Reincarnated as a Mushroom?
Chapter 83 - 82: Libations Upon the Velvet Altar of Poisoned Affection

Chapter 83: Chapter 82: Libations Upon the Velvet Altar of Poisoned Affection

Chapter 82: Libations Upon the Velvet Altar of Poisoned Affection

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"Well, Letho," I said with a crooked grin and a belly full of borrowed charisma, "that was a face I won’t be forgetting until the end of time—or at least until the next atrocity gets burned into my cortex. Regardless of your... let’s say intense initiation into our delightfully deranged little family, I’m glad you’re here now. Try not to eat anyone I like. Anyway! More friendly faces to meet, and I’ve only got the lifespan of a mortal to mingle."

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Several exhausting, eyebrow-raising, emotionally intrusive hours later, I was spiritually withered and physically wilted. "Talking to people is exhausting," I muttered to Kimchi, who was now somehow guiding me like a drunk diplomat through my own damn victory parade.

"You’ve spent your entire sentient existence glued to one mate’s side," she replied with maddening tranquility. "The overstimulation of social performance is a predictable crash. You’re doing beautifully, my sweet."

We took the elevator up. Not the fun kind with synthwave music and cocktails, but the real one—the kind haunted by cleaning staff and the ghost of capitalism. The club had shuttered its doors for the rest of the day, and the upstairs was alive with clattering brushes and polite nods. Every employee we passed paused mid-scrub or mop-swipe to instinctively bow to Kimchi like she was a particularly terrifying saint. She, of course, didn’t acknowledge them. That would require energy. She was saving that energy for loftier sacrifices.

Then: another elevator. This one was more elegant, with polished brass buttons and an air of unapologetic elitism. We ascended in serene silence, the ding-ding-ding of each passing floor ringing like a ceremonial gong, echoing upward toward the pinnacle of infiltrator opulence.

When the doors slid open, I was met with an overwhelming assault of luxury.

Her apartment wasn’t just "nice." It was designed—not arranged, not decorated, summoned into being by someone with far too much time, taste, and probably a terrifying level of discretionary income. Three plush couches coiled in a U-shape around a glass table that probably cost more than my last body. Lamps and greenery were placed with surgical precision to simulate the illusion of "natural living." It smelled faintly of juniper, ozone, and authority.

"Holy shit, Kimchi. This is incredible." I wasn’t even being sarcastic. That was genuine awe. "This place could host a UN summit. Or an orgy. Or both. I’m not judging."

"You think so?" she asked, a touch self-conscious. "I’ve lived here a while now, but fashion still escapes me. One of my assistants handles all the interior things."

"Well, then, give them a fucking promotion. Look at that skyline." I pointed toward the massive panoramic windows, where sunrise was bleeding golden-pink across a cityscape shaped like the dreams of an insane architect. Skyscrapers jutted into the heavens like crystal spears, framing the horizon in brutal serenity.

Then—ding.

The elevator behind us sighed open again, and in came Kimchi, my personal paranoia dragon, carrying my bag like it might explode. Her eyes scanned every corner of the apartment, nose twitching for pheromonal imbalance or seduction traps. Once satisfied I hadn’t been dismembered or doused in aphrodisiacs, she tossed the bag and strutted over, intent on doing some seduction herself.

"Irvine," Kimchi said sweetly, "why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I fetch you something special?" Kimchi sauntered toward a built-in bar so sleek and sinister it could’ve been stolen from a Bond villain.

With the passionless devotion of a man who’d discovered furniture Nirvana, I folded into the couch like a prayer. The cushions embraced me. The lumbar support whispered erotic promises. I moaned.

I didn’t mean to moan. But I did. And suddenly, both women were staring at me like I’d summoned a fourth party into the room.

Head tipped back, eyes closed, a familiar warmth pressed itself against me—weighty, possessive, purring with territorial affection.

"Hey, Kimchi," I murmured.

"Hm?"

"What do you think of this planet?"

Kimchi’s first instinct was to scream ’DISGUSTING CUNT OF A MUDBALL’, but instead, she visibly processed the question like it was a test she didn’t want to fail for love.

"This planet, by itself, is irrelevant to Kimchi. It is rich in biomass and would make a worthy feast for the Hive. But it is overprotected. Overdefended. Strategically inconvenient. Kimchi would prefer its conversion... at a later date."

A pause.

"That said... this Sophia infiltrator has done well to make this territory smell like the Hive. Kimchi appreciates that. Despite it all, Kimchi would rather be by your side, Irvine-mate, than anywhere else. Even here."

Fuck. She said that with feeling. Which meant I had to kiss her. And so I did—passionately, hungrily, with one hand cupping her cheek and the other gripping destiny by the waist. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Of course, that’s when Sophia walked back in.

She was holding a tray of drinks and a look of startled, erotic curiosity. She didn’t say anything, just quietly approached and placed the tray down like a waitress at the world’s most awkward brunch.

But unlike the rest of the Hive’s more violently jealous wives club, Sophia didn’t seem angry about the kissing. She seemed... interested. Her breathing slowed. Her lips parted. Her eyes narrowed with a kind of hungry amusement.

Realizing our little public exhibition had gained a voyeur, I pulled back and grinned at her.

"Oh shit—sorry Soph. You weren’t standing there long, were you?"

"Not at all, my sweet," she said with irritating calm. "I just arrived."

Kimchi shot her a death glare so potent it could’ve turned a planet to glass. But she swallowed her jealousy for my sake, even though I could feel the rage radiating off her in psychic microwaves.

"Now then, Lady Sophia," I said, putting on my best noble accent, "what delicacies have you brought to your guest?"

She caught the bit instantly. "My lord, only the finest. A blend of Avantant gin and tonic water, mixed with a secret ingredient. Guaranteed to dismantle your alcohol resistance entirely."

My eyebrow launched into orbit. "A dangerous brew, my lady. I shall partake."

The glass was cool, heavy, and smelt faintly of danger. The drink itself—holy fuck. Refreshing didn’t do it justice. It tasted like gin had been hand-forged by angels and then kicked in the citrus by a rockstar.

"Mmh. That is dangerous."

And then the inebriation hit. Not gradually. Not politely. It slithered up my spine like a venomous boa and whispered, ’You are mine now.’

"Gotta say, darling—this wouldn’t happen to be poison, would it?"

"Absolutely," Sophia said, cheerfully. "A hyper-concentrated version of my neurotoxin. I removed the psionic feedback to avoid... brain issues. But the physical effect? Exquisite. According to our little chat earlier, it’ll take ten glasses to kill you. But a few should get you good and drunk."

That gave me an idea. A terrible, glorious idea.

"Hey Soph. You think this poison would work on my adorable violence nugget over here?"

She considered. "In theory? Yes. It’s tailored for human physiology, so Kimchi should have little resistance. It’s even strong enough to mildly affect me."

I turned to Kimchi with a grin that could bankrupt empires. I pointed to the pitcher.

"Will you drink that? Please?"

She was ready to say no. Ready to spit venom and declare her loathing. But she made eye contact. And once she did, I knew I had her. Her soul cracked in real-time.

She turned away dramatically, seized the pitcher, and started chugging.

"Kimchi—wait! There was only a drop in Irvine’s glass—!"

Too late. Kimchi was halfway through the pitcher when she paused, blinked, and launched herself across the room like a vengeance missile.

She tackled Sophia, pried open her mouth, and force-fed her the rest of the poison. Then grabbed the glass and made her drink that too.

I didn’t stop them.

I was fascinated.

Kimchi pulled back, staggered, then struck a proud pose. "Kimchi is unaffected. A feeble infiltrator’s poison cannot dent her carapace of devotion."

And then she faceplanted.

Hard.

Sophia and I locked eyes. We tried to hold back the laugh.

We failed.

The laughter came crashing out of both of us, messy and unrepentant. Sophia flopped onto the couch beside me, her balance a little wobbly now from the toxin, but not nearly as spectacularly wrecked as Kimchi.

She curled up beside me, giggling softly, sipping from a poison-free glass as her eyes glazed over with warm nostalgia.

For the first time in years, she simply basked. In my presence. In silence. In dumb stories and dumb laughter. She let herself be. With me.

Half an hour passed.

Then the poison hit harder.

And the night changed.

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Author’s Note: A Heartfelt Message from Me to You

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