== 3 -- Royal Request ==
Aion burned a few grains of arc-dust for a tiny illusion -- just to fade the sparkle on his skin to nothing, appearing as a regular, not-at-all-dusty muscleteen and fit into the loose crowd of rockhard, leaking hunks.
From below, the Thrasos' women's palaces were only visible as a golden gleam atop the smooth, white semispheres hovering miles above the open habitat-scape of the Athena main plaza.
The iridescent clouds of the Olympio system were denser here, casting their shattered rays against the purple streaks that marked the edges of the layered jumble of concretanuim buildings around the plaza.
The entrance to the Grand Atheneum -- black arches leading to a rainbow bridge - was flanked by two knights, easily 2.5m (8'3'') tall. Disciplined but unfucked musclemen with black, fingerless gloves on their right hands -- weapons only highly trained males were trusted with -- and flittering, phantomic danger sensors dancing before their right eyes. One a Parakeet, the other a Dipper.
Why was the Atheneum guarded?
The muscleteen's was on eyelevel with the knight's dickheads. Their erections were normal sized -- around 30 centimeter (1') -- and thus looked pretty small on their immense bodies, reaching just about to the middle of their abs.
His meager psycher senses gave him a vision of the leftmost enhanced hunk sucking his own cock, on his back, legs rolled up with his knees beside his head. Draining precum for hours.
"Herald reporting in," Aion said and hit a lat spread. "Delivery for honorable scholar baroness Neptunia."
"ID, bitch-boy" the Dipper knight said and stepped forward.
The muscleteen prepared his ID with a mental request, went to the tips of his toes and took most of the offered dickhead into his mouth. He held his tongue flat on the underside of the pulsing cock, waiting for the transfer tingle. Precum squirted at the roof of his mouth.
The hunk-sized Brain hanging over the entrance observed him, playing out a perfectly real delusion of Aion's face between the asscheeks of the knight before him, getting to lick up to the cockhead where the titanic muscleman blew his weeks-worth cumshot in never-ending squirts to the hunk's whining cries.
Whoever had experienced this for real was lucky. If the knight was heteo he probably didn't even know his indulgence was circulating.
Observation ended -- replaced by certainty that the honorable lady could be found in chamber 4b - and the knight pulled back.
"Clear to pass, cunt."
"Yes sir," Aion said and dropped into a crouch to give the knight's dick a sucking drag along the shaft, lapping up a previous drizzle of precum.
The herald continued over a rainbow bridge, into the academy, bending over to lick his own dick dry.
Polychromatic tesseracts folded in and out of 4 dimensions across the surfaces of dark, gothic towers. Cubes within cubes, blurring the features of architecture behind them. Stained glass windows shone against the daylight.
Aion entered through an arch, into a hall where a dozen hunks with bright red belts across their chests worked with powertools on a 10 meter (33') long metallic shaft. The stark purple tint of the halls light cast harsh violet waves across their sweaty skin.
The herald felt his own slick skin prickle with dust. In the corner of his eyes he saw wads of fungus dripping from every edge. Mold seemed to burst from the shaft anytime his gaze wasn't focused on it. Disconcerting omen.
This was chamber 4b, but there was no lady here.
Aion tried to pick out the least busy looking dude -- a disciplined, brown-skinned, mid-thirties Penguin hunk with jade green hair. He had a single fuck-mark on his chest.
"Hey, fuck-master. How the fuck's it going? This cunt-boy needs to get to honorable scholar baroness Neptunia."
The muscleman nodded at him with a long once-over. "Just missed her. Up there, doors down. Hey, wait. You a homo, cunt?"
"Yeah, homo as balls, dick-sir."
"I'm Wingleader Caicias. Check my cock out on the way back, cunt?"
"Might, sir. Uh, what the fuck are you guys researching here?"
The muscleman shrugged. "Lunarican artefact. Been vetted and shit, don't jizz."
Aion jogged up the rainbow hued, free floating steps and quickly found himself at the office of Lady Neptunia. The door slid aside before he could knock.
In front of the huge, pink-purple-blue rosette overlooking a yard was a middle-aged, ochre-skinned woman in a long azure robe. Her white hair gently waved in the breeze of dust streaks surrounding her.
With her was a younger woman, pale with black hair. Her red robe was beset with rubies along silver chains that tied into her braids. Both women hovered in relaxed poses near a crescent table piled with folders.
Aion got an impression of biting into a juicy peach and laying on finest silk. The sense of bubbly laughter faded in and out of his perception. Tension he'd held in his upper back melted away.
The teen-cunt bowed until his lips hit his cock.
"Honorable scholar baroness? Psycher Aion of the Robins reporting with a herald message."
A sliver of dust broke off Lady Neptunia's clouds and swirled around the muscleteen's shoulders, his hips and ass, then spiraled around his erection and retreated to the woman.
"The research from Jove I presume," the lady said. "Hand it to your fellow traveler, Judah, please, Aion."
An adonis he hadn't noticed stepped up to him from the side. Tawny skin with his ring and mohawk in crimson. Gold piercings glinted on his nipples and dick. An aegis gem dangled on a gold chain from his left lobs. He had two crimson fuck marks and carried himself with cockiness accordingly.
"Here, boy," the Robin fuck-master said. "Hm, from Jove? Ever been to our nest?"
"No, sir, I've never checked out the Thrasos Robins, mate-master Judah."
Aion politely squatted and took the whole dick into his throat. He didn't need to show manners to women as much but it never hurt to be formal around a baroness. Judah must have just come back from pissing by the taste of it, but the urine splatters were overpowered by his fresh sweat.
The older Robin kindly soften his rod slightly, to let the small 24 centimeter (9.5'') cock slide into the psycher's esophagus with just some well-muted choking.
Eyes still teary from the polite greeting, the muscleteen took a deep breath as he beckoned Judah to kneel. Arms around each other's hips, they pressed their lips together and locked tongues.
With eyes closed, the herald concentrated on Lady Neptunia's presence and a worm wound through his brain, out of his skull.
With a glint, a memory pack squeezed from one naked adonis to the other, transferring minds. They spasmed into each other's embrace, dipping into unconsciousness for a split-second.
Judah gave Aion a slap on the ass and walked to his lady. His sweat was wiped away as he closed in on her arc-dust trails, leaving him fresh as he dropped to one knee. The lady placed her fingers in his plaited mohawk and her eyes glassed over white, reading from his brain at leisure.
Aion rose, took a bow and turned.
"Wait, boy," the other lady said -- the gem-studded one in red. She drifted closer, standing tall now, nearly touching the ground with her naked feet.
If he hadn't been a homo, he'd been squirting precum now. The dust on his skin reacted, rising from him as if wanting to join her. He looked once again like covered in sticky glitter.
"Yes honorable lady?"
"I'm princess Magna."
A princess? No wonder the arc-dust would rather have been with her.
"Shi- Fu- Greetings, your radiant highness." The muscleteen flexed his body as he went into a deep bow, back straight.
"I have a message for someone on Icarus I'd like you to pass on."
"Mostly near my route, highness. I can take it."
"Great. This makes things a lot easier for me, boy. I see you are unmated. Are you on any lists?"
The pre-vetting recommendation lists, where Brains checked for sex partners on women's request -- if the lady in question didn't feel like putting in the effort to vet a bunch of guys herself.
Aion straightened to a lat spread with a smirk. "Homo, your highness."
"Ah. Anyone you'd like to see recommended to curry favors?"
His friends were either laughable suggestions like Gordian or had already fucked like Pandion... except.
"Maybe Cassius the Starling?"
She gripped her own wrist and a tesseract unfolded from her palm. Cassius' head and torso appeared on one cube surface. He was short and his proportions emphasized that, with a wide chest and thick neck. Embarrassingly, he was only potent, the white ring not matching his apricot hair.
Within other cubes, labeled most-recent', scenes played out. Work' saw Cassius ram a drill into rock, covered in mundane gray dust. Training' saw him utterly drenched in sweat, squatting a dozen plates with an older Owl serving as spotter as he grimaced. Education & Sports' was of his last leg-wrestle where he pulled another semi-hard muscleman into a flimsy splade.
Leisure' showed his last vacation, hanging off a phantomic kite over a crater-scape. Relaxation' saw him hump into Aion's ass from below. Discipline' had him sixty-nine dicksuck Pandion at a pool, which was his favorite spot. Indulgence' was nearly identical but he cummed at Pandion's face with convulsions and screams the tesseract didn't repeat. `Friends' was an orgy of assfucking.
There was a table of labels like `Hetero, mated two times, few employment interruptions, average friend circle, no crimes against women, no dust use' etc.
Right at the top, `Live Feed' showed Cassius pissing as he knelt on an absorption-mat, getting splattered from all directions, and chatting with another miner.
Above it were the stats every male aimed to improve. Strength 9.5, Flexibility 8.2, Endurance 9 / Sexual Stamina 6.2, Sexual Passion 9.1, Sexual Skill 3.5 / Courage B, Poise D, Wit D, Intellect C, Heart B.
These feeds were nothing new to Aion. Anytime a hunk at the dorm building made it on the list, got directly recommended or was called to mate, a tesseract like this played his scenes at the entrance. The live feed in that case was usually a little celebration.
"Hm," the princess made and scrolled. "He was already recommended once but wasn't disciplined when a lady submitted a request for him. He's not disciplined now either. If he can stay disciplined for 30 days, he's going on the list again. He seems reasonable."
"Thank you, radiant highness."
"I'll let him know you got him this far," the lady said. "Now, the message."
She retrieved a bauble with a glowing worm from a fold in her robe. The container zipped open like a soap bubble and the worm hovered onto Aion's forehead.
He went on all fours and sputtered and spasmed as the packet pulled itself through his lobes.
"Here is your target," the princess said and opened her palm to him.
The tesseract showed a Hillstar by the name of Maximus. Disciplined with orange as his color, 30 years old, genetically Filipino - which meant little to Aion's shabby grasp of earth-lore.
He looked quite massive, swaggering along a road in the Work' section. His 'Education' was actual study, drooling on his knees as a Brain hammered knowledge into him. Discipline' saw him alone, shoving his own semi-hardon into his ass. Embarrassing. Luckily he wasn't fagging his own ass, or he'd have been disqualified from his one vetted recommendation. `Indulgence' showed him as part of six hunks all fucking each other in a circle, multiple asses creaming, nose rings turning white.
"Good luck, Aion," the princess said. "I'd appreciate if you can make it before lunch."
"Can do, highness."
The teen-psycher headed out, but not without stopping by Caicias for ten minutes of eager dick riding, to get his guts trembling for the journey across Thrasos.
From "Introduction to Contemporary Anthropology":
As in most places, Olympio's male population is grouped into semi-distinct masculine paradigms (sometimes called feathers or masc-genders). By far most common one is defined by a primary or exclusive urge to top - use their penis for penetration. These might be called dick-sir if respected or higher ranking, and dick-bitch if particularly young or of similar rank to the speaker. The opposite paradigm would be that of the cunt, to which only a small set of males -- mostly homos -- belong.
Sluts are perhaps the most complex paradigm, preferring both the donor and recipient role in penetration. Local terminology tends to be flexible and fast evolving, to reflect minute distinction.
The most coveted paradigm is that of fuck-master (or mate-sir in presence of women). It is a fragile state achieved by recent sexual service to a women and confers privileges that usually lead to retention of the mate-master status.
The Icarus sub-habitat was `beneath' the Athena one, pointed toward the fragment of Ignatius-b where mining vessels circled.
But the quarter moon was not visible. Icarus was built into the remains of fully mined rocks, its subterranean streets sprawling as a web if intersecting tunnels under an artificial sky in all colors of the sunset, cut through with streaks of amethyst. Chi-threads spanned from building to building.
After two unspectacular deliveries, Aion emerged from a flux tube, already bumping into half a dozen hunks and their dripping erections. He made it past the absorption-mat with little incident and saw no need to clean up.
The air was saturated with the polychromatic particles of transmundane refuse, hovering almost down to street level.
Bulky machinery was crammed between buildings created in equal parts from concretanium and scrapped mining equipment. A lot of nose ring here were white or clear -- many more than `above'. Some black nose rings, too, on the easily spotted liberated with bald heads and pouches that locked their shrunken dicks away.
This was not a place women frequented.
Aion followed the princess' intel, requesting the path from a Brain.
The heavily guarded institute entrance, getting an additional package on route, getting a recommendation for just one delivery, running into a princess seemingly at random... Something didn't add up.
The arc-dust, invisible across his skin, prickled. The muscleteen saw an omen - translucent hands grasping along walls in the same direction he was walking. The hands laid down on the bald heads of Liberated -- black nose ring, black chastity pouch -- and the men went slack, then shambled off.
Half a dozen of them shrank in jerking motions to the size of pixies, spectral wings unfolding on their backs. They ascended toward neon signs where loose chi-threads awaited knotting. Two others bulked up and grew pearly horns, their minotaur torsos now able to pick up plate stacks by the ton.
Other liberated near the muscleteen had those hands already placed on their heads and now lost them, stiffening and glancing around as their consciousness returned.
Aion stepped into a short flux that took him through a hundred meters of stone and arrived at the correct street.
The omen visions of Brain-takeover were gone now but even more liberated roamed the area.
The herald found a chi-threat workshop. It released semi-liquid plumes of neon teal from its many small chimneys toward the fake sky.
Behind it was an official hangout of Hillstars who were liberated or too undisciplined to have access the main nest. Bald adonises with black crotch pieces and various indulgent hunks chatted or worked out on open gym equipment between a spa - which even took potent customers - and a throatbloom distillery where machines softly hummed.
Nearly everyone who's dick was not locked away had it sank into an ass -- usually a liberated one -- while chatting or training.
Aion stepped up to a green haired, indulgent hunk on a bench with a liberated teen-adonis in his lap.
"Hey dick-whore, where the fuck's the dude in charge?"
The muscleman leaned in to give Aion's shaft a tongue bath while the liberated muscleboy swallowed the head. Aion felt himself drizzle pre-cum into the bottom's mouth.
"Talk the fuck to Faunus first, bitch-boy," the muscleman said, leaning back. "Steelblue hair, pale skin, potent last I saw him. Hillstar obviously."
"Sir," the liberated muscleboy interrupted. "This ass-bitch is almost fucking due for duty, sir. If you're gonna fag, make it quick."
"Gotcha."
The muscleman gripped the liberated teen-adonis' hips and fucked harder, his breath going with more pressure. Aion walked slowly to keep witnessing the event.
With a groan, the muscleman shuddered and pressed the fuckers' bodies together. He was fagging into an ass and didn't even care. Extremely hot but totally fucked up.
The liberated muscleboy jerked and slumped. He rose, jizz squirting from his ass, and zombie-walked off as his mind was replaced my Brain-issued commands.
Aion walked into a lobby where more bulky machines rumbled and spotted the Hillstar in charge of the crowd. The white hunk was fucking a liberated muscleman in the throat while he had his hands on a sizzle-disk, the flat oval dripping with red lines.
"Faunus, dick-sir?" Aion asked.
Faunus had a strong, edgy face with a friendly, boyish smirk on his thin lips. His pear green mohawk was undone and in spiky disarray. He let go of the sizzle-disk and it floated up to the ceiling where it displaced a few polychromatic motes.
"Yeah. Who the fuck are you, bitch?"
"Cunt-boy Aion with a message and shit for First Feather Maximus."
"That ass-whore should be back any sec," Faunus said and let his eyes wander over Aion while bouncing his pecs. A chest strap carried some tools, including a ring with an impetus gem. Being assistant to a First Feather of indulgent bitches had to pay better than expected.
The muscleteen flexed lightly for him, turned around and pushed his glutes out.
"Fuck a cunt while we wait?"
Faunus slipped out of the gagging liberated. "Cumshot."
The spit-lubed rod was bigger than anticipated. Probably a whole 35 centimeter (1'2''). He slid into Aion's ass before the muscleteen's cunt had fully lubed itself, making Aion cry out.
"Woah," Aion said with a whimper. "Rough dick-whore, huh?"
"Yeah. Nice cunt, hole-bitch."
"Thanks. Are you gonna fag?"
"You'd be worth a cumshot, but nah, gotta be potent and shit for a fucking thing tomorrow. Do you ever fag?"
"With friends, once every few months, sir."
Faunus chuckled and put his fingers on the bottom's nipples. "Real fucking disciplined, cunt."
They fucked, looking at the entrance and at themselves in a mirror wall that needed a polish. Maximus arrived with two liberated, off-duty hunks in tow, all carrying stacks of bronze tubes.
The First Feather -- a kind of community leader -- named Maximus was shorter than the tesseract had made it seem but he was absolutely massive, still disciplined with his ring in the orange of his one centimeter buzzed mohawk.
He put the tubes down vertically, holding them with one hand as they sloshed. His 25 centimeter (10'') dick was only a semi, which he was already fixing.
Aion slipped off Faunus. "Hey ass-sir, cunt-boy with a herald message."
Maximus sent his companions away while his dick sprang to full hardness. He nodded at Faunus to leave, too.
"From her radiant highness?" he asked.
"Cumshot," Aion said. "Lady Magna."
The two collided in a kiss, hands on each other's dicks for light caresses. They were roughly equal rank -- a Herald and a Feather -- so neither was obligated to suck the other hello.
Between grumbling machines blocks, they went to their knees and the teen-psycher pumped his mind worm into the massive hunk, skull-to-skull.
Both slumped against the warm metal, spasming. At least one of them had pissed in the few seconds they'd been out.
"Fuck," Maximus groaned, "brain overloaded and shit. Gotta write all this down for the boys."
He crawled, then walked, to fish the sizzle-disk from up high. Red lines oozed from the deforming oval. Gold particles drifted from Maximus' eyes to the red threads. "Sorry to kick you the fuck out, cunt, but if that's all..."
"Gotcha. Not gonna jizz about it. Bye, sir."
The two liberated dudes who'd brought tubes came back in to take those tubes upstairs to the throatbloom distillery.
Aion let his hand run between Maximus buttocks from behind and fished a line of precum from the muscleman's dick to slurp as he exited.
He had a few other places to be, and he was probably behind the intended schedule after doing the princess a favor.
From "Entropic Psalms", chapter 12:
Know now, labyrinth-walking brother, the fifth Key to true masculine existence, as sure as this sweat is of numinous blood. It is to embrace the hydra that is temptation. For neither slaughter nor abnegation can defeat the hydra, as even the faithless cannot ward against the Flame. It is the taut envelopment of the hydra's tangle in which you, gateway-seeking brother, can find your peace with her strength. It is not surrender. Locked in eternal conflict with her, find the hydra that is temptation static in her embrace and soon your Shadow can rest.
On Maximus' request, Brutus and Vulcan had carried up the remaining tubes and started sticking the first few into man-high centrifuges to separate the cloudbloom from the cloudpiss -- technical term.
Brutus turned to the larger liberated muscleman.
"Uh, Vulcan? How the fuck do you turn this shit on?"
Vulcan was tall and large, brown skinned, towering over the average-sized muscleteen Brutus. He chuckled. "First time working here?"
"Yeah," the black muscleteen confirmed. "Got jizz-sucking liberated last month."
Vulcan brought his hand down on the shorter dude's shoulder. "How long for, bitch-slave?"
"A year."
"Shit, you little cunt got lucky. You were disciplined when they grabbed you, huh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't fucking `sir' a liberated, boy. We're nothing but holes, craving man-meat. I was indulgent a-fucking-lot. First lost my job as a knight, then figured I've already jizzed the next month away, so I fell in with some shady ass-whores."
"Uh," Brutus said, still trying to spot a way to turn on the centrifuge. "Yeah, I can believe you were a fucking knight, dude. So you were indulgent when you were arrested and shit?"
"Thirty years of liberation. I'm down five."
"Wow, that... uh... wow. How old are you?"
Vulcan was sexing Brutus up, rubbing his nipples, rubbing their skin together. The muscleteen responded. Their covered crotches pressed against each other. Legs in between each other, they groped ass.
"Chrono-age?" Vulcan asked. "97. For Bio-age, I picked 35. You, bitch?"
Brutus gave the nipples on the height of his mouth a lick. "Bio-age 19. Chronologically I'm 40 something. I haven't looked at the fucking date in a while. I was bio-25 for a long time but after switching to Thrasos I felt like more of an ass-bitch."
Vulcan grunted. "Fair. I thought about going teen again, but I'm used to getting taken serious as a cumshot and age helps -- more when you're just a fucking ass-slave."
Brutus was glad to have a conversation, probably or the first time all month, but he wanted to be done with his community task. As a liberated, he was an unconscious work drone for 12 hours a day, then for another three to four hours of scheduled appointments, training and time in transit. Requiring five hours of sleep like everybody left him with little time for consciousness.
His life was a series of three or four hours out of each day, subjectively happening right after each other.
He had to make the most of it.
"So, for fucking real, how do we turn this on?"
Vulcan chuckled again and pulled away. "Maximus gotta fucking do it downstairs or some shit. We're done. Come on, I'll show you how I spend my free time."
Crossing a bridge of silver silk above the subterranean streets, the liberated entered an unmarked building and found a room of benches and cushions, occupied by a dozen musclemen and some fewer liberated. All Hillstars. Most of them Brutus had at least seen on the plaza out front before. They were reflected again from mirror walls, their wide, rippling backs and thighs flexing in the rhythm of their ass-ravaging.
It seemed like too many musclemen for such a small room.
"Crammed as balls here."
"Know the fuck what's downstairs?" Vulcan asked.
"That shabby as fuck spa?"
Vulcan chuckled again as the duo picked two unoccupied dicks to sit on. Brutus' hole was as wet as can be and received the rod down to the base in one go. For a while, not having his own erection always present had helped him feel less tempted, but he'd rarely stayed disciplined for a whole month and at this point he craved relief.
"The spa is where I got busted and shit," Vulcan said. "Spent all my money on crust."
Crust, short for `crude arc-dust', was a filtered, refined and compressed version of all that transmundane refuse floating around. It was quite a process, starting with the complexity of the required siphons. It wasn't illegal to collect and produce crust but it was highly regulated and the average merchant wouldn't have seen a profit when following the rules.
Brutus could tune into the unsecured delusions happening in the spa below, seeing them faintly in his mind's eye. Floating on an open, tranquil, purple ocean; diving through a bright sea cave full of pearls, tanning on a beach somewhere on Alcyon-II. Probably old knock-off programs cobbled together from more luxurious spas.
There were sex-programs, but of course only homo. A place that accepted potent dudes wasn't going to get licenses from the agents of any actress in the system.
Brutus had hoped someone would have brought their own cracked program with pussy. A den of crust-users wasn't going to draw the line because it was illegal, right?
But all he got to see was a delusion of getting drenched in cum from a dozen massive dicks, jizzing like hoses. No fun.
Vulcan grinned. The chatty crowd had gotten quieter.
"Huh?" Brutus made.
The much bigger muscleman nodded at the wall. "Light's on. Some fagger ordered a dose of crust. Right under our fucking feet."
The black muscleteen could feel it. A light vibration. A prickling on his foot soles.
"Get ready," Vulcan said. "It can get fucking rough as balls."
Nausea hit Brutus. He winced. His legs went numb and spasmed. His top quivered with a pained groan.
He looked up and- Fuck. For a few seconds, he was a homo.
Vulcan was overwhelmingly attractive. No woman could match the rawness of his appeal, the power. Looking elsewhere, Brutus fell in lust ten times over. His top found his footing again and the muscleteen shivered with new appreciation for assfucking.
Then it was over.
"Is that... are we fucking high?"
"Barely," Vulcan said with a sad smile. "Good as it gets, though."
The teen's vision dipped in and out of colorblindness. He cried out as his lower body lost sensation and a splitting headache bounced around his skull. Crust was regulated for good reason.
Another moment of homo-delusion. The insane beauty of the male form made Brutus cry-scream incoherently. It was like he was really fucking for the first time.
The top slipped out and Brutus felt cum spew from his hole. The adonis had fagged into him and he hadn't even noticed.
Nausea replaced the sexual bliss again and Brutus went blind on the left eye. Vulcan dropped onto his own face as his arms gave out.
It took longer for the semi-high to return but it was worth the wait. Another dick for Brutus' hole. The muscleteen tuned into the faint vision of the delusion below, letting a dozen gorgeous dicks rain their cumshot on him.
He lost all sense of time, so he was taken by surprise when his free period was up.
His body rose shakily by itself. He was trapped in his own body, controlling nothing, as he shambled away.
He heard Vulcan rise similarly behind him, then his ears went deaf, all sensory information given to the Brain commanding him.
His sight went next, turning him into a puppet that moved confidently through blind- and deafness with zombie steps. His arms merged into his sides, his legs elongated and merged to a serpent body. His face opened into a swirl of thorns and fangs. Pipe cleaning duty, probably.
Eventually his sense of body went away and he was left with nothing but his heartbeat. Then consciousness faded to a brief, shallow dream before being overwritten altogether.
In about 21 hours, he'd have the same experience in reverse.
It was merciful, not to experience the tasks too repetitive, dull or unprofitable for a real person to do, which his body would be doing now.
Then another three hours of time to live life. Hopefully First Feather Maximus had some more projects to do in the area to earn that extra pocket change.