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Changeling Part 97: Shaping
🕑 Added 2025-07-23 16:31:50 +0000 UTCNestra followed Moon Dancer through a gate that hadn’t existed an hour ago. She had wondered how they would let her pick her quarters when the covens were all situated in the same plaza but it seemed that the space had just mysteriously been made. She wasn’t sure how it worked and was unwilling to ask since the explanations hurt her Euclidian brain anyway. Moon Dancer led her to a corridor that was made of soft thorn growths clinging together, then to a wide open space supported by four pillars. Nestra couldn’t help but notice the similarities with how she’d set up her den back in Threshold” very few walls, high ceiling, skylights — here the light of the Abyssar filtering through openings near the roof. No wonder Sereth had joked about it.
Moon Dancer grabbed her by the hand in a way that felt a little invasive, but Nestra didn’t feel like complaining. The fae flapped her butterfly wings until they stopped.
“I made it according to your mood,” she said.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Now we teach you how to shape. The growths listen. If you know how to speak.”
“Alright. Just teach me —”
Dainty fingers poked Nestra’s forehead before she could even notice them, and then, she was looking at herself.
It was extremely weird and also she looked damn stupid with her mouth wide open, serrated teeth hanging like stalactites. The problem wasn’t that really, or the sudden sensation of being shoved into a body less than half her original size. Or suddenly having wings which played havoc on her proprioception. The main issue was that Moon Dancer’s mind wasn’t one-tracked. She was not just thinking about several things at the same time and fully focused on each one, she was also stacking thoughts and concepts in the future. There was a to-do list of ideas that would follow a protocol, most of them completely beyond Nestra. The only thing she almost understood was a method to redraw neural pathways and meditation techniques specifically designed for multi-tasking. Just as she drowned, the other thoughts melted away until only the nearest pillar mattered. The spikes here were soft and young, ready to move with only the slightest prod. The growth was alive, and not quite conscious but still very much responsive.
Moon Dancer picked a strand and pulled with her mind. Her touch was deft and confident, her experience seeping in Nestra’s mind with conscious purpose. Nestra was feeling the touch of a master, what true control meant and every step of it through osmosis. After pulling a single strand, Moon Dancer moved to larger groups, then to the entire column. Each volume required a different touch. None were forceful, rather, it took more effort and moved more material but each strand moved relative to another so just picking one and misplacing it would mean hours of additional work. After showing the simple basics of manipulation, Moon Dancer turned to shaping itself: how to move the strands into simple geometric patterns. After a while, the strands were exhausted, and required time to recover so she moved to another pillar. There, she continued her demonstration with the same deliberate and slow approach. Nestra just wanted to get out and try herself, but she forced her mind to focus, to drink every second of this unmatched learning experience.
After a few more minutes going over the basics again, Moon Dancer suddenly grabbed a dozen strands, molding them into a round gate designed to open like an iris, each blade decorated with butterfly patterns. It was completely beyond Nestra, which she knew. Rather, Moon Dancer was showing her what was possible with enough practice and vision. When Nestra next blinked, she was back in her body with a raging headache.
“Oooow.”
It hurt.
“Warn me next time?” she complained.
Moon Dreamer shook her head, mouth downturned.
“It only works on the unaware, and once. Aszhii’s mind resistance is too strong. Next time, you will fight me.”
“Oh.”
“I apologize. Now please, practice what I showed you while the memory is still fresh.”
It was, obviously, not as easy as Moon Dancer made it seem. Nestra lacked the finesse and awareness of where each strand would end up. She was not unlike a child pushing a toy car, incapable of predicting where it would end, or how much strength she should use. Neverthless, she made a lot of progress turning her pillar into a mostly similar pillar. It was now clear that building her den would take a lot of time. To be honest, she should start with plans rather than just move stuff around but she needed the practice anyway. After an undermined amount of time, Nestra looked up with a full migraine towards the hesitant presence of Grook, waiting by the entrance like a really shy boulder. She got some water, which helped.
“Come on in. Sorry about the lack of everything.”
Grook moved in. Despite her massive frame, her stooped posture and worried mitts turned her into someone Nestra wanted to gently bully. Not like Camille, something more subtle. So Nestra went and placed training equipment on the ground.
“What is that?” Grook asked with a squeaky voice.
Well, squeaky for a moving geological feature.
“It’s our training spot,” Nestra replied with an evil grin.
“Training?” Grook worried.
“Yeah. You trained with your mom, right?”
“I, uh, I fight her. I don’t like it. She is too strong so I can never touch her and I don’t like it.”
Nestra nodded. Sereth had mentioned that human training was excellent. Humans relied on education to pass information to the next generation. It consumed an enormous amount of resources, but it was also what had allowed her host species to achieve incredible technological breakthroughs despite a relatively short life expectancy. Education turned humans from clever monkeys to system engineers. It was possibly the most impressive human innovation after the air fryer.
“Ok. Step in and show me what you can do. Don’t worry, I’ll let you hit me.”
“It will not hurt?”
“Oh, it will hurt, but I’m third ascension and I have a very high resilience thanks to a lot of raids. I can take it. If I can’t, I’ll ask you to stop.”
“Alright,” Grook said, swallowing heavily.
It was weirdly easy to read her emotions considering her face looked like a roughly hewn stone. Grook didn’t take a stance. Instead, she started jumping from foot to foot and making guttural sounds. Nestra’s surprise must have read because Grook turned a dark gray. She was blushing.
“I, uh, I need to be angry to fight.”
“Okay.”
“Sorry,” Grook replied, emotionally falling apart.
“It’s all good,” Nestra said with calm. “We are different species, alright? We work in different ways. What’s important is to find a training regimen that matches your nature and needs.
Grook didn’t look convinced.
“Good training doesn’t force you to go against your nature. It plays on your strength, and shores up weakness I suppose. But mostly we want you to be your best, well, you.”
“What if I’m lazy?” Grook asked, suddenly curious.
“Then we trick your brain. We play with gratification. There is always a way, Grook.”
“Alright…”
Grook was not lazy, Nestra believed. She just didn’t like fighting. After working herself up to a frenzy in around half a minute, Grook suddenly charged Nestra, who blocked or dodged a series of wild strikes. Some were pretty good while others just left Grook completely open. Nevertheless, Nestra didn’t take those openings and instead met the troll girl head on.
She hit like a fucking truck. She also tried grappling though Nestra managed to avoid getting taken down by sidestepping at the last moment. Return jabs met a skin as hard as diamond. Nestra increased the strength of her blows until she was sure they would leave a bruise. It didn’t matter. Grook attacked with a sort of desperate frenzy Nestra had seen when the poor girl hunted. She was fighting for her damn life.
Yeah no wonder she didn’t like to spar. It was like she dialed her own fight or flight reflexes to max intensity. Grook was literally in a life or death struggle, as far as her mind was concerned.
“Alright, enough,” Nestra said after a little while.
Predictably, Grook didn’t listen. She overextended with a wild cross that was just too perfect an invitation. Nestra grabbed the fist with two hands, planted her right foot in her opponent's rocky stomach and hoisted. The troll girl went flying overhead, crashing back first against a nearby pillar. She looked stunned, not from pain but from the sudden sensory overload.
“Uh…”
Nestra offered a hand, then almost regretted it when it turned out Grook was, predictably, heavy as fuck. The troll girl looked better though, flushed and still breathing hard but now devoid of the constant anxiety that pervaded every aspect of her personality.
“Ok, good stuff. Good. You sure know how to hit,” Nestra started.
Grook radiated happiness. It almost made Nestra feel bad.
“I… I hit you! It was so good! Errr,” she deflated soon after.
“It was very good,” Nestra said with a tap on her biceps.
Those sure were big. Nestra was going to bruise too, and Grook hadn’t even used her mana.
“I really don’t think there are any issues with your power, but we can get a lot of progress by working on your control and technique. You get control and technique and you’ll be unstoppable.”
“Yes! Yes! How did you throw me at the end? I liked that a lot.”
“Tomoe-nage,” Nestra explained with no small amount of pride since Judo wasn’t exactly her strongest point.
She’d learned most of it with MaxSec. It was assumed that if she came in Judo range then she’d lost her blades and her gun so she was, effectively, already dead.
“You can do it too, I’ll teach you,” Nestra assured her large student. “But first we need to try and make you able to fight without losing control. Or at least, while keeping some of it.
“But I’m better when I’m angry,” Grook said with renewed concern.
“Then imagine how good you’ll be when you’re angry and in control.”
Grook nodded with enthusiasm.
“We’ll start with a proper warm up this time.”
Honestly Nestra should have started with that because it set up good habits, but C-class were so naturally resilient it almost never mattered. Fundamentals, however, remained important when dealing with new students.
The training session went well. Grook was motivated, which was the most important thing. Every time she lost heart, Nestra immediately complimented her which started her again. Grook was weirdly easy to manipulate. She was also pretty good at picking up new skills even though she was shy.
“Throw me, Grook. You need to use my momentum against me, that’s the essence of Judo. THROW ME DAMMIT.”
Nestra crashed against the nearest wall.
“Good. Good! Don’t hesitate. Commit. It’s a throw. Send me flying.”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Alright, good, again.”
Nestra didn’t have mindfucking techniques like Moon Dancer but she had the next best thing: a burner tablet that could record Grook. It took just a little effort to teach the large girl how to let herself be recorded, then Nestra showed her how to improve with the help of a demonstration video saved on her massive hard drive. This opened Pandora’s box.
“Sure, I can show you a gleam wrestling match. But only after we’re done training.”
“Alright! Alright!”
With the extra motivation, Grook turned out to be a very dedicated student. After a while, Nestra’s migraine returned with a vengeance so she ended the session there. She’d been awake since entering the Aszhii dimension, after all. No wonder she was exhausted.
“You did so well!” Sorai said, jumping out from behind the gate.
Grook mumbled something but Nestra frowned. Maybe it was an Aszhii thing but this was starting to be too much.
“Please knock before entering my quarters,” she warned the mantis woman.
“Oh. Oh, yes, you are correct. I apologize. We usually enter princess chambers without warning them but you are not my species, and this is your den. I apologize,” Sorai said, suddenly bashful.
It was hard to stay mad at her.
“It’s alright. Apology accepted. Now if you two don’t mind, I need a little shut eye.”
“We are leaving!”
“Can I see more wrestling?” Grook asked with burning enthusiasm.
“After the next training session!” Nestra promised.
Poor girl was hooked. Nestra had her. Another step on her dastardly scheme to make friends and convince them not to kill each other.
After taking out all the sleeping stuff she’d packed, Nestra realized she only had two sleeping bags.
“I miss my pillow pile.”
There had to be a solution.
***
“We steal them, of course,” Karamahel said in a conversational tone.
“I just feel bad about stealing from pillow makers. It’s a dick move on an eminently respectable profession,” Nestra said. “I want no part of it,” she added.
Karamahel poured more tea in Nestra’s cup.
“I understand. I, too, prefer to source my belongings in an ethical fashion.”
“By murdering tyrants and looting their belongings,” Nestra commented.
“Precisely. Now I do have a solution for you, and I also have some free time so we can get on with it rather quickly. Before we go, however, I believe you should get a void blade.”
“Void blade? Void blade!” Nestra exclaimed.
Finally! She’d spent hundreds of thousands of credits on swords that broke too soon.
“I will help you schedule a meeting,” Karamahel assured her.
For Aszhii, ‘scheduling a meeting’ apparently meant rushing to the recipient at A-class speed, then asking them to come pick up Nestra ‘whenever’. The Aszhii were rather lax when it came to organization, and by that, Nestra meant they were a complete mess and it was a wonder how they made anything work.
“You will get used to it,” Karamahel commented upon her return. “I was distraught at first, but the truth is that Aszhii society is not unlike a floating pyramid. There is no base because none of us are below the third ascension.”
Nestra frowned.
“Barring the handful of void-born, but they are, well, children,” Karamahel amended. “It explains why it will take time for your diplomatic mission idea to take off. There is simply no one who ever attempted what you are currently trying.”
“I find it hard to believe,” Nestra said. “Many of the host kin species are social.”
“Indeed,” Karamahel interrupted, “and the social ones are usually hit the hardest. It takes us more time to adjust, because being uprooted is more painful to us.”
She gave Nestra a meaningful glance.
“Perhaps you have forgotten, but your human family and friends supporting you despite learning you are a parasitic entity is simply unprecedented. The rest of us had to contend with allies turning on us, family members looking at us with horror and disgust. Nezhra, my own cousin tried to kill me. We had saved each other on the battlefield half a dozen times and he planted a broken spearhead in my gut. I cannot express…”
She took a deep breath then forced her voice to slow down.
“I cannot express how… traumatizing it can be. To see your world collapse and your loved ones all turn on you because of what you are, not what you have done. I, well, I had already distanced myself from most of my family, yet it still cut me to the bone.”
“Ah,” Nestra eloquently replied.
“For others? It was even worse. You must remember this. So yes, no other Aszhii tried to mobilize all of the other covens before even learning how to shape growth. You have not lived under the light of the Abyssar long enough to acquire a blade, and yet you already presented yourself as a major political player. Your youth and enthusiasm, as well as the sheer novelty of the experience, are the only elements protecting you from the disdain of the Elders.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Oh no, I think you are doing well. I can tell you are trying your best to learn and present yourself in a palatable manner.”
“Errrr.”
“Even if the Elders read your intentions, they will still respect your candid approach. Do not fret. I still cannot claim you will meet with success, but I cannot think of a better method than the one you have chosen. We are… old. Many of us.”
She gave an unreadable stare, made even more unreadable by the absence of pupil.
“We have forgotten what it means to believe in host kin. Any host kin. They are all interesting, entertaining, or irritating, but they are not us, and they are not friends. Only the People are our friends. The idea of another species accepting us without a mask is still so foreign, I believe many will simply not entertain the thought. Sending a diplomatic mission like you suggested would be a great solution. With some time and a continued demonstration of your abilities, we might yet succeed. Ah, but onto the shaping for now. I can hear Mathan approach.”
“Right.”
Everything would be better with a sword.
***
Mathan was, to Nestra’s surprise, a male. He was a strange fellow of tall stature but of bent back, with two muscular arms he held linked in front of him. His face was long and only marginally humanoid with a great crest protecting his neck. He was also completely hairless. It was difficult to assess what manner of species he belonged to.
“For now, let us go to the fields,” he suggested.
Nestra followed him. He took great care to make sure she stayed behind as they flew in the weird non-space that was the Abyssar’s corona. She would miss the refreshing energy while traveling.
“So… you’re doing me a favor. I assume you will want repayment?” Nestra asked.
Nathan’s sudden jerk of panic and backward glance suggested she’d said something terribly wrong.
“The coven and I already have an agreement, little sister. Yours shall help with my pilgrimage this year as was agreed. You need not worry.”
Nestra nodded.
“So is this all a barter economy?” she wondered out loud.
Mathan slowed down to stay by her side. He was very polite for a weird alien.
“Mostly yes, little sister, although kero nuts are often accepted for minor services long after the harvest is done. Should I surmise that you do not know how thorn crafting is done?”
“Correct.”
“Ah, in this case, I shall explain my craft. The youngest and quickly developing strands of Growth often gather around an especially vivacious spike, sometimes called a leading vector. Although they are not symbiotes like our Skins, they can be made into one, after a fashion. The first step will require you to travel over one such region until you find a spike that resonates with you. Because you belong to a species with strong empathy and you have demonstrated such, it should not be an issue for you, at all. After you are done harvesting it, return to me. We will shape it together.”
“How, if I may ask?”
“You will fight me. With my assistance, the thorn shall take on an appearance better suited to your needs. While other weapons cannot long tolerate the caustic touch of void mana, this one will feed off it, and it will also retain some of its plasticity, that you may later adjust it to suit your needs.”
“That’s very helpful. Do many Aszhii use weapons?”
“Yes, although perhaps not as dextrously as I am told you would. The majority of us are tool users,” Mathan said. “Some are better at it than others, but all of us need something to channel our energies.”
He made a gesture that Nestra didn’t recognize. Probably a host kin vestige. Before Nestra could ask more, they approached one of the blooming strands of the Growth. Nestra moved closer, marveling at the field of tiny white flowers, all of them deceptively delicate over serrated thorns that would likely kill a baseline on contact.Those were the last of the season as cottonous clouds of flowing petals flew up towards the Abyssar. Many of the bared branches carried the growing forms of kero nuts. Of delicious, but still unripe, kero nuts. She left those behind with some regrets. Fluffing those little chaos flowers with her fingers had to feel wonderful.
Blade first. After the fields, Mathan and her reached the end of a growth tendril where the spikes grew small, some waving as if under an unseen wind.
“I will wait here while you find one of the spikes. Be careful, there are creatures who feed off new growth. They will try to feed off of you as well.”
Nestra nodded, then she approached the tip. From above it looked like a stubby finger but as soon as she was near, the extension expanded to encompass her entire field of vision. It was enormous, of course, larger than Threshold and its surroundings. This Growth wasn’t a dense forest but fields of twitchy soft thorns. Landing, she passed her hand over them. They felt rubbery. It was kind of fun.
“Woah.”
The unseen wind wasn’t wind but groups of secondary spikes aligning with one or several of those ‘vectors’ Mathan had mentioned, each one competing for influence in a way she couldn’t understand. Her steps led her through the fields and towards each growth in turn but she didn’t feel anything from them. Slowly, she approached the part hidden from the light of the Abyssar. There, a strange dusk turned the dance more tense. It smelled nice.
One of the growths caught her eye. This was shook in a way that was just peculiar enough to attract her attention. She approached, eyes narrowed. There was something else in the air. Something familiar…
Nestra used momentum to jump to the side. A nightmarish jaw closed shut where she had stood, then a tail flicked to toss her but she dodged under the grass.
“You piece of shit.”
This void shark was larger than Sashimi and early C-class. The arrogance, the gall of this slightly larger handbag. Nestra jumped on its back as it tried to disengage. It buckled, trying to push her away but Nestra’s fury was as strong as her grip. She pulled herself forward like a zombie from hell. The shark’s thoughts came as a jumble of panic and terror.
Nestra chomped on its big fin. The shark was now swimming away with the desperate energy of the condemned and she was trying to get a damn sword anyway so she let it go. It let out a strange keening sound as it left. Probably wouldn’t approach another Aszhii for as long as it lived.
Also it tasted meh. And it was too crunchy. Waste of Nestra’s time, honestly. She returned to the strand after searching for it again for a few minutes.
The thorn allowed itself to be plucked. Holding it gave Nestra the impression of having an extra limb. It messed with her proprioception.
Mathan was waiting for her above. True to his word, he lifted both hands above him. Barriers appeared in the middle of the void. Amazingly, they were made of a void version of pure mana. He was like a pure mage equivalent to Camille!
The barrier crashed into her. She dodged the second assault, then struck the third. She was forced to alternate between powerful thrusts and desperate sweeps to keep that fucker from boxing her in. As time went on, she grew more comfortable moving around without gravity. Her turns became sharper, her movements more responsive. It was fun! Approaching Mathan was like climbing a mountain and playing chess at the same time. Every moment of progress was met with new challenges: Mathan had cages, used the barriers as blades, spears, maces, even strange naval mines. She had to defend herself in an ever-shifting maze.
And then her blade crashed against his last defense, a cocoon so dense he could barely be seen through it, but it was so strong she couldn’t pierce. Unless… She struck again, then paused.
Mathan waited patiently, his arms down and face unreadable. All of his other defenses had dematerialized. Nestra checked the thorn.
It was now a bastard sword slightly shorter than what she usually used in Threshold, but then she always picked those because they lasted longer. Swords were much lighter than most baselines assumed but this one wasn’t. It matched her strength perfectly. The guard, blade, and hilts were all black and glossy like impossibly pure obsidian. The design was clearly European with a strange, alien twist, though it remained very basic.
It was… perfect.
“I can tell you pushed me just enough to help me shape the blade. Thank you, Mathan,” she said with emotion. “It’s… wonderful.”
She picked up the thorn. It deserved a name, but she couldn’t think of one just yet.
“It was my pleasure to help you create such a good tool. Some labors are their own rewards,” the creature softly said.
Then it looked away.
“You are closer to Serethion than I expected. Send him my regards when you next see him,” he said, and then he disappeared.
Nestra frowned. Mathan had tried to tell her something.
She would have to talk to the coven, after a quick expedition, of course.
***
Domithiel took a deep breath, a decision she regretted immediately. Her parched lips breathed in the cloying, wet heat that made the back of her hair stick to her neck in a most unpleasant manner. Steel manacles bit into her wrists, chafing, more of an insult than a real precaution since the egregiously red boudoir certainly held something she could use to free herself, somewhere buried under all those lush pillows. No, the real captivity stemmed from the might of rogue baron Eskantil.
It had been a truly unfortunate turn of event, to run into him. Two of her guards were dead, and Domithiel had barely managed to hold the arrogant lord back long enough for her maid to sprint away. Even then, he had entertained himself with her lackluster martial prowess. Her multiple wounds still attested to the lopsided duel.
It was embarrassing, really, and she was going to miss the ball. Two long schemes compromised, another ruined. The embarrassment of capture would take some effort to turn into an aura of adventure. She swallowed the little saliva she had left with difficulty. Her stomach let its displeasure be known. To be fair, it had been punched with much strength.
Perhaps a rescue party would be sent, and she would get ransomed. Unfortunately, her father was both a miser and rather displeased with some of her more recent ventures. Too daring, he had said. He might believe an extended lesson would serve her, teaching her some of the caution and respect he liked to harp about. Lesson indeed. She sighed again. It remained unpleasantly hot.
She chased away the thought that it could get much worse, very quickly.
The possibility of seduction still offered a path to salvation. Eskantil might be inclined to let her go if she entertained him properly enough. He had to miss court life after his deserved and long-awaited exile. There were worse candidates to sleep with, of course, but perhaps not a great many. He was an arrogant man with an ego like glass and a desire for recognition and validation only matched by young arena champions. If she played her pieces well… but no. Although she was willing to sacrifice much to live, there were some boundaries even she was unwilling to cross. Better to sit on gaudy pillows than on this man’s lap. Maybe she could poison him?
Her calculations were interrupted by a great clamor. Something cracked the fortress’ gate, then all hell broke loose. She felt the flashes of mana, heard the screams of pain, felt the tremor of the very earth under her bruised knees. The battle had started on the left at the fort entrance, but then it moved in front of her past the crimson gate. From the screams, it was going poorly for the defenders.
She couldn’t read the mana signatures. Some of them were… odd. Hungry. Vicious and cold. Eskantil was a mighty warrior of the third sphere, however, and it would be no small task to put him down. A shadow warrior cabal would have killed him in quiet moments — if the Heavenly Court ever bothered. A fourth sphere warrior would have ended the combat in moments. No, it was a deadly struggle and her would-be rescuers had… but perhaps she was letting hope cloud her judgment. Eskantil had a great many enemies, few of them her friends. Only his father’s reputation and his own guile had allowed him to survive so long. Clearly, taking him down would —
The door exploded. The broken form of Eskantil careened through the air, limbs too fragmented to be whole. He collapsed under the far wall, leaving a heavy blood mark behind.
It was the kind of mark one didn’t walk away from.
And then, after a few more gurgles and pleadings, silence returned outside of the courtyard.
Domithiel tried to swallow again, and failed. Her heart beat painfully against her ribcage. Her long and delicate ears picked up meaty sounds. This was definitely not the mark of a rescue party. Her feet found purchase in the gaudy carpet. If she ran… but no. The only way out was through the demolished door, and whoever could shatter Eskantil in under thirty heartbeats would flip her like a courtesan’s skirt. She was at the mercy of fate. And then, to her immense surprise, two huntresses entered the room.
The first possessed the stature of a fencer, obvious even in the toned arms and confident posture. Her hair was the dark gold of an Emerald Sea noble though her lethal confidence reminded Domithiel of Scale Guard from the Capital. By contrast, her companion was the tallest and most muscular Pole Warden Domithiel had ever beheld. Her dusky skin, dark eyes, and darker hair marked her so while she inspected the room with light concern. It was abundantly clear the Scale Guard was the leader of the pair. Domithiel was only certain the woman was of the third sphere because of the length of the battle. Otherwise, her storm affinity was under perfect control.
More importantly, they were wearing a mismatched assortment of armor and clothes clearly looted from Domithiel’s captors. She remembered a specific pauldron on the shoulder of one of the female guards.
Had… had the women attacked the fort naked?
Consternation replaced terror in the mind of the courtier. She had accounted for many things, including an ignominious death. She hadn’t accounted for… whatever that was.
Well, no matter.
“Ahem, forgive my manners,” she rasped. “I am Domithiel of the Blue Lagoon. I would bow but…”
She gestured at her chains.
Neither of the women spoke, but the blonde huntress walked past Domithiel with a confident step. The courtier almost expected a blade through the throat but nothing happened.
“Ah. I am terribly sorry for bothering you,” Domithiel tried again. “But if I could trouble you to… oh.”
Keys landed on her lap. The blonde woman had taken them from Eskantil’s mangled corpse, something Domithiel confirmed by looking again.
They’d harvested his core too.
Either it was extremely personal, or they didn’t know that Eskantil’s father was called ‘The Ravager’. Were those two from one of the joint worlds? The tall one touched her long ears in a strangely childish gesture.
“You have my eternal gratitude,” Domithiel said.
“We have little affection for slavers and brigands,” the head huntress said in a casual alto. “You are free to go after you release the other prisoners from their cages.”
“Ah.”
This was unexpected. Most unexpected boons came with the heaviest strings attached. Domithiel still removed her bindings before standing up with great pleasure. She was still filthy and wounded, yet there was nothing quite like freedom to turn her mood around. If this was freedom after all.
“Of course.”
And to find something to drink. Preferably filtered.
“So,” the larger one asked with a deep growl. “How many?”
“All those that qualify. Those near the walls are decorative. We take those. Leave those on the ground and that pile over there,” the blonde woman said.
And then she grabbed a pillow and it disappeared.
Space magic? Were they also insanely well-off?
“Why not?” the large one replied, though it didn’t sound like a challenge at all.
“Because they have sperm on them,” the blonde one replied with disgust.
Ah yes, that was the unpleasant scent Domithiel couldn’t place over her own ripe sweat. Wonderful.
“What’s sperm?” the large woman asked.
Domithiel froze just as the blonde sighed. Terror crashed against her like a wave. A terrible chill crept up her spine as all the previous strange occurrences tumbled into her mind, gathering, from eclectic pieces, into a coherent and complete puzzle. She hiccuped, just from fear.
The storm-aligned, third sphere huntress was staring at her, thin ears dangerously low.
Domithiel was fucking dead.
“I will only ask,” she pushed through chattering teeth, “that you dispose of my body with respect. I could not suffer to have my beautiful features devoured by insects.”
“But,” the big one said with a frown, “you would be eaten by those toothy mammals we saw outside? Not insects?”
“Well, that is not a great option either,” Domithiel dared complain.
The blonde approached her. Domithiel lowered her gaze. Those were not court animals. Those were not animals either. Those were… apex predators. Jesters and butchers.
“What are we?” the blonde woman said.
“You are monochrome reavers, and I am indebted to you, of course, but I will still maintain my request.”
“We are not monochrome reavers,” the blonde woman said. “We are traveling mercenaries with a bloody grudge against slavers. And we will soon be gone.”
“I…”
Domithiel’s overtaxed brain mercifully clicked.
“Yes, of course. I wish I could have seen you but sadly, my eyes were bandaged.”
“That is for the best,” the blonde woman said.
“But her eyes are not bandaged at all…” the tall girl weakly protested.
“They are not, but she will lie so people do not suspect we are Aszhii. This will protect us, and her.”
“Oh. I understand,” the tall girl replied. “But… we don’t need protection?”
“It’s probably wiser if no one suspects we were around. Even if we have our sister with us, there is no reason to take extra risks.”
Blessed Emperor there were three of them?
“I understand! It makes a lot of sense,” the obviously juvenile reaver replied.
“Good. Now let’s pack. And you, Domithiel of the Blue Lagoon,” the blonde continued, “do not forget what I asked. Find the other prisoners, and free them.”
“Upon my honor and by the life debt I owe you, I will escort all of them and their belongings to the safety of the Featherbane Estate. You have my solemn promise.”
“See that you do,” the third sphere reaver said.
And then she returned to disappearing pillows. The younger one joined her, but she only disappeared four of the smaller ones before stopping. Domithiel didn’t dare depart because she had not been granted leave and also because she didn’t dare ask for it. Her poor, abused skull sponge somehow conjured up another question, one she knew she shouldn’t ask just as she blurted it out.
“I apologize for asking but… did you raid this fort specifically to take the pillows? Was I rescued as an unexpected by-product of your quest for unstained head rests?”
“Yes,” the blonde one replied without turning.
“Oh. Well. Then you have nothing to worry about because I will take this secret to my grave.”
Comments
ItWasIDIO!!
So the tall one is Grook?
Julkur
Ok. So it's Wednesday after the 1 month break. Where is my chaaaaapter?! Was it one month?
FreakShow
What if that was sereth’s sister 0.o
InLucidReverie
Threshold” very few walls -> Threshold;
