looked at Ren with terrifying adoration. "You melt the old skin."

He lunged.

"Whoa!" Ren tried to scramble back, but the puffer coat made her as agile as a turtle.

Syris grabbed her waist. His hands weren’t cold anymore. They were burning hot.

He dragged her into the center of the nest.

"Syris! I have a knife!" Ren yelled, flailing.

"Hush," Syris purred.

He tackled her onto the furs. But he didn’t pin her down aggressively. He wrapped himself around her.

His long legs tangled with hers. His arms locked around her puffy red torso. He buried his face in the hood of her coat, nuzzling against her neck.

"Take it off," Syris complained, biting at the zipper of her coat.

"Absolutely not!" Ren slapped his hand away. "This coat stays on until you put pants on!"

"Pants?" Syris rested his chin on her chest, looking up at her with glazed, spice-drunk eyes. "Why? The Nest is for skin. Clothes are for the outside."

"I am a guest! Guests wear clothes!"

"You are not a guest," Syris corrected. He shifted, his heavy lower body pressing her deep into the mattress. "You are the heat source. And the heat source belongs in the center."

He adjusted his position, effectively trapping her. He was heavy—hundreds of pounds of dense muscle—but he distributed his weight so he didn’t crush her.

[System Notification: New Quest – ’The Incubator’.] [Objective: Syris needs to maintain a high body temperature for 4 hours to complete the first stage of molting. If he gets cold, the skin will harden and tear.] [Task: Stay in the bed. Be the Human Burrito.] [Reward: 1x Pair of Fleece-Lined Leggings.]

Ren stared at the floating blue screen. Then she looked at the naked snake man currently drooling slightly on her expensive system-reward coat.

"Four hours?" Ren whispered. "I have to lay here for four hours?"

"Forever," Syris mumbled, closing his eyes. He rubbed his cheek against the nylon fabric of her coat. "We stay here forever. I will have the guards bring more rice."

He let out a long, contented hiss-sigh.

Ren lay there, staring at the black stone ceiling. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

The situation was ridiculous. She was in a goth palace, being cuddled by a naked king who thought she was a space heater, while wearing a Michelin Man coat.

But... it wasn’t terrible.

Syris was warm now. And he smelled like jasmine oil and rain. And honestly, after running for her life for two days, laying down on soft furs was kind of nice.

"Syris?" Ren whispered.

"Mmm?"

"If you drool on my coat, I’m billing you for dry cleaning."

Syris chuckled. The sound vibrated through her ribs.

"I will buy you a thousand coats," he murmured sleepily. "Made of gold. Just... don’t move."

He tightened his grip, his tail, which had partially materialized in his relaxed state, curling around her ankle like a shackle.

"Mine," he whispered.

Ren sighed, letting her head fall back onto the pillow.

She closed her eyes.

’Okay, Kael,’ she thought. ’I’m safe. Warm. And currently being held hostage by a very clingy reptile. Take your time. But maybe bring a crowbar.’

Meanwhile, The Swamp Edge

Kael stood at the edge of the Black Water.

He looked like a wreck. His white hair was matted with mud. His eyes were wild, red-rimmed and manic. He was still in human form, holding his ironwood spear.

Behind him, Vorn and the twenty wolves stood shivering. They hated water. They hated the swamp.

"Alpha," Vorn whined. "The mud... it eats legs. We cannot swim this."

Kael looked at the dark, oily water stretching out into the fog. He knew the Wolves couldn’t make it. They weren’t built for this.

"Stay," Kael rasped. His voice sounded like gravel in a blender. "Guard the shore. Kill anything that comes out that isn’t me or Ren."

"You go alone?" Vorn asked, eyes wide.

"I go alone."

Kael walked into the water.

It was freezing. The cold bit into his skin instantly. The mud sucked at his boots.

Tigers were strong swimmers. But this wasn’t water. This was slime.

Kael didn’t care.

He waded in until the water reached his chest. He held his spear above his head.

"Syris," Kael whispered, the name a curse on his tongue.

He pushed off the bottom and began to swim.

Every stroke was a battle against the muck. Every breath tasted of rot. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ren’s smile. He smelled her vanilla scent. He felt her small hand in his.

The rage burned hotter than the cold water.

’I am coming,’ Kael thought, his strokes cutting through the black algae. ’And when I get there... I am going to turn that palace into a graveyard.’

From the reeds, a pair of yellow eyes watched him. A massive crocodile, sensing fresh meat.

It lunged.

Kael didn’t stop swimming. He didn’t even slow down. As the jaws opened, he thrust the spear sideways without looking.

SHUNK.

The crocodile thrashed once and died.

Kael kept swimming, dragging the crocodile carcass behind him for a snack later.

He had a long swim ahead. And he needed the calories.