Voracity
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3.13 For Yuri, I Go Clubbing in Another Dimension
🕑 Added 2025-08-10 18:52:24 +0000 UTCThe gala is in full swing when I arrive at the Visage Spire. It feels a little silly to make a big entrance when I spent most of my morning inside the building anyway, but the marketing team insisted I needed to be seen coming to the event.
I wave to the adoring fans filling the courtyard just beyond the areas roped off for guests. I do my best to make eye contact with any fans that are wearing Archon merch. I spot one girl wearing a replica of my crown—handmade, I think, not the overpriced one we’re selling—and give her a wink and an air-kiss.
I let the roar of the crowd wash over me. They’re not all here for me, but they are all here because of me; it is, after all, my event. I can feel their attention bolstering me, fueling me, empowering me—and my benefactor.
“Drink it in, Venus,” I murmur, inaudible beneath the clamor; I know she’ll still hear me.
When I’ve had enough, I give one final wave to my audience and take flight, skimming the side of the building as I make my way to the top.
The Spire is divided up like this: the lower floors are all public-facing, a maze of lobbies, tourist attractions, and gift shops designed to dazzle, entertain, and extract dollars from wallets; the middle floors are mostly offices and utilities, with a two-story mall-like cafeteria forming the separating line between public and private floors; the uppermost floors of the Spire are reserved for VIPs, be it contest winners meeting their idols or potential investors being shown the floating orb up close. Of the two fork-like tines that form the height of the tower, one is stuffed with executive offices and used for shareholder meetings while the other was designed explicitly to host private events; it’s a lot more work to lug tables and catering up to the very top of the tower, but it’s worth it for the view.
I set down on one of the many balconies decorating the exterior of the second tine, this one facing the rest of the city. I take a moment to steady my nerves, pick out my target, and step inside the party.
A new wall of noise greets me inside the grand hall where the event is being held. It’s another multi-floor affair, taking maximum advantage of the Spire’s verticality to spread guests, features, and catering across three levels. The cheese spread looks so divine that it actively hurts me to turn away from it, but I’m here on a mission and even cheese can wait.
I take a quick survey of the crowd, looking for all the strings I pulled: Radiance is schmoozing with some of our top-dollar guests, Memento and Pearl Princess are both doing signings, and poor Agatha is looking very out of her element. I don’t see Glamour anywhere, but I’d be shocked if she actually bailed on me; she’s probably around a corner chatting up guests in private. It’s not a full roster, but I called in enough heavy hitters to make up for that.
Still, none of those people are who I’m here to see. I give the gathered millionaires the most efficient courtesies I can get away with, moving fluidly through the mass of bodies to reach the girl I’m after.
“—made such amazing progress over the past few years. There’s a lot of work left to do, but I truly believe that with your help we can make the world a better place!”
Sophia is chatting up some of the mid-listers, animated and earnest as she lays out her vision for the future. Their attention should be on her, but it shifts to me as I approach from behind. Idly, I fantasize about squashing them like bugs, but sadly I can’t get away with that yet.
I tap Sophia on the shoulder to get her attention. When she turns around, her face lights up to see me, and then I interrupt whatever she’s about to say with a kiss. The taste of her lips is like a dream that I wish I could stay in forever.
When I break off the kiss, Sophia is blushing and flustered. “You—I’m working!”
“And working very hard,” I say wryly, “while everyone else is here to enjoy the party.” I glance at the people she was talking to, a couple in formalwear that I don’t recall having met before. “I hope you appreciate Director Lane’s indomitable work ethic. You should be listening closely to everything she has to say.”
And with a touch of my gift on their dull, wine-soaked minds, I know that they will.
The evening is a blur of talking and drinking and spreading my influence. By the time everyone has shown up or been marked off the list, I’ve tagged over half the party guests with a fresh dose of Venusian charm. Dinner goes well—chicken risotto paired with a lovely California red that has some fancy name I do not bother remembering.
Once I’ve had my fill, it’s time for a speech. I’d rather give all the speech-making to Sophia, but it has to be my voice for the spell to work.
“Thank you, all of you,” I say with a forced smile, “for coming to our second major gala. I know nobody wants a long speech at this kind of event, so I’ll keep things brief. Many of you have already contributed to our cause, and it’s thanks to your contributions that the Foundation for a Wiser World has accomplished so much. Together, we’re building a world where no one will ever have to go hungry or unhoused. This is humanity’s brightest hour; never in our history have we had more tools with which to forge the world we deserve to live in. So, I ask of you: please, keep giving. Give all that you can, so that your children will know a brighter future.”
With each word, the gift of Venus seeps into the minds of my audience, infecting every millionaire and billionaire with the undeniable power of my words. I have to be subtle about it, of course; if they all dumped their bank accounts into the Foundation at once, everyone would notice. But I won’t settle for scraps, either. This organization—Sophia’s organization, which I built for her—won’t be another tax writeoff. Slowly, with every passing year, these parasites will find themselves more committed to the cause. And eventually, piece by piece, we’ll take everything they have.
I don’t stick around for the auction. I don’t need to; my hooks are already in.
I give Sophie a kiss before sneaking out to the same balcony I came in through. I’m not leaving, but fresh air will do me good. But, to my surprise, someone’s waiting for me: Erica.
“Should you be here?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow as I lean against the railing.
“I’m not.” She smirks and gestures off to the side where one of her many drones is projecting a hologram. “Just thought I’d take a look. Nice work back there with the crowd. Though, I do wonder: do you think Sophia would look so happy if she knew how you were getting them all to give?”
It’s supposed to be a knife wound, but I laugh it off. “Oh, please. You think she doesn’t know? She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met—and the most ruthless. What’s a little free will in the face of the greater good? Not telling her lets us preserve plausible deniability, but I have no doubt she’s fully aware of my actions.”
“Glad to hear it, honest.” She pauses. “Then, would you say you’re satisfied with this outcome? Is this the kind of world you’d like to make real?”
I blink and Erica is gone. In her place stands Venus—a woman I know as Venus, a woman that feels achingly familiar, but I’ve never seen her before, not really. This isn’t real; it’s a dream, or a vision. The woman before me, with glamorous smile and flowing dress, shouldn’t be familiar. But those golden eyes…
“Hastur,” I say softly, beginning to remember my fateful encounter with the King in Yellow. “You’re… not the King, but… connected?”
“I am Venus,” she declares, her voice like velvet. “Daughter of Hastur. I am the rising goddess of love, beauty, and the adoration of the masses. And you, Rachel Emily, have a choice: to serve love… or to serve war. Choose wisely.”
The world goes dark, and then—
I free my blade from Priscilla’s throat. With the end of our pattern of three, the last of the Syndicate is dead. It is a glorious day.
“Well done,” Lilith congratulates me, the blood of fascists staining her dress. “With this victory, you prove yourself more than worthy of the title of Maven. Any lingering doubts will be silenced, and the Coterie will fall in line as we begin the next stage of the plan.”
I grace my subordinate with a vicious smile. “The road was long and arduous, but I regret none of it. I stand triumphant over my enemies, crowned in war and death. Find Harlequin and help them secure the site; I have business with our ally.”
She bows. “As you command.”
Striga’s Vanguard joined us in the extermination of the Syndicate. Together we cornered those vermin and put their backs against the wall, hunting them down and shattering their strongholds until they came here, to their final redoubt. It was a slaughter.
The heroine is with Herbalist and Thunderclap when I find her, but she sends them away to continue searching for the Syndicate’s buried secrets. “Archon,” she greets me with a nod. “I take it your half of the work is complete?”
“It’s done,” I confirm. “Priscilla and Delilah both died by my hands, the culmination of our pattern. The Syndicate is broken. The Jovians might recruit more of their archetype, but any would-be warlords will step onto the scene knowing what happened to the last batch. It’s over.”
“One front among dozens,” Striga says, sounding more tired than I’ve ever heard her. She hears the exhaustion in her own voice, grimaces, and hides it when she speaks again. “We’ve pointed one knife away from our backs, but there are still others, and much work to be done. We will carve this world into a better shape.”
You don’t know how to stop. Please, Sophie, listen to me. “We will. But you’ve done enough, Striga. You stopped the Catastrophes, you’ve broken the Syndicate, and you’ve inspired an entire generation to follow in your footsteps. You don’t have to keep fighting like you have been. You’ve earned rest, Striga.”
Her mouth becomes a hard line. “No. I won’t rest until everyone has been saved. I can’t.”
I smile, sad and bitter. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
I make the first move, but there’s no world where I catch Striga off-guard. She sees the blow coming and deflects with callous ease, and then she comes for me. There are no more words; we know where we stand, and all that’s left is the purity of violence. A strike parried, a strike dodged, then ruthless retaliation. We battle, sword against spear, and even with all I’ve learned it’s blindingly obvious that I’m outmatched. Striga spares me no opening to summon a new weapon or a servant. Any hesitation is immediately punished by precise movements and a brilliant mind. She truly is perfect.
But she doesn’t know the depths of my power. She doesn’t know the deals I’ve made.
Mars, I pray, grant me the strength to defeat my opponent.
The laughter of the war god fills my ears and my vision turns red.
Strix Striga is not the strongest magical girl, nor the fastest, nor the most durable. The thing that makes her invincible is her mind. Striga’s analytical ability can outthink a supercomputer and outwit any foe—but only when she understands what she’s up against. Her fighting style is about maximizing efficiency; every motion is precisely calculated to use exactly as much energy as she needs and not a drop more.
In her head is a model of my capabilities constructed from every scrap of data she’s ever been able to uncover. She does the same for every witch and magical girl, building models of us all so she can never be surprised. That’s why, each time before now that I’ve invoked my contract with Mars, I’ve never used anything close to the fullness of his gift.
When I strike again and Striga parries, the force of the blow rattles her arm and shocks her. She tries to dodge the next, but I’m faster than she’s expecting and my blade draws blood. Striga retreats, wary of what she’s facing, and I finally have that precious opening to unleash the arsenal of weapons I’ve been collecting for this duel. Every trophy stolen and practiced with for the sole purpose of unleashing them on the invincible heroine.
And it works. It works. Weapon after weapon, device after device, every object I’ve ever put in my furnace is spat back out and put to use. Striga knows she’s on the back foot, but I don’t let her escape; I have too many tools to restrict her movement, too many tricks up my sleeve, and in the end… for the first time in her career, she can’t keep up.
Strix Striga loses. I win.
The red fades from my vision as I channel divine strength from my body into the chains binding Striga. She’s on her knees, defeated, and I find more pleasure in the sight than I ever thought I would. “Finally,” I murmur, “you’re mine.” I stare at her with gleaming eyes, unable to hide my love for her. A smile cuts its way across my face. “My darling. My everything. My sweet, perfect Striga.”
“Why?” she asks like it’s the last word she can muster. She sounds so tired.
I carefully, tenderly remove her mask so I can see her gorgeous green eyes with a little more clarity. The emotion on her face is vacillating between anger, disbelief, and despair. “I’m going to save you,” I promise her. “Don’t worry. From now on, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll carve this world into exactly the shape you want. I’ll save everyone for you. All you have to do is stay safe. Stay mine. I have a place for you, my love. Will you trust me?”
She closes her eyes and doesn’t answer. I love you. I love you. I love you. She must be hurting, but I’ll fix that. She’ll finally get to rest. And with enough time, I’ll bring that smile back. I’ll show her the better world she wanted. I’ll show her that she doesn’t have to be the hero.
“Well done,” says a voice both familiar and unfamiliar.
I whirl and Mars—a man in armor, a stranger—the golden-eyed warrior, my patron—is standing behind me. I’ve never met him, but I know him.
“I am Mars,” he tells me, voice grinding like an avalanche. “Son of Hastur. I am the rising god of war, bloodshed, and the clash of ideals. Are you ready to make your choice, Archon?”
The Syndicate stronghold is gone, the world plunged into darkness. Two pairs of golden eyes stare at me in the dark, judging me, waiting for my decision.
“Love?” asks Venus.
“Or war?” asks Mars.
I stare back at them, absorbing everything I’ve just seen, and then—
I laugh in their faces. “Are you fucking kidding me? Neither!”
Comments
Violet Catanese
Look I'm not a woman without weaknesses, I'd pick "love" here and call it a victory. Rachel is stronger than me lmao
Monty
They came in to this think she's got desires, needs, and wants. No. She's got one singular purpose, and petty cruel immitations of gods aren't going to change that.
Sean M.
"Love... Or War?" Secret third option: Yuri
Lako
Thanks for the chapter! Lets see were this goes!
Izzay
Both think she cares about her own happyness the fools
