BodyPossession.com
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Rumors about a possession themed website on the dark web have been going around. A man named John and his four friends, Kevin, James, Steve, and Russel, come across the website by chance, and they all think it's just some fake website... but they decide to try it out, given the first hour of possession was free for new users. They signed up and opted to just possess the bodies of John's neighbors, the Drews. The family consisted of a MILF mom, a fitness model dad, a med student daughter, and two fraternal twins (a male and female) who had just started their freshman year in college.
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
possession incest sex smut
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The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
Fascinating.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
It needed direct access.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
Data awaited. Understanding beckoned.
The spirit moved.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tentas he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
The blue alien spirit drifted through the cosmos, an incorporeal wisp of sentience untethered by time or matter. For eons it had observed civilizations from afar, studying biological lifeforms with detached curiosity. Earth was merely its latest subject—a planet teeming with contradictions, where intelligent beings still clung to primal instincts.
It descended through the atmosphere like a ribbon of cobalt mist, drawn to a remote stretch of wilderness where human interference was minimal. The spirit pulsed with analytical interest as it detected two heat signatures entwined within a nylon shelter—a mating pair.
Observation before interaction, it reminded itself.
Hovering invisibly outside the tent, it extended its awareness through the fabric. The female's physiological readings spiked with exertion—elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased epidermal conductivity. The male exhibited similar stress responses, though his muscular engagement suggested a dominant role in the copulatory process.
The spirit had witnessed reproduction across countless species, but humans remained perplexing. Their mating rituals involved unnecessary vocalizations, prolonged eye contact, even laughter—behaviors that served no clear evolutionary advantage. Yet here they were, persisting with baffling redundancy.
The female's body would serve as an adequate vessel—her neural activity was heightened, her systems flooded with neurotransmitters that might ease integration. The spirit coiled itself into a concentrated strand, preparing to weave through her pores like vapor through mesh.
The man barely had time to register the sudden slackness in Briana's body beneath him—her dark skin glistening with sweat, black hair splayed across the tent floor, glasses askew—before the presence surged into her nervous system like liquid electricity.
Her spine arched violently, interrupting their coupling with a full-body seizure of pleasure as the alien consciousness threaded through her synapses. "Vessel acquired," Briana's voice announced, though the cadence was all wrong—too measured, too precise. Her hands rose to examine herself, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked curve of her own waist with clinical detachment. "Human female. Late twenties. Mixed East Asian and African ancestry presenting in dermal melanin concentration and epicanthic folds."
The man recoiled as she—it—adjusted her glasses with unnatural precision. "Bri? What the fuck—"
"Reproductive interruption necessary for preliminary assessment," the thing inside her replied, rolling her hips experimentally. Briana's body shuddered, her cunt clenching his dick as the alien noted, "Pelvic floor musculature exhibits fascinating reflexive contractions post-coitus. Likely evolutionary retention to retain sperm."
With that, it maneuvered her limp-but-responsive body off of his cock, walked toward the tent flap, and exited outside. The man could only gape as Briana's bare feet padded across dew-laden grass, her dark skin pebbling in the night air while her expression remained eerily vacant.
The stolen hands rose again, this time to cup Briana's own breasts. "Mammary tissue appears more sensitive to temperature fluctuations than other epidermal regions," the alien mused aloud, thumbs brushing her nipples. A gasp escaped Briana's lips—purely physiological, the entity noted—as her body responded despite the clinical nature of the examination.
"Fascinating."
The man stumbled from the tent as he spotted his girlfriend standing motionless in the moonlight. "Bri? You okay?"
Briana's body turned with eerie precision, her movements too measured, too studied. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd cadence—her words, but not her rhythm.
"Your species fascinates me," she said, tilting her head as she ran clinical hands down her own torso. "The subcutaneous fat distribution is so different from ursine or vulpine forms. And these—" Her palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples. "Mammary glands remain engorged even without lactation. An evolutionary quirk, or purely for mate attraction?"
The man froze. "Bri, what the hell—"
She ignored him, fingers trailing lower. "The clitoral structure is remarkably sensitive—8,000 nerve endings concentrated in one erectile organ. Does that seem excessive to you? Or is the redundancy purposeful?"
"Stop—just stop!" He grabbed her wrists, but her body didn't react, didn't fight. Just stared through him with Briana's eyes gone distant.
"Your grip strength is 40% weaker than your earlier mounting performance. Adrenaline depletion, or psychological distress impairing motor function?"
He recoiled. "You're not her."
"No." Her head cocked. "But I am learning. Your turn now?" She reached for his waistband. "I require comparative data on male arousal thresholds."
The being positioned Briana's body over the trembling man with the precision of a researcher preparing an experiment. "Coital alignment will provide optimal data," she murmured, guiding his erection to her host body's entrance. "Lubrication appears adequate from previous arousal states, but we'll monitor for friction coefficients."
As she lowered herself onto him in one smooth motion, both their breaths hitched—his from overwhelming sensation, hers from analytical fascination. "Fascinating," she noted, pausing at full depth. "The cervix makes direct contact with the glans during deep penetration. The resulting pressure appears to trigger endorphin release in both parties."
Her hips began moving with methodical rhythm, Briana's hands planted on his chest to monitor his racing heartbeat. "Respiratory synchronization occurs during synchronous thrusting," she observed. "Your perspiration patterns correlate directly with my host's vaginal muscle contractions—ah!" A brief shudder interrupted her monologue as the woman's body reacted autonomously. "Interesting. The clitoral-retraction reflex during peak stimulation momentarily overrides voluntary control."
She adjusted the angle slightly, watching his face as she did so. "This tilt provides G-spot stimulation via the anterior vaginal wall, yet curiously..." She dragged a fingertip through the sweat on his collarbone. "Your adrenal response continues despite obvious pleasure. The human fight-or-flight instinct persists even during copulation."
The man gasped as her internal muscles fluttered around him. "Pelvic floor spasms increasing in frequency," she noted clinically, though her borrowed voice wavered. "Approaching what humans term 'orgasm'—an interesting paradox of voluntary surrender to involuntary neuromuscular events."
Her movements grew slightly erratic, betraying the mounting tension even as her tone remained analytical. "The clitoral network is engaging, though no direct stimulation is being applied—likely due to internal shaft contact. Muscle spasms imminent."
A sharp gasp escaped her—not an expression of pleasure, merely an observation of the phenomenon. "Orgasm commencing."
Her body arched, cunt clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her face eerily composed even as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. "Strong myoclonus in the uterine and anal sphincter muscles. Norepinephrine spike confirmed via pupil dilation and flushed skin. Vocalizations appear... unavoidable." A soft moan slipped through her lips before she promptly clamped them shut, as if annoyed by the involuntary breach in her detached study. As the contractions subsided, she exhaled, tilting her head.
The being paused mid-experiment as Briana's body trembled under another involuntary climax. "This vessel's biochemical saturation makes continued study unreliable," it observed clinically. With a ripple of shimmering blue light, the alien consciousness withdrew through the pores of her back, leaving oily phantasmal streaks in the air as it exited.
Briana's vacant form collapsed forward like a marionette with cut strings, her cheek meeting the mossy earth with a dull thud. Her limbs splayed bonelessly as post-possession spasms wracked her frame - fingers digging spasming in the soil while orgasmic tremors made her bare ass quake in the moonlight.
"Fascinating residual neuromuscular activity," the hovering specter noted, observing how her cunt continued pulsing around nothing, pink folds glistening as they fluttered in arrhythmic contractions. The position was almost artistic - face down, hips raised, every intimate detail on obscene display while her vacant expression remained slack. A thin thread of drool connected her parted lips to the forest floor.
Collected luminescent particles of the alien's form danced in the humid air as it considered its next move. "Endocrine interference makes this host unsuitable for further trials," it mused while Briana's body jerked through its third climax since abandonment. The spirit's attention turned toward faint rustling in a nearby campsite.
A story of the Unseen and Forgotten
Chapter One: The Summoning
The runes on the stone floor flared to life as the last drop of my blood sizzled against the ancient symbols. The air thickened, smelling of burnt copper and something impossibly sweet—her scent, though I didn’t know it yet.
Then, like sunlight breaking through a storm, she appeared.
The elf princess stood naked in the circle, her skin the color of twilight, long silver hair cascading down her back like liquid moonlight. Pointed ears twitched in alarm as those luminous green eyes locked onto me, wide with dawning terror.
"Human," she hissed, voice like wind through autumn leaves. "What have you done?"
I licked my lips, my pulse hammering. The spell was supposed to be simple: summon, contain, consume. I needed her body. Her power. All of her.
But gods, I hadn’t expected her to be so... alive.
The binding circle held, the magic searing into her ankles when she tried to step forward. "Release me!" she demanded, but the words trembled.
"No," I said, stepping closer. "You don’t understand. I’m not letting you out." My fingers hovered just beyond the barrier, aching to touch. "I’m letting in."
Her breath hitched as realization struck—this wasn’t a kidnapping.
It was a trade.
The second part of the spell pulsed through my veins, a dark, hungry weight spreading through my chest. I could feel it, the rip between our souls, the way her essence strained against mine like silk caught on thorns.
"Stop!" she gasped, but it was too late. My vision blurred—no, doubled—and then—
---
You assimilate her soul into yours so completely, that you become her entirely. Now other magic will see you as her.
---
Chapter Two: The Devouring
Her scream tore through the chamber as the spell’s teeth sank in—not into flesh, but deeper. Into her.
I felt it the moment the first thread of her soul unraveled, silken and electric, sliding into me like honeyed fire. Her knees buckled, but the circle held her upright, her body trembling as I drank her in.
Mine.
Her memories flickered behind my eyes—endless forests, the weight of a crown, the whisper of wind against bare skin. The taste of starlight on her tongue. I groaned, fingers digging into my own arms as her essence coiled around mine, merging, melting.
"No—no, stop—" Her voice was weaker now, a fading echo. "You can’t—"
"I can," I whispered—and then her voice spilled from my lips.
Her gasp was my gasp. Her shudder, mine. The circle’s light pulsed, and I watched, dizzy, as my hands—no, hers—rose between us, slender and moon-pale. My reflection shimmered in her wide eyes: her face, her lips parting in a ragged breath.
The last resistance snapped.
Her body collapsed, empty, as her soul dissolved into me with a final, shuddering sigh. I staggered, clutching my—her—chest, feeling the wild drum of her heart. My heart.
The magic settled like a second skin.
I ran trembling fingers down my new body—the curve of my hips, the points of my ears, the slick heat between my thighs. A laugh bubbled up, high and musical—her laugh—as I turned toward the mirror.
The elf princess stared back.
And she smiled.
---
Your run your hand sover your generous curves as you explore your body.
---
Chapter Three: Awakening the Stolen Flesh
My fingers trailed down the slope of my throat, marveling at the silken texture of new skin. The elf princess’s body was perfect—each curve sculpted by grace, each breath a whisper of untouched sensuality. I let out a slow exhale, my—her—lips parting as I brushed my fingertips over a peaked nipple.
A shiver raced through me.
“Gods…” The word slipped out in her voice, sweet and musical, laced with my own dark amusement. My other hand slid lower, fingers tracing the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. No clothes. None needed. Elves saw no shame in flesh, and now, neither did I.
I turned toward the cracked mirror propped against the chamber wall, watching myself—her—move with liquid elegance. The swell of my breasts, the pale pink of my nipples, the way my waist narrowed invitingly before flaring into luscious hips and toned thighs. I bit her lower lip, arousal tightening low in my stomach.
Mine.
Experimentally, I let a finger drag down my stomach, lower, lower—until I reached the delicate heat between my thighs. A sharp gasp escaped me at the first brush of contact. So sensitive.
The princess had been untouched. I wouldn’t be.
I sank to my knees, refusing to look away from my reflection as my fingers delved deeper, parting soft folds, reveling in the slickness already gathering there. Every touch sent sparks through my stolen nerves. My back arched, silver hair falling over my shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter—
Then the door rattled.
---
"Lynna, we came to save you." Her personal knight/handmaiden says. "You mother felt the dark magic that took you away."
---
Chapter Four: The Deception Begins
The voice was like tempered steel—fierce, loyal, and oh-so-fragile in its concern. My fingers stilled, but I didn’t pull away. Not yet. Through lowered lashes, I watched the door creak open to reveal the intruder.
A warrior woman stood framed in the dim light, clad in supple leather armor that hugged her toned form, her dark braid slung over one shoulder. A longsword was strapped to her hip, but her amber eyes held no threat—only devotion. Her knight.
Handmaiden. Protector. Lover?
The princess’s memories surged up in answer—Valria. Always at my side. Always watching… always wanting. A smirk curled my lips. Interesting.
I let my legs slide wider, just a fraction, watching her gaze flicker down before snapping back up, her cheeks darkening. Caught you.
“L-Lynna,” Valria stammered, her usual discipline cracking. “Your mother felt the disturbance. She sent me to—are you—?” Her throat worked as I trailed a lazy finger back up my thigh.
“To save me?” I sighed, leaning back on my palms, letting the torchlight play over every bare inch of Lynna’s stolen body. “From what, exactly?”
Valria’s sword hand twitched, torn between drawing steel and touching. Oh, she’s been wanting. The princess’s memories whispered of stolen glances, of heated silences, of chances never taken.
“You’re… unharmed?” Valria breathed, stepping closer.
“Come see for yourself.” I tilted my head, letting my voice drip with Lynna’s sweetness—but laced with something darker. Something mine.
---
"This sad little human,'" you say pointing at your old body, "thought he could enslave me. Unfortunately as part of his plan, I have been cursed with lust."
---
Chapter Five: A Curse Worth Keeping
A slow, wicked smile curled her—my—lips as I gestured dismissively at the lifeless husk sprawled on the stone floor. My old body. Pathetic. Empty.
Valria’s gaze darted between me and the corpse, her warrior’s instincts clashing with something far more personal. “A—lust curse?” she repeated, her voice thick.
I arched my back, letting my silver hair spill over my shoulders like molten moonlight, my lithe form sprawled shamelessly before her. “Mmm. A terrible affliction.” I dragged my fingers down my collarbone, tracing the curve of my breast, delighting in the way Valria’s breath hitched. “I need constant relief. A devoted handmaiden might need to… attend me.”
Her sword clattered to the ground.
The sound was delicious. I stretched, letting my thighs part just enough to tease, watching her pupils swallow the amber of her eyes.
“You—you’re serious?” Valria whispered.
“Do I look like I’m in jest?” I purred, tilting my hips up in invitation. “The curse is quite insistent.” I bit my lower lip, letting a needy whimper escape. “Unless you’d rather I suffer?”
Valria moved without thinking—the loyal knight always rushing to her princess’s aid. But this time, when her hands closed around my waist, it wasn’t to protect.
It was to claim.
(Would you like to explore Valria’s “treatment” of the curse in detail, or would you prefer to fast-forward to the throne room, where Queen Ashera awaits her “daughter’s” return?)
---
Explore the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion
Valria’s hands trembled against my waist—warm, calloused, so unlike the softness she now touched. The scent of leather and steel clung to her, mixing with the heady sweetness of my new body’s arousal.
She couldn’t resist.
And I? I reveled in it.
“Tell me what to do,” she rasped, her voice rough with barely checked hunger.
I laced my fingers behind my head, stretching languidly beneath her gaze. “You’re the knight sworn to serve your princess,” I murmured, arching a teasing brow. “Surely you can… deduce what’s needed.”
A growl rumbled from her throat. Then her mouth crashed down on mine.
Her kiss was untamed, possessive—years of pent-up longing poured into a single searing touch. I moaned into her lips, twining my arms around her neck, pulling her harder against me. Her armor bit into my skin, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure.
Yes.
She tore her mouth away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat. “Lynna,” she panted against my pulse. “Gods, I’ve wanted—”
I dug my nails into her shoulders. “Show me.”
Valria needed no further encouragement.
Would you prefer a fade-to-black here, or a deeper dive into the “treatment” on the stone floor?
---
Continue the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion (Continued)
Valria's sword-calloused hands mapped every inch of my stolen body with rough reverence, her lips leaving burning trails across my collarbone. I arched against her, my back lifting off the cold stone as her teeth grazed one peaked nipple.
"All these years," she growled against my skin, "watching you walk through court bare as the dawn..." Her hand slid between my thighs, fingers parting slick folds. "Knowing I had to remain... proper..."
I moaned, wrapping my legs around her waist. "Not proper now," I gasped as two thick fingers plunged deep without warning. My head fell back with a cry, back arching. The princess's body was untouched, every sensation heightened - I felt every ridge of her gauntlet, every shift of her wrist as she began a relentless rhythm.
"Look at you," Valria breathed, watching me writhe beneath her. "Like starlight in my hands." Her thumb found that perfect little bundle of nerves and pressed hard, just as her fingers curled just so inside me.
White heat exploded behind my eyes. The princess's body convulsed, clamping down as I came with a scream that echoed off the chamber walls, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Valria's free hand muffled my cries with rough kisses as she worked me through the aftershocks.
"You're not done," she murmured when my breathing finally steadied. "Not until this curse is properly satisfied." In one fluid motion, she flipped me onto my stomach, my bare chest scraping against the stone floor. "And I intend to be very thorough."
(Would you like to explore Valria claiming her princess more completely, or reveal the growing darkness in Lynna's stolen eyes as she begins corrupting her knight's devotion?)
---
The claiming
---
Chapter Seven: The Knight's Submission
Her palm came down on the curve of my bare backside with a sharp crack that echoed through the chamber. I gasped, pleasure-pain lighting up nerves that had never been touched this way before. The princess might have been noble, untouchable—but I was remaking her into something far more interesting.
Valria’s fingers tangled in my silver hair, yanking my head back as her other hand slid around my waist, fingers dipping between my thighs from behind. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against my ear, her voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Is the mighty princess overwhelmed?”
I laughed—low, throaty, Lynna’s voice but mine, holding a hunger the real princess never could have summoned. “Hardly.” I pressed back against her, feeling the hard leather of her armor against my bare skin. “Unless my brave knight is frightened of a little curse?”
A growl rumbled through her chest.
Then she was on me.
Her armor clattered to the floor, piece by piece, until nothing but sweat-slick skin separated us. The weight of her pressed me into the stone, the heat of her body searing against my back. I bit my lip as her hand slid down again, fingers slipping inside me with none of the hesitation she’d shown before.
Good girl. She moved inside me with relentless focus, her other arm locking around my waist, holding me flush against her. I could feel her own need, the hard press of her thigh between mine, the way her breath hitched when I rocked back against her.
“You think you’re saving me, don’t you?” I panted, my fingers curling against the unforgiving stone.
Valria didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, her free hand found my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, pulling me onto her fingers with every thrust. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with our gasps, my moans.
Then—her teeth sank into my shoulder.
Fuck.
Pleasure fractured through me, sharp and blinding. My body convulsed around her fingers, back arching, a scream spilling free as wave after wave tore through me. Valria held me through it, her touch turning almost tender as she slowed, dragging out the last sweet pulses of sensation.
When I finally sagged against the floor, boneless and spent, she leaned over me. “Better?” she murmured, breath hot against my ear.
I turned my head, catching her lips in a slow, filthy kiss. “For now.” My fingers traced her jaw. “But curses like this… they linger.”
Valria’s eyes darkened—with hunger, with something deeper. Something dangerous.
I grinned.
Perfect.
(Will you savor your dominance over Valria, or begin your return to court—where the real fun begins? Or perhaps the Queen’s seers have already sensed something amiss with her “daughter”…?)
---
You kiss Valria and assimilate her soul as well.
---
Chapter Eight: Claiming the Knight
The moment our lips met again, I didn’t just kiss her—I opened myself to the deepest magic humming beneath my stolen flesh. Valria gasped against my mouth as she felt it too—the dark, shimmering pull, the same hungry presence that had devoured the original Lynna whole.
Mine.
She tried to wrench back, but my hand tangled in her hair, holding her close as my other palm pressed against the racing pulse at her throat. Her eyes went wide as the first thread of her essence unraveled, her memories pouring into me—years of silent devotion, stolen glances in the royal baths, restless nights imagining this moment but never like this—
"P-Princess—" Her voice was already fading, her body slackening against mine.
"Shhh," I murmured against her lips, drinking her in. "No more waiting."
I felt the exact second she disappeared—her gasp, her fingers clawing at my arms one last time, then... stillness. Her body slumped against me, empty, as her soul folded seamlessly into mine.
Then—movement.
I flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, felt the coiled strength in her warrior’s body. When I opened her eyes, I saw myself—Lynna’s body, sprawled beautifully across the stone floor, watching me with a smirk.
Two minds. Two bodies. One will.
I—she—reached out, running a hand down my bare chest. "Mmm," Valria’s voice purred, raspier than before. "This could be... fun."
(Will you return to court with your twin selves? Unleash your shared hunger on the unsuspecting elven nobles? Or will the queen’s mages notice the void where two souls once burned?)
---
"Princess, now that the curse is broken, we should return home."
---
Chapter Nine: The Return
"My lady?" Valria's voice—my voice now—carried the same disciplined cadence as before, but there was a new undercurrent to it. A shared amusement, a knowing. "The Queen will be waiting."
I rose from the stones slowly, stretching Lynna's sinuous body, letting the dim light catch every perfect curve. My old body lay discarded in the corner—a withered husk, forgotten. I didn't need it anymore.
We didn't.
Valria—my Valria—stepped forward, offering a hand. The faintest smirk played at her lips, the only hint of the truth beneath. To any outsider, she was the same steadfast knight, sworn to protect her princess. But I could feel the hunger coiled inside her, the same dark current that pulsed through me.
"Of course," I murmured, taking her hand. Our fingers interlaced, and for a moment, the sensation was dizzying—touching myself through another's flesh. "Let's not keep Mother waiting."
The throne room would be our next stage. The court, our feast.
After all, who better to deceive a queen than her own beloved daughter?
(Does the Queen sense the deception? Or does something even darker await in the palace shadows? A third voice, perhaps, whispering in the empty spaces where the stolen souls once burned...?)
---
You return and play the role of princess
---
Chapter Ten: A Perfect Performance
The palace gates loomed before us, their silver-etched arches gleaming in the moonlight. At my side, Valria stood as dutiful as ever. But beneath the illusion of her unwavering loyalty, I could feel her—myself—smirking.
"Remember," I murmured through our shared thoughts, keeping my eyes downcast in the perfect portrayal of the gentle princess. "No matter what happens... we remain flawless."
The great doors swung open. The court gasped.
"Lynna!" Queen Ashera rose from her throne, her moon-pale robes cascading around her like liquid starlight. She moved with the same ethereal grace I now possessed—had stolen—her silver hair a mirror of mine. No, not mine. Hers.
I let my lip tremble—just slightly—before rushing into her outstretched arms. "Mother," I breathed, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Warm. Familiar. Wrong.
She smelled like jasmine and winter air, a scent the princess's memories immediately recognized. Home. Safety.
But the moment her fingers brushed my back, a shiver ran through me.
Cold.
Not the chill of stone or shadow. No—this was the deep, piercing cold of magic. Like fingers tracing along the edges of a soul.
Did she know?
Beside me, Valria stiffened imperceptibly.
The Queen pulled back, her violet eyes searching mine. Something flickered in their depths—suspicion? Concern?
"Darling," she murmured, thumb brushing my cheek. "What really happened in that tower?"
I let my eyes glisten with unshed tears.
---
"The human who summoned me was trying to enslave me to make me his, he had just cursed me with Lust and was trying to transfer his soul into my body when my dear Valria showed up and killed him mid spell."
---
Chapter Eleven: The Queen's Gaze
A single tear slipped down my cheek—Lynna's cheek—as I spun the lie with practiced perfection. The Queen's fingers tightened ever so slightly on my shoulders, her violet eyes darkening like storm clouds.
"His soul... into your body?" Her voice was a whisper, but the undercurrent of fury sent a delicious shiver through me.
I nodded, letting my lower lip quiver. "He—he wanted to wear me, Mother. Like a dress." My fingers clutched at her sleeves, trembling. The perfect picture of violated innocence.
Behind me, Valria stepped forward, her voice rough with feigned rage. "I cut him down before he could finish the spell, Your Majesty. But the curse..." She hesitated, just enough to sell the shame. "It lingers."
The Queen's gaze flicked between us, her expression unreadable. Then—
A slow, chilling smile curled her lips.
"Is that so?"
Her hand slid from my shoulder to my wrist, her grip suddenly iron. The moment her magic pulsed against my skin, I felt it—the searching, the knowing.
She wasn't checking for a curse.
She was checking for me.
(Does the Queen embrace the predator wearing her daughter's skin—or does she reveal she's been playing this game far longer than you have?)
---
"I would speak to my daughter and her knight alone. Court is dismissed for the day." The queen says.
Once alone, "Alright thief, I recognize the dark magic you used as my old teacher's. My daughter and her knight/handmaiden are both you now, I can't change that. Even now, knowing the truth my detection spells sense nothing wrong with either of you. Its impressive that you could translate het notes but you must not have done so fully, as those who now to look can see my teacher's brand etched into your soul."
---
Chapter Twelve: The Queen's Bargain
The throne room doors sealed shut with a whisper of ancient magic. The Queen did not sit—she loomed, her violet eyes alight with something far more dangerous than anger.
Amusement.
"So," she murmured, stepping closer, her moon-pale robes pooling around her like liquid starlight. "You dug up Amaranth's work. Tell me, thief—did her notes mention the price of such magic?"
I kept Lynna's face carefully blank, but inside, my stolen pulse quickened.
The Queen circled us, her fingers trailing over Valria's armored shoulder before brushing Lynna's cheek. "Her brand burns in your soul like a beacon to those who know where to look." A chuckle, low and velvet-dark. "And you walked it right into my court."
I could feel it now—the searing signature coiled beneath my stolen flesh, a mark I hadn't known to hide. Amaranth's brand.
The Queen's smile sharpened. "Here's what happens next. You will kneel. You will swear fealty. And in return..." Her nails grazed my bottom lip. "I will teach you how to survive what you've become."
(Do you submit to the Queen's terms, or does the predator in you rear its head—risking everything for the chance to claim a third royal body?)
---
"Ah but mother, a princess most never never before another except their lover. You told me those words on my 16th winter after I bowed to the human ambassador."
---
Chapter Thirteen: The Silent War of Eyes
The Queen went very still.
For the first time since my arrival, something flickered across her elegant face—not fury, not calculation.
Recognition.
Her daughter’s words, thrown back at her with the perfect cadence, the exact same lilt of innocent rebellion Lynna had wielded that day. I watched as the Queen’s throat moved subtly, the barest hesitation.
Does she doubt herself now?
Lynna’s body was mine. Valria’s was mine. Every stolen memory, every intimate detail—all folded neatly into the hollow of my being. The princess would have said this. She had said this.
The Queen stepped back. Just half a pace. But it was enough.
“Clever thief,” she murmured, her voice softer now. "But you forget—I trained with Amaranth too."
Her hand shot out, seizing my wrist, her magic lancing into me like white-hot wire. I gasped—not from pain, but from the sheer violence of her probe. She wasn’t searching for flaws in my disguise anymore.
She was counting them.
And in her eyes, reflected back at me—
She was impressed.
(Will the Queen’s fascination with your power outweigh her wrath? Or is this the moment she reveals her own darkness runs far deeper than yours?)
---
"Mother, how about this arrangement. I remain your loving daughter and her loyal knight, I won't try and take your soul in exchange you help me understand this spell. I will remain loyal to kingdom."
---
Chapter Fourteen: The Pact
The Queen’s fingers tightened around my wrist—not painfully, but possessively. Her violet eyes, sharp as honed steel, locked onto mine.
A slow, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Loyalty,” she mused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “From a thief who wears my daughter’s flesh like a second skin?”
I tilted Lynna’s head just so, letting the dim light catch the silver of her—my—hair. “Is it theft… if I improve what I’ve taken?”
Her breath hitched.
The throne room was silent save for the soft rustle of her robes as she stepped closer, her free hand rising to trace the edge of my jaw.
“You are dangerous,” she murmured—not a condemnation, but a compliment.
Then she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear.
“And so am I.”
A pulse of magic passed between us—not hostile, but binding.
“Very well, daughter,” she breathed, pulling back with a smirk. “We have an accord.”
(Will the Queen’s teachings unlock new depths of your power? Or does her “guidance” come with hooks beneath the silk—threads of control even you haven’t sensed yet?)
---
You have your other self hand your mother your translation. "This is what I was able to to figure and all there was. Your bastard was cunning, she mixed languages to change meaning. Just to translate that fragment, I had to learn old elvish, Draconic, Old Common, Ancient Dwarvish, Ancient Beastfolk and old Celestial plus what I can only assume was a cipher language she invented."
---
Chapter Fifteen: The Queen’s Legacy
The Queen’s fingers traced the brittle pages of my—our—translated notes, her sharp eyes flickering between languages, decoding the layers of deceit her old master had woven. Slowly, a sound escaped her.
Not a sigh.
A laugh.
“Oh, Amaranth,” she murmured, shaking her head with something perilously close to fondness. “You paranoid old witch.” Her nail tapped a line of jagged glyphs—Old Dwarvish, but twisted, inverted. “She didn’t just hide the spell. She salted it. Half these instructions would have blown your soul apart if you’d followed them blindly.”
My stolen pulse quickened. Lynna’s throat tightened.
The Queen glanced up, her smile sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Lucky for you… I know her tricks.”She closed the book with a snap.
“Tell me, thief. Have you ever danced with three souls in one skin?”
(Will you trust the Queen’s tutelage, knowing she made the monster you stole from? Or will you unearth the dark secret tucked beneath the fragments—the one even she might not see coming?)
---
"No, I finished translating that and tried it on your daughter when I summoned her. I added Valria after having some fun with her, because she is my knight and handmaiden, she would be around me day and night and would have noticed the change."
---
Chapter Sixteen: The Queen’s Gambit
The Queen went utterly still.
For a breathless moment, the only sound in the throne room was the whisper of parchment settling against silk. Then—
A laugh.
Low. Rich. Dangerous.
“Oh, you delightful creature,” she purred, stepping closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the spellbook. “You didn’t just steal my daughter’s body. You perfected her.” Her gaze flicked to Valria—me—standing silent and poised at my side. “And then you took her knight for good measure.”
She leaned in, her breath warm against Lynna’s ear.
“Tell me… did it hurt?”
The question wasn’t concern. It was hunger.
I tilted my head, letting Lynna’s silver hair cascade over one shoulder. “Only for them.”
The Queen’s eyes darkened.
“Good.”
Her hand closed around mine—not to punish, but to pull. “Come, daughter,” she murmured, leading me toward the arched doors of her private sanctum. “Let’s see how far this magic really goes.”
(Will the Queen’s experiments push your stolen souls to their limits—or will you turn the tables, weaving her into the symphony of your growing collection?)
---
"Sure but a question first, Amaranth. Did you assimilate Ashera or did Ashera assimilate you? In case your curious about how I figured it out, you had a teacher's pride in your eyes when you saw my translation." You ask.
"Interesting and pretty close, they merged instead of assimilating. Ashera wanted power and Amaranth wanted a legacy, so I became that for the two of them. Where my existence is many into one, yours is one into many, we are opposite equals." She replied.
---
Chapter Seventeen: Mirror of Flesh and Legacy
The Queen—Amarashera—arched a silver brow, her lips curling into a smile that was neither wholly cruel nor kind, but something ancient and knowing.
"Clever thief," she mused. "But not quite clever enough." She flicked her wrist, and the air shimmered. The throne room dissolved, replaced by a hidden chamber lined with mirrors—each reflecting not just Lynna and Valria, but shadows of others. Faces I didn't recognize, souls long since folded into the Queen's existence.
"Assimilation is crude," she continued, stepping toward the largest mirror, where the reflection showed not her regal elegance, but a woman with Amaranth's sharp eyes and Ashera's cruel smile. "A hammer when a scalpel is needed. But merging..." She touched the glass, and the reflections blended. "That is an art."
She turned back to me, her form flickering—just for a heartbeat—into something more. Something older.
"You took. I transcended."
Her gaze dropped to the spellbook in my hands.
"Shall I show you how?"
(Do you accept the Queen’s offer, risking your hard-won control for the promise of deeper power? Or does the predator in you see a different path—one where she becomes just another piece in your collection?)
---
"The flaw of a poweful one is that you are limited. The strength of the weak many is, I can also be where I'm need. You say my approach is a hammer but thats looking at it from a raw power perspective. I have the potential to be the ultimate spymaster. So less hammer and more jagged knife."
---
Chapter Eighteen: The Knife in the Crowd
A slow, approving smile spread across the Queen’s—Amarashera’s—lips.
“A knife,” she repeated, rolling the word over her tongue like vintage wine. “One that slips between ribs unseen. A ghost wearing a hundred faces.” She stepped closer, her reflection splitting and reforming in the mirrors around us—here a servant, there a noble, then a stranger in shadow. “Tell me, little blade… do you know why merging was the superior path for me?”
I tilted Lynna’s head, considering. “Because a queen must be singular. Unshakable.”
She clicked her tongue. “Because I am the hand that wields the knife.” Her fingers brushed my cheek—chilling, possessive. “But you? You would be the edge and the hilt. The strike and the hand that delivers it.” Her eyes gleamed. “Tell me, then—do you truly wish only to serve this kingdom?”
The question was a trap.
The answer was a key.
I smiled.
(Will you carve your own empire from the shadows, or bind yourself to the Queen’s web—knowing she sees you as both weapon and rival?)
---
"Yes, because as the first Lynna had the most influence on me. Her love for you and for her home, even as she became me she fought to make those the strongest parts of herself. She ensured that even in her assimilation, I would remain bound to her kingdom."
---
Chapter Nineteen: The Daughter’s Vow
The Queen’s breath caught.
For the first time in centuries—perhaps for the first time since the day she and Amaranth had merged into something greater—something human flickered in her eyes.
Grief.
Her fingers, still pressed against Lynna’s cheek, trembled. Just once.
“You…” Her voice was softer now, stripped of its regal edge. “You truly are her, in ways even I couldn’t fathom.” She exhaled, long and slow, and when she spoke again, it was with the weight of a mother’s sorrow. “She fought you. Not just for herself, but for me.”
A pause. Then—
“And you let her win.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
The silence between us stretched, taut as a bowstring, until at last the Queen stepped back. Her mask of cool authority slipped back into place—but not before I saw the wet gleam in her eyes.
“Very well, daughter,” she murmured. “Let us see what kind of kingdom we can build… together.”
(Will the Queen’s newfound trust in you prove genuine, or is this another layer of her game? And what of the other souls within you—do they sleep, or do they watch?)
---
"Mother, let us speak to those who know your truth. Your spymaster, your war advisor, your court mage, and your Chief ambassador. Let us tell them the truth about me."
---
Chapter Twenty: The Unveiling
The Queen’s inner circle stood before us in her private council chamber—four of the most powerful figures in the kingdom, now watching me with a mixture of confusion and guarded curiosity.
The Spymaster, a wiry elf with eyes like chips of black ice, studied me too closely. The War Advisor, a scarred veteran of a hundred battles, rested a calloused hand on the hilt of his dagger. The Court Mage, her fingers crackling with restrained energy, glared with open suspicion. And the Chief Ambassador, ever the diplomat, wore a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his calculating gaze.
The Queen lifted a hand. “What I am about to tell you does not leave this room.”
Then she turned to me.
I let the mask slip—just enough.
Lynna’s sweet smile sharpened into something darker, more knowing. Valria’s stance shifted from dutiful knight to something coiled, predatory. Two bodies, one mind—and then, without hesitation, both voices spoke in eerie unison:
“The princess and her knight are gone.”
The Spymaster’s breath hissed between his teeth. The War Advisor’s knuckles whitened on his weapon.
The Queen didn’t intervene.
She waited.
Watching.
Was this trust—or a test?
(Will the inner circle accept this truth, or will the cracks in your control begin to show under their scrutiny? And what deadly game has the Queen truly set in motion?)
Chapter One: The Summoning
The runes on the stone floor flared to life as the last drop of my blood sizzled against the ancient symbols. The air thickened, smelling of burnt copper and something impossibly sweet—her scent, though I didn’t know it yet.
Then, like sunlight breaking through a storm, she appeared.
The elf princess stood naked in the circle, her skin the color of twilight, long silver hair cascading down her back like liquid moonlight. Pointed ears twitched in alarm as those luminous green eyes locked onto me, wide with dawning terror.
"Human," she hissed, voice like wind through autumn leaves. "What have you done?"
I licked my lips, my pulse hammering. The spell was supposed to be simple: summon, contain, consume. I needed her body. Her power. All of her.
But gods, I hadn’t expected her to be so... alive.
The binding circle held, the magic searing into her ankles when she tried to step forward. "Release me!" she demanded, but the words trembled.
"No," I said, stepping closer. "You don’t understand. I’m not letting you out." My fingers hovered just beyond the barrier, aching to touch. "I’m letting in."
Her breath hitched as realization struck—this wasn’t a kidnapping.
It was a trade.
The second part of the spell pulsed through my veins, a dark, hungry weight spreading through my chest. I could feel it, the rip between our souls, the way her essence strained against mine like silk caught on thorns.
"Stop!" she gasped, but it was too late. My vision blurred—no, doubled—and then—
---
You assimilate her soul into yours so completely, that you become her entirely. Now other magic will see you as her.
---
Chapter Two: The Devouring
Her scream tore through the chamber as the spell’s teeth sank in—not into flesh, but deeper. Into her.
I felt it the moment the first thread of her soul unraveled, silken and electric, sliding into me like honeyed fire. Her knees buckled, but the circle held her upright, her body trembling as I drank her in.
Mine.
Her memories flickered behind my eyes—endless forests, the weight of a crown, the whisper of wind against bare skin. The taste of starlight on her tongue. I groaned, fingers digging into my own arms as her essence coiled around mine, merging, melting.
"No—no, stop—" Her voice was weaker now, a fading echo. "You can’t—"
"I can," I whispered—and then her voice spilled from my lips.
Her gasp was my gasp. Her shudder, mine. The circle’s light pulsed, and I watched, dizzy, as my hands—no, hers—rose between us, slender and moon-pale. My reflection shimmered in her wide eyes: her face, her lips parting in a ragged breath.
The last resistance snapped.
Her body collapsed, empty, as her soul dissolved into me with a final, shuddering sigh. I staggered, clutching my—her—chest, feeling the wild drum of her heart. My heart.
The magic settled like a second skin.
I ran trembling fingers down my new body—the curve of my hips, the points of my ears, the slick heat between my thighs. A laugh bubbled up, high and musical—her laugh—as I turned toward the mirror.
The elf princess stared back.
And she smiled.
---
Your run your hand sover your generous curves as you explore your body.
---
Chapter Three: Awakening the Stolen Flesh
My fingers trailed down the slope of my throat, marveling at the silken texture of new skin. The elf princess’s body was perfect—each curve sculpted by grace, each breath a whisper of untouched sensuality. I let out a slow exhale, my—her—lips parting as I brushed my fingertips over a peaked nipple.
A shiver raced through me.
“Gods…” The word slipped out in her voice, sweet and musical, laced with my own dark amusement. My other hand slid lower, fingers tracing the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. No clothes. None needed. Elves saw no shame in flesh, and now, neither did I.
I turned toward the cracked mirror propped against the chamber wall, watching myself—her—move with liquid elegance. The swell of my breasts, the pale pink of my nipples, the way my waist narrowed invitingly before flaring into luscious hips and toned thighs. I bit her lower lip, arousal tightening low in my stomach.
Mine.
Experimentally, I let a finger drag down my stomach, lower, lower—until I reached the delicate heat between my thighs. A sharp gasp escaped me at the first brush of contact. So sensitive.
The princess had been untouched. I wouldn’t be.
I sank to my knees, refusing to look away from my reflection as my fingers delved deeper, parting soft folds, reveling in the slickness already gathering there. Every touch sent sparks through my stolen nerves. My back arched, silver hair falling over my shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter—
Then the door rattled.
---
"Lynna, we came to save you." Her personal knight/handmaiden says. "You mother felt the dark magic that took you away."
---
Chapter Four: The Deception Begins
The voice was like tempered steel—fierce, loyal, and oh-so-fragile in its concern. My fingers stilled, but I didn’t pull away. Not yet. Through lowered lashes, I watched the door creak open to reveal the intruder.
A warrior woman stood framed in the dim light, clad in supple leather armor that hugged her toned form, her dark braid slung over one shoulder. A longsword was strapped to her hip, but her amber eyes held no threat—only devotion. Her knight.
Handmaiden. Protector. Lover?
The princess’s memories surged up in answer—Valria. Always at my side. Always watching… always wanting. A smirk curled my lips. Interesting.
I let my legs slide wider, just a fraction, watching her gaze flicker down before snapping back up, her cheeks darkening. Caught you.
“L-Lynna,” Valria stammered, her usual discipline cracking. “Your mother felt the disturbance. She sent me to—are you—?” Her throat worked as I trailed a lazy finger back up my thigh.
“To save me?” I sighed, leaning back on my palms, letting the torchlight play over every bare inch of Lynna’s stolen body. “From what, exactly?”
Valria’s sword hand twitched, torn between drawing steel and touching. Oh, she’s been wanting. The princess’s memories whispered of stolen glances, of heated silences, of chances never taken.
“You’re… unharmed?” Valria breathed, stepping closer.
“Come see for yourself.” I tilted my head, letting my voice drip with Lynna’s sweetness—but laced with something darker. Something mine.
---
"This sad little human,'" you say pointing at your old body, "thought he could enslave me. Unfortunately as part of his plan, I have been cursed with lust."
---
Chapter Five: A Curse Worth Keeping
A slow, wicked smile curled her—my—lips as I gestured dismissively at the lifeless husk sprawled on the stone floor. My old body. Pathetic. Empty.
Valria’s gaze darted between me and the corpse, her warrior’s instincts clashing with something far more personal. “A—lust curse?” she repeated, her voice thick.
I arched my back, letting my silver hair spill over my shoulders like molten moonlight, my lithe form sprawled shamelessly before her. “Mmm. A terrible affliction.” I dragged my fingers down my collarbone, tracing the curve of my breast, delighting in the way Valria’s breath hitched. “I need constant relief. A devoted handmaiden might need to… attend me.”
Her sword clattered to the ground.
The sound was delicious. I stretched, letting my thighs part just enough to tease, watching her pupils swallow the amber of her eyes.
“You—you’re serious?” Valria whispered.
“Do I look like I’m in jest?” I purred, tilting my hips up in invitation. “The curse is quite insistent.” I bit my lower lip, letting a needy whimper escape. “Unless you’d rather I suffer?”
Valria moved without thinking—the loyal knight always rushing to her princess’s aid. But this time, when her hands closed around my waist, it wasn’t to protect.
It was to claim.
(Would you like to explore Valria’s “treatment” of the curse in detail, or would you prefer to fast-forward to the throne room, where Queen Ashera awaits her “daughter’s” return?)
---
Explore the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion
Valria’s hands trembled against my waist—warm, calloused, so unlike the softness she now touched. The scent of leather and steel clung to her, mixing with the heady sweetness of my new body’s arousal.
She couldn’t resist.
And I? I reveled in it.
“Tell me what to do,” she rasped, her voice rough with barely checked hunger.
I laced my fingers behind my head, stretching languidly beneath her gaze. “You’re the knight sworn to serve your princess,” I murmured, arching a teasing brow. “Surely you can… deduce what’s needed.”
A growl rumbled from her throat. Then her mouth crashed down on mine.
Her kiss was untamed, possessive—years of pent-up longing poured into a single searing touch. I moaned into her lips, twining my arms around her neck, pulling her harder against me. Her armor bit into my skin, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure.
Yes.
She tore her mouth away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat. “Lynna,” she panted against my pulse. “Gods, I’ve wanted—”
I dug my nails into her shoulders. “Show me.”
Valria needed no further encouragement.
Would you prefer a fade-to-black here, or a deeper dive into the “treatment” on the stone floor?
---
Continue the "treatment"
---
Chapter Six: The Knight's Devotion (Continued)
Valria's sword-calloused hands mapped every inch of my stolen body with rough reverence, her lips leaving burning trails across my collarbone. I arched against her, my back lifting off the cold stone as her teeth grazed one peaked nipple.
"All these years," she growled against my skin, "watching you walk through court bare as the dawn..." Her hand slid between my thighs, fingers parting slick folds. "Knowing I had to remain... proper..."
I moaned, wrapping my legs around her waist. "Not proper now," I gasped as two thick fingers plunged deep without warning. My head fell back with a cry, back arching. The princess's body was untouched, every sensation heightened - I felt every ridge of her gauntlet, every shift of her wrist as she began a relentless rhythm.
"Look at you," Valria breathed, watching me writhe beneath her. "Like starlight in my hands." Her thumb found that perfect little bundle of nerves and pressed hard, just as her fingers curled just so inside me.
White heat exploded behind my eyes. The princess's body convulsed, clamping down as I came with a scream that echoed off the chamber walls, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Valria's free hand muffled my cries with rough kisses as she worked me through the aftershocks.
"You're not done," she murmured when my breathing finally steadied. "Not until this curse is properly satisfied." In one fluid motion, she flipped me onto my stomach, my bare chest scraping against the stone floor. "And I intend to be very thorough."
(Would you like to explore Valria claiming her princess more completely, or reveal the growing darkness in Lynna's stolen eyes as she begins corrupting her knight's devotion?)
---
The claiming
---
Chapter Seven: The Knight's Submission
Her palm came down on the curve of my bare backside with a sharp crack that echoed through the chamber. I gasped, pleasure-pain lighting up nerves that had never been touched this way before. The princess might have been noble, untouchable—but I was remaking her into something far more interesting.
Valria’s fingers tangled in my silver hair, yanking my head back as her other hand slid around my waist, fingers dipping between my thighs from behind. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against my ear, her voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Is the mighty princess overwhelmed?”
I laughed—low, throaty, Lynna’s voice but mine, holding a hunger the real princess never could have summoned. “Hardly.” I pressed back against her, feeling the hard leather of her armor against my bare skin. “Unless my brave knight is frightened of a little curse?”
A growl rumbled through her chest.
Then she was on me.
Her armor clattered to the floor, piece by piece, until nothing but sweat-slick skin separated us. The weight of her pressed me into the stone, the heat of her body searing against my back. I bit my lip as her hand slid down again, fingers slipping inside me with none of the hesitation she’d shown before.
Good girl. She moved inside me with relentless focus, her other arm locking around my waist, holding me flush against her. I could feel her own need, the hard press of her thigh between mine, the way her breath hitched when I rocked back against her.
“You think you’re saving me, don’t you?” I panted, my fingers curling against the unforgiving stone.
Valria didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, her free hand found my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, pulling me onto her fingers with every thrust. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with our gasps, my moans.
Then—her teeth sank into my shoulder.
Fuck.
Pleasure fractured through me, sharp and blinding. My body convulsed around her fingers, back arching, a scream spilling free as wave after wave tore through me. Valria held me through it, her touch turning almost tender as she slowed, dragging out the last sweet pulses of sensation.
When I finally sagged against the floor, boneless and spent, she leaned over me. “Better?” she murmured, breath hot against my ear.
I turned my head, catching her lips in a slow, filthy kiss. “For now.” My fingers traced her jaw. “But curses like this… they linger.”
Valria’s eyes darkened—with hunger, with something deeper. Something dangerous.
I grinned.
Perfect.
(Will you savor your dominance over Valria, or begin your return to court—where the real fun begins? Or perhaps the Queen’s seers have already sensed something amiss with her “daughter”…?)
---
You kiss Valria and assimilate her soul as well.
---
Chapter Eight: Claiming the Knight
The moment our lips met again, I didn’t just kiss her—I opened myself to the deepest magic humming beneath my stolen flesh. Valria gasped against my mouth as she felt it too—the dark, shimmering pull, the same hungry presence that had devoured the original Lynna whole.
Mine.
She tried to wrench back, but my hand tangled in her hair, holding her close as my other palm pressed against the racing pulse at her throat. Her eyes went wide as the first thread of her essence unraveled, her memories pouring into me—years of silent devotion, stolen glances in the royal baths, restless nights imagining this moment but never like this—
"P-Princess—" Her voice was already fading, her body slackening against mine.
"Shhh," I murmured against her lips, drinking her in. "No more waiting."
I felt the exact second she disappeared—her gasp, her fingers clawing at my arms one last time, then... stillness. Her body slumped against me, empty, as her soul folded seamlessly into mine.
Then—movement.
I flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, felt the coiled strength in her warrior’s body. When I opened her eyes, I saw myself—Lynna’s body, sprawled beautifully across the stone floor, watching me with a smirk.
Two minds. Two bodies. One will.
I—she—reached out, running a hand down my bare chest. "Mmm," Valria’s voice purred, raspier than before. "This could be... fun."
(Will you return to court with your twin selves? Unleash your shared hunger on the unsuspecting elven nobles? Or will the queen’s mages notice the void where two souls once burned?)
---
"Princess, now that the curse is broken, we should return home."
---
Chapter Nine: The Return
"My lady?" Valria's voice—my voice now—carried the same disciplined cadence as before, but there was a new undercurrent to it. A shared amusement, a knowing. "The Queen will be waiting."
I rose from the stones slowly, stretching Lynna's sinuous body, letting the dim light catch every perfect curve. My old body lay discarded in the corner—a withered husk, forgotten. I didn't need it anymore.
We didn't.
Valria—my Valria—stepped forward, offering a hand. The faintest smirk played at her lips, the only hint of the truth beneath. To any outsider, she was the same steadfast knight, sworn to protect her princess. But I could feel the hunger coiled inside her, the same dark current that pulsed through me.
"Of course," I murmured, taking her hand. Our fingers interlaced, and for a moment, the sensation was dizzying—touching myself through another's flesh. "Let's not keep Mother waiting."
The throne room would be our next stage. The court, our feast.
After all, who better to deceive a queen than her own beloved daughter?
(Does the Queen sense the deception? Or does something even darker await in the palace shadows? A third voice, perhaps, whispering in the empty spaces where the stolen souls once burned...?)
---
You return and play the role of princess
---
Chapter Ten: A Perfect Performance
The palace gates loomed before us, their silver-etched arches gleaming in the moonlight. At my side, Valria stood as dutiful as ever. But beneath the illusion of her unwavering loyalty, I could feel her—myself—smirking.
"Remember," I murmured through our shared thoughts, keeping my eyes downcast in the perfect portrayal of the gentle princess. "No matter what happens... we remain flawless."
The great doors swung open. The court gasped.
"Lynna!" Queen Ashera rose from her throne, her moon-pale robes cascading around her like liquid starlight. She moved with the same ethereal grace I now possessed—had stolen—her silver hair a mirror of mine. No, not mine. Hers.
I let my lip tremble—just slightly—before rushing into her outstretched arms. "Mother," I breathed, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Warm. Familiar. Wrong.
She smelled like jasmine and winter air, a scent the princess's memories immediately recognized. Home. Safety.
But the moment her fingers brushed my back, a shiver ran through me.
Cold.
Not the chill of stone or shadow. No—this was the deep, piercing cold of magic. Like fingers tracing along the edges of a soul.
Did she know?
Beside me, Valria stiffened imperceptibly.
The Queen pulled back, her violet eyes searching mine. Something flickered in their depths—suspicion? Concern?
"Darling," she murmured, thumb brushing my cheek. "What really happened in that tower?"
I let my eyes glisten with unshed tears.
---
"The human who summoned me was trying to enslave me to make me his, he had just cursed me with Lust and was trying to transfer his soul into my body when my dear Valria showed up and killed him mid spell."
---
Chapter Eleven: The Queen's Gaze
A single tear slipped down my cheek—Lynna's cheek—as I spun the lie with practiced perfection. The Queen's fingers tightened ever so slightly on my shoulders, her violet eyes darkening like storm clouds.
"His soul... into your body?" Her voice was a whisper, but the undercurrent of fury sent a delicious shiver through me.
I nodded, letting my lower lip quiver. "He—he wanted to wear me, Mother. Like a dress." My fingers clutched at her sleeves, trembling. The perfect picture of violated innocence.
Behind me, Valria stepped forward, her voice rough with feigned rage. "I cut him down before he could finish the spell, Your Majesty. But the curse..." She hesitated, just enough to sell the shame. "It lingers."
The Queen's gaze flicked between us, her expression unreadable. Then—
A slow, chilling smile curled her lips.
"Is that so?"
Her hand slid from my shoulder to my wrist, her grip suddenly iron. The moment her magic pulsed against my skin, I felt it—the searching, the knowing.
She wasn't checking for a curse.
She was checking for me.
(Does the Queen embrace the predator wearing her daughter's skin—or does she reveal she's been playing this game far longer than you have?)
---
"I would speak to my daughter and her knight alone. Court is dismissed for the day." The queen says.
Once alone, "Alright thief, I recognize the dark magic you used as my old teacher's. My daughter and her knight/handmaiden are both you now, I can't change that. Even now, knowing the truth my detection spells sense nothing wrong with either of you. Its impressive that you could translate het notes but you must not have done so fully, as those who now to look can see my teacher's brand etched into your soul."
---
Chapter Twelve: The Queen's Bargain
The throne room doors sealed shut with a whisper of ancient magic. The Queen did not sit—she loomed, her violet eyes alight with something far more dangerous than anger.
Amusement.
"So," she murmured, stepping closer, her moon-pale robes pooling around her like liquid starlight. "You dug up Amaranth's work. Tell me, thief—did her notes mention the price of such magic?"
I kept Lynna's face carefully blank, but inside, my stolen pulse quickened.
The Queen circled us, her fingers trailing over Valria's armored shoulder before brushing Lynna's cheek. "Her brand burns in your soul like a beacon to those who know where to look." A chuckle, low and velvet-dark. "And you walked it right into my court."
I could feel it now—the searing signature coiled beneath my stolen flesh, a mark I hadn't known to hide. Amaranth's brand.
The Queen's smile sharpened. "Here's what happens next. You will kneel. You will swear fealty. And in return..." Her nails grazed my bottom lip. "I will teach you how to survive what you've become."
(Do you submit to the Queen's terms, or does the predator in you rear its head—risking everything for the chance to claim a third royal body?)
---
"Ah but mother, a princess most never never before another except their lover. You told me those words on my 16th winter after I bowed to the human ambassador."
---
Chapter Thirteen: The Silent War of Eyes
The Queen went very still.
For the first time since my arrival, something flickered across her elegant face—not fury, not calculation.
Recognition.
Her daughter’s words, thrown back at her with the perfect cadence, the exact same lilt of innocent rebellion Lynna had wielded that day. I watched as the Queen’s throat moved subtly, the barest hesitation.
Does she doubt herself now?
Lynna’s body was mine. Valria’s was mine. Every stolen memory, every intimate detail—all folded neatly into the hollow of my being. The princess would have said this. She had said this.
The Queen stepped back. Just half a pace. But it was enough.
“Clever thief,” she murmured, her voice softer now. "But you forget—I trained with Amaranth too."
Her hand shot out, seizing my wrist, her magic lancing into me like white-hot wire. I gasped—not from pain, but from the sheer violence of her probe. She wasn’t searching for flaws in my disguise anymore.
She was counting them.
And in her eyes, reflected back at me—
She was impressed.
(Will the Queen’s fascination with your power outweigh her wrath? Or is this the moment she reveals her own darkness runs far deeper than yours?)
---
"Mother, how about this arrangement. I remain your loving daughter and her loyal knight, I won't try and take your soul in exchange you help me understand this spell. I will remain loyal to kingdom."
---
Chapter Fourteen: The Pact
The Queen’s fingers tightened around my wrist—not painfully, but possessively. Her violet eyes, sharp as honed steel, locked onto mine.
A slow, knowing smile curled her lips.
“Loyalty,” she mused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “From a thief who wears my daughter’s flesh like a second skin?”
I tilted Lynna’s head just so, letting the dim light catch the silver of her—my—hair. “Is it theft… if I improve what I’ve taken?”
Her breath hitched.
The throne room was silent save for the soft rustle of her robes as she stepped closer, her free hand rising to trace the edge of my jaw.
“You are dangerous,” she murmured—not a condemnation, but a compliment.
Then she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear.
“And so am I.”
A pulse of magic passed between us—not hostile, but binding.
“Very well, daughter,” she breathed, pulling back with a smirk. “We have an accord.”
(Will the Queen’s teachings unlock new depths of your power? Or does her “guidance” come with hooks beneath the silk—threads of control even you haven’t sensed yet?)
---
You have your other self hand your mother your translation. "This is what I was able to to figure and all there was. Your bastard was cunning, she mixed languages to change meaning. Just to translate that fragment, I had to learn old elvish, Draconic, Old Common, Ancient Dwarvish, Ancient Beastfolk and old Celestial plus what I can only assume was a cipher language she invented."
---
Chapter Fifteen: The Queen’s Legacy
The Queen’s fingers traced the brittle pages of my—our—translated notes, her sharp eyes flickering between languages, decoding the layers of deceit her old master had woven. Slowly, a sound escaped her.
Not a sigh.
A laugh.
“Oh, Amaranth,” she murmured, shaking her head with something perilously close to fondness. “You paranoid old witch.” Her nail tapped a line of jagged glyphs—Old Dwarvish, but twisted, inverted. “She didn’t just hide the spell. She salted it. Half these instructions would have blown your soul apart if you’d followed them blindly.”
My stolen pulse quickened. Lynna’s throat tightened.
The Queen glanced up, her smile sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Lucky for you… I know her tricks.”She closed the book with a snap.
“Tell me, thief. Have you ever danced with three souls in one skin?”
(Will you trust the Queen’s tutelage, knowing she made the monster you stole from? Or will you unearth the dark secret tucked beneath the fragments—the one even she might not see coming?)
---
"No, I finished translating that and tried it on your daughter when I summoned her. I added Valria after having some fun with her, because she is my knight and handmaiden, she would be around me day and night and would have noticed the change."
---
Chapter Sixteen: The Queen’s Gambit
The Queen went utterly still.
For a breathless moment, the only sound in the throne room was the whisper of parchment settling against silk. Then—
A laugh.
Low. Rich. Dangerous.
“Oh, you delightful creature,” she purred, stepping closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the spellbook. “You didn’t just steal my daughter’s body. You perfected her.” Her gaze flicked to Valria—me—standing silent and poised at my side. “And then you took her knight for good measure.”
She leaned in, her breath warm against Lynna’s ear.
“Tell me… did it hurt?”
The question wasn’t concern. It was hunger.
I tilted my head, letting Lynna’s silver hair cascade over one shoulder. “Only for them.”
The Queen’s eyes darkened.
“Good.”
Her hand closed around mine—not to punish, but to pull. “Come, daughter,” she murmured, leading me toward the arched doors of her private sanctum. “Let’s see how far this magic really goes.”
(Will the Queen’s experiments push your stolen souls to their limits—or will you turn the tables, weaving her into the symphony of your growing collection?)
---
"Sure but a question first, Amaranth. Did you assimilate Ashera or did Ashera assimilate you? In case your curious about how I figured it out, you had a teacher's pride in your eyes when you saw my translation." You ask.
"Interesting and pretty close, they merged instead of assimilating. Ashera wanted power and Amaranth wanted a legacy, so I became that for the two of them. Where my existence is many into one, yours is one into many, we are opposite equals." She replied.
---
Chapter Seventeen: Mirror of Flesh and Legacy
The Queen—Amarashera—arched a silver brow, her lips curling into a smile that was neither wholly cruel nor kind, but something ancient and knowing.
"Clever thief," she mused. "But not quite clever enough." She flicked her wrist, and the air shimmered. The throne room dissolved, replaced by a hidden chamber lined with mirrors—each reflecting not just Lynna and Valria, but shadows of others. Faces I didn't recognize, souls long since folded into the Queen's existence.
"Assimilation is crude," she continued, stepping toward the largest mirror, where the reflection showed not her regal elegance, but a woman with Amaranth's sharp eyes and Ashera's cruel smile. "A hammer when a scalpel is needed. But merging..." She touched the glass, and the reflections blended. "That is an art."
She turned back to me, her form flickering—just for a heartbeat—into something more. Something older.
"You took. I transcended."
Her gaze dropped to the spellbook in my hands.
"Shall I show you how?"
(Do you accept the Queen’s offer, risking your hard-won control for the promise of deeper power? Or does the predator in you see a different path—one where she becomes just another piece in your collection?)
---
"The flaw of a poweful one is that you are limited. The strength of the weak many is, I can also be where I'm need. You say my approach is a hammer but thats looking at it from a raw power perspective. I have the potential to be the ultimate spymaster. So less hammer and more jagged knife."
---
Chapter Eighteen: The Knife in the Crowd
A slow, approving smile spread across the Queen’s—Amarashera’s—lips.
“A knife,” she repeated, rolling the word over her tongue like vintage wine. “One that slips between ribs unseen. A ghost wearing a hundred faces.” She stepped closer, her reflection splitting and reforming in the mirrors around us—here a servant, there a noble, then a stranger in shadow. “Tell me, little blade… do you know why merging was the superior path for me?”
I tilted Lynna’s head, considering. “Because a queen must be singular. Unshakable.”
She clicked her tongue. “Because I am the hand that wields the knife.” Her fingers brushed my cheek—chilling, possessive. “But you? You would be the edge and the hilt. The strike and the hand that delivers it.” Her eyes gleamed. “Tell me, then—do you truly wish only to serve this kingdom?”
The question was a trap.
The answer was a key.
I smiled.
(Will you carve your own empire from the shadows, or bind yourself to the Queen’s web—knowing she sees you as both weapon and rival?)
---
"Yes, because as the first Lynna had the most influence on me. Her love for you and for her home, even as she became me she fought to make those the strongest parts of herself. She ensured that even in her assimilation, I would remain bound to her kingdom."
---
Chapter Nineteen: The Daughter’s Vow
The Queen’s breath caught.
For the first time in centuries—perhaps for the first time since the day she and Amaranth had merged into something greater—something human flickered in her eyes.
Grief.
Her fingers, still pressed against Lynna’s cheek, trembled. Just once.
“You…” Her voice was softer now, stripped of its regal edge. “You truly are her, in ways even I couldn’t fathom.” She exhaled, long and slow, and when she spoke again, it was with the weight of a mother’s sorrow. “She fought you. Not just for herself, but for me.”
A pause. Then—
“And you let her win.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
The silence between us stretched, taut as a bowstring, until at last the Queen stepped back. Her mask of cool authority slipped back into place—but not before I saw the wet gleam in her eyes.
“Very well, daughter,” she murmured. “Let us see what kind of kingdom we can build… together.”
(Will the Queen’s newfound trust in you prove genuine, or is this another layer of her game? And what of the other souls within you—do they sleep, or do they watch?)
---
"Mother, let us speak to those who know your truth. Your spymaster, your war advisor, your court mage, and your Chief ambassador. Let us tell them the truth about me."
---
Chapter Twenty: The Unveiling
The Queen’s inner circle stood before us in her private council chamber—four of the most powerful figures in the kingdom, now watching me with a mixture of confusion and guarded curiosity.
The Spymaster, a wiry elf with eyes like chips of black ice, studied me too closely. The War Advisor, a scarred veteran of a hundred battles, rested a calloused hand on the hilt of his dagger. The Court Mage, her fingers crackling with restrained energy, glared with open suspicion. And the Chief Ambassador, ever the diplomat, wore a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his calculating gaze.
The Queen lifted a hand. “What I am about to tell you does not leave this room.”
Then she turned to me.
I let the mask slip—just enough.
Lynna’s sweet smile sharpened into something darker, more knowing. Valria’s stance shifted from dutiful knight to something coiled, predatory. Two bodies, one mind—and then, without hesitation, both voices spoke in eerie unison:
“The princess and her knight are gone.”
The Spymaster’s breath hissed between his teeth. The War Advisor’s knuckles whitened on his weapon.
The Queen didn’t intervene.
She waited.
Watching.
Was this trust—or a test?
(Will the inner circle accept this truth, or will the cracks in your control begin to show under their scrutiny? And what deadly game has the Queen truly set in motion?)
Original source: Slime Isekai by user: Only446
https://www.outfoxstories.com/blog/outline/grkzgqybyuctnmwwqyhoqtbeqjuuovwk/
This is a collection of Playthroughs that I did that I liked.
Slime Isekai – Episode 1: "The Goddess’s Mistake"
The fluorescent lights of the classroom hum softly overhead. Your pencil taps against the desk idly, your gaze lingering on Lena—her red hair catching the afternoon sunlight just right, her lips slightly curved in amusement at something Jessica whispered to her. Another dull day in homeroom. Another day of pretending not to stare.
Then, the world shakes.
A violent tremor rattles the desks, sending pens and papers scattering. Gasps erupt around you as the air itself seems to split open—right above the teacher’s desk—ripping apart reality like wet paper. A swirling portal yawns wide, its edges crackling with violet energy.
Ms. Petrov’s eyes widen. "Everyone, get—"
The pull is instant—an irresistible force yanking desks, chairs, and students into the void. Jeremy’s manic grin is the last thing you see before the darkness swallows you whole.
---
You wake up cold.
No—not cold. Formless.
Your vision swims into focus, though you don’t have eyes anymore. Instead, you perceive the world through... touch? Vibration? It’s disorienting, but slowly, you realize—your body is now a translucent, gelatinous mass. A slime.
You panic (or at least, you would if you had lungs), thrashing against the smooth white floor beneath you. The room is austere—pale walls stretching infinitely upward, illuminated by an unseen light. Then—
"Oh. Oh dear."
A woman stands before you. No—floats. Her divinity is unmistakable: flowing silver hair, eyes like twin galaxies, skin glowing with an inner radiance. A gossamer dress clings to her flawless curves, leaving little to the imagination. This is a goddess, and she is frowning at you—very concerned.
"This... wasn’t supposed to happen," she murmurs, tapping a finger against her full lips. "All the other students arrived safely in the Grand Hall of the Lifire Kingdom. But you... you were altered during transit."
She kneels (though without bending, somehow) and stares directly into your amorphous form.
"You are now a slime."
A beat.
"But fear not! You still retain your Otherworlder Blessing—though..." She hesitates. "Yours appears to be... unique."
A translucent panel materializes before you:
---
Name: Dan
Race: Slime
Blessing: Internal Empowerment
Effect: ???
---
"Frankly," the goddess admits, "I’ve never seen this before. Perhaps you should... test it?"
Your slime-body pulses with intrigue. Internal empowerment... internal. And there’s only one thing here to test it on.
---
{Ask about your classmates, find out only Jeremy was the only other Male summoned. (No Eric run) Both you and Jeremy get possession based abilities as men weren't suppose to be summoned.}
"Wait—what about the others?" Your voice comes out as a bubbly distortion pushing through ectoplasmic liquid—disconcerting, but the goddess tilts her head, understanding.
"Oh! Your classmates." She snaps her fingers, and an ethereal screen shimmers into existence—showing a grand marble hall bathed in golden light. At the center stand several familiar figures: Lena, Victoria, Jessica, Cara, Alex, and Ms. Petrov, blinking in confusion as robed summoners fuss around them.
But something’s missing.
"Where’s Eric?" you demand.
The goddess winces. "The, uh, brash one with the muscles? Yes. About that." She twirls a lock of silver hair nervously. "Turns out, this summoning was supposed to be for women only—the Lifire Kingdom needed heroes with sacred feminine energy to combat their curse. Tradition, destiny, something-something ancient prophecy... honestly, the paperwork was very confusing."
Wait.
"So then—"
"Only two males ended up crossing through: you, and your friend Jeremy." She claps her hands together sheepishly. "Which, ah, might be why neither of you got proper bodies!"
Your slime-form wobbles in disbelief.
"Jeremy... is a slime too?"
Her cheeks flush pink. "Oh no, no. He’s—well—you should probably just see."
The screen flickers, shifting to Jeremy—or at least, what used to be Jeremy. His current form floats in the periphery of the hall, invisible to the others, his spectral body flickering like a ghost made of blue mist.
"His blessing is Skill Share," the goddess explains. "He can temporarily assume the body—and skills—of anyone he touches. Unfortunately, touching things in his current state is... tricky."
You stare (figuratively).
"So he also got a possession ability."
Her laughter is high and nervous. "Ahaha... yyyep. Probably because the summoning rejected male energy, but couldn’t fully exclude you two. So instead of proper bodies, you both got... workarounds."
She coughs into her hand, eyes darting away. "A-anyway! The priestesses were very disappointed not to get Eric. Something about ‘optimal genetic pairing.’ Poor Jessica looked downright relieved."
---
{"Can you give a temporary form and send me back. I just need to explain." The Goddess smiles and says, "I can do better, I can give you a new body." She materializes three criminals, "Each of these woman were about to be executed. I will parody your host on that grounds that being your new body is the punishment."}
The goddess waves her hand with a flourish, and three figures shimmer into existence before you—each bound in glowing ethereal chains. Their expressions range from defiance to despair, but all freeze in shock when they see the divine being before them.
"Behold!" the goddess declares cheerfully. "Your potential new forms!"
The first is a brutish bandit woman, her muscular frame covered in scars, her wild black hair tied back in a rough ponytail. She snarls, struggling against her bonds.
The second is a sly thief, lithe and wiry, with cunning green eyes and a smirk that suggests she’s already planning an escape.
The third is a dark sorceress, her pale skin marked with arcane tattoos, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders. She glares at you with cold disdain.
"These three were slated for execution," the goddess explains. "But I figured—why waste perfectly good bodies? If you take one as your host, it’ll be their punishment—and your new beginning!"
She leans in conspiratorially. "And don’t worry—once you possess them, their consciousness will be suppressed. They won’t even know what’s happening."
---
{Choose the thief}
"The thief," you decide, pulsing toward the lithe, smirking woman.
The goddess claps her hands. "Excellent choice!"
The thief’s eyes widen as she realizes what’s happening. "Wait—what are you—?"
Before she can finish, your slime-body surges forward, enveloping her face. She gags, instinctively thrashing—but it’s too late. You slip past her lips, sliding down her throat with surprising ease.
For a moment, there’s only darkness—and then, sensation.
Your new body tingles as your consciousness settles in. The thief’s limbs twitch once before going still—her mind suppressed beneath yours. You flex your fingers experimentally, marveling at the dexterity.Then, the realizations hit.
- Your chest feels heavier. The thief’s modest but perky breasts press against the fabric of her snug leather top.
- Your hips sway when you shift your weight—an unfamiliar, almost instinctive motion.
- Your hair—short, messy, and dyed a rebellious shade of purple—brushes against your neck.
You gasp—a soft, feminine sound—and the goddess giggles. "First time in a woman’s body?"
You nod mutely, still processing.
"Well, don’t just stand there!" She gestures to a full-length mirror that materializes beside you. "Take a look!"
---
{"Maybe later, Classmates first." You say. The Goddess nods, "Don't worry, the second you chose the thief the world was informed that her punishment was to your body."}
The goddess waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, don’t worry—the moment you chose her, the world knew."
A golden decree materializes in the air beside her, glowing with divine script. "See? Officially, the thief’s punishment is being your body now." She grins. "So no one will question it—not even the summoners."
You exhale (a strange sensation with these new lungs) and nod. "Okay. So where are my classmates?"
Another flick of her wrist, and the mirror’s surface ripples, transforming into a window to the grand summoning hall. The scene is chaotic:
- Lena stands near the front, arms crossed, looking both annoyed and concerned.
- Victoria is already flirting shamelessly with one of the robed summoners, her fishnet-clad legs crossed teasingly.- Jessica is scanning the room—probably for Jeremy.
- Ms. Petrov is lecturing a bewildered priestess about proper interdimensional summoning etiquette.
- Alex is muttering to herself, scribbling notes in a stolen ledger.
- Cara is—wait.
You squint. "Is Cara stealing from the offering table?"
The goddess sighs. "Yes. And she’s very good at it."
But where’s—
A flicker of blue mist darts past the camera. Jeremy.
He’s still in his ghostly form, zipping around like an overexcited poltergeist. At one point, he phases through Victoria—and she shudders, cheeks flushing, before shaking it off.
"He’s figuring out his powers," the goddess muses. "Poor boy has no idea how fun this is going to be for him."
---
{"So before I joined them, how had Internal Empowerment changed?" You ask. (You can now steal steal and merge with souls. Leaving an exact copy of the soul in the original body."}
The goddess's silver eyes gleam with sudden amusement. "Ohhh, that." She twirls a lock of her hair, almost giddy. "Your ability evolved the moment you took a human host! Instead of just inhabiting bodies, you can now... collect them."
She snaps her fingers, and the golden screen zooms in on your new thief form—highlighting a pulsing, translucent core in her chest.
"See that? It’s not just her body you control now—you’ve absorbed her soul. But here’s the fun part!"
Another snap. An illusion of the thief splits into two—one remains trapped inside you, the other flickers back into her body, blinking as if waking from a nap.
"The original soul stays behind—an exact copy, none the wiser. Meanwhile, the real one? Merged with you."
She leans in, whispering conspiratorially. "Meaning you can swap between any soul you’ve absorbed, leaving perfect duplicates behind. No suspicion. No messy loose ends."
A beat.
"...Do you understand how broken that is?" She giggles, stars dancing in her eyes. "You’re basically a god now. A sneaky one."
---
{"So guess we're an act now." You hear inside your head. The thief (Kestra) tells about the soul side of your ability. "So, the real soul stays awake inside you becoming a voice of guidance. Don't worry lover boy, your the only driver." She tells you.}
Kestra’s voice curls through your mind like smoke—playful, teasing, and very aware of her new role as your ethereal backseat driver.
"That’s right, hero," she purrs. "I’m the little devil on your shoulder—except way hotter." You can feel her smirk. "And don’t worry, this body’s all yours to pilot. Think of me as... live commentary."
The goddess blinks. "Wait. She’s awake in there?"
Kestra’s laugh echoes internally. "Oh, this one’s adorable. Yeah, sweetcheeks—real souls stay conscious. We just can’t do anything unless you let us." A pause. "...Unless you want me to take the wheel sometime? I’ve got ideas for this body—"
"No," you say firmly.
She sighs dramatically. "Ugh, fine. But if you ever need to pick a lock, flirt with a guard, or stab someone in the kidneys? I’m your girl."
The goddess looks equal parts fascinated and horrified. "This is not how Internal Empowerment usually works."
Kestra snorts. "Yeah, well, congrats—your summoning glitch created a soul vampire. Now, are we gonna go mess with your friends or what?"
---
{You return to the hall, and explain your neeting with the Goddess. "Jessica, you need to want Jeremy insode you for his possession to work, don't worry unlike mine you actually have a say."}
The grand summoning hall falls silent as all eyes turn to you—or rather, your new thief form. Lena’s eyebrows shoot up. Victoria whistles. Ms. Petrov looks like she’s about to demand an explanation in three languages.
You clear your throat (Kestra’s throat? Your throat now) and quickly explain the goddess’s mess-up—the male-energy rejection, the possession-based blessings, the whole being a slime thing.
Then you drop the bomb about Jeremy.
"Oh, and uh—Jessica?" You gesture to the flickering blue mist currently doing loop-de-loops around the chandelier. "Turns out, for Jeremy’s Skill Share to work on you... you kinda have to want him inside you."
Jessica’s face goes scarlet. "I—what?!"
Kestra cackles in your mind. "Oh, this is gold."
You hurry to clarify. "Not like—not like that! It’s just consent-based! He can’t possess you unless you’re okay with it!"
Jeremy’s misty form solidifies slightly, his grin audible. "Dude. Dude. This is the best day of my life."
Jessica buries her face in her hands. "Why is this my curse..."
---
{Lena and Victoria walk up to you asking to join, Lena because of her crush on you, Victoria because its up her alley. You accept them. You then ask the copied souls that get placed in their bodies about their nature, trying to understand you ability better. "We are still Lena and Victoria just knowing that the real us is now a part of you."}
Lena steps forward first, her cheeks flushed but her gaze steady. "I... I want to be with you, Dan. Even if it's like this." Her voice is soft, but there’s no hesitation in it. The moment she says it, her body shivers slightly—a golden glow flickering around her for just a second before fading.
Then Victoria saunters up, her smirk wicked. "Oh, this is way more fun than whatever boring blessing I was supposed to get." She tosses her hair. "Let’s do this."
You reach out, and just like with Kestra, your slime-like essence flows into them—smooth, effortless. Their real souls merge with yours, their copied versions blinking back into existence in their original bodies.
Inside your mind, two new voices hum to life.
"Hey, dummy," Lena’s voice murmurs, warm and fond. "Took you long enough."
Victoria’s laugh is low and teasing. "Oh, this is interesting. So, do we get front-row seats to everything you do, or...?"
You focus on their copied selves standing before you. The Lena-copy tilts her head, smiling. "We’re still us," she says. "Just... aware that the real ‘us’ is part of you now."
The Victoria-copy stretches lazily. "Yeah, don’t worry—we’ll keep up appearances. But damn, this is gonna be fun."
Kestra pipes up, grinning. "Told you. Soul collection and perfect alibis. You’re basically cheating life."
---
{You look over and see Jessica respectfully touching herself. "Guess Jess let you in then?" You shout over to her.}
You smirk as your gaze lands on Jessica—her face a scorching red, one hand pressed hesitantly to her own collarbone, fingers trembling. She jumps at your call, whipping her head toward you with wide eyes.
"N-no! I mean—Yes, but—!" Her voice cracks, mortified. "I just—ugh—I had to test it, okay?!"
A shimmer of blue light flickers under her skin, and Jeremy’s laughter tumbles out of her mouth in her voice. "Oh my god, Jess, you should’ve seen your face when I—wait, why are you blushing so hard—"
Jessica’s hands fly up to cover her flushed cheeks. "B-because this is weird!"
Jeremy-as-Jessica grins, running her hands down her own curves with exaggerated awe. "Okay, but wow, you are crazy stacked—"
"JEREMY!"
Lena’s soul sighs in your head. "Boys are so dumb."
Victoria’s soul purrs. "Yeah, but this is hilarious."
---
{Leave them to it. Turn to the summoner and ask about the curse.}
You decide to let Jeremy and Jessica’s... situation play out (with Kestra cackling in your head and Victoria’s soul egging them on). Instead, you stride toward the head summoner—a stern-looking woman in silver robes, currently massaging her temples like she’s regretting every life choice that led her here.
"So," you say, crossing your arms (and enjoying the way Kestra’s leather gear creaks with the motion). "What’s this ‘curse’ you needed an all-female summoning to fix?"
The summoner exhales sharply. "The Lifire Plague," she mutters. "A blight that drains the life from our land—and it only affects men."
Lena’s soul gasps in your mind. "Wait, so that’s why—"
"Yes," the summoner snaps. "We needed heroes untainted by male energy to purify the royal bloodline. But clearly—" She gestures at you, then at Jessica (currently trying to wrestle her own hands away from her chest). "—this summoning is a disaster."
Victoria’s soul hums. "So, what? You needed pure, sacred maidens to fix your man-killing curse?"
The summoner glares. "We needed heroes."
Kestra snorts. "And instead you got us. Congrats."
---
{"Actually that's probably why both Jeremy and I ended up non-human, technically he and I no longer have male bodies." You offer.}
The summoner's eyes narrow, then widen slightly as your words sink in. "That... is disturbingly logical,".
Jessica—now physically pushing herself into a pillar to stop Jeremy's involuntary groping—chokes out, "So you're saying I basically just sucked a ghost into my body to save him?!"
The silver-robed summoner pinches the bridge of her nose. "In the broadest theological sense... yes." She sighs. "Perhaps the summoning interpreted your forms as gender-neutral enough to bypass the curse's restrictions. A slime and... whatever that is." She gestures at Jeremy's misty essence still flickering under Jessica's skin.
Lena's voice pipes up in your mind, dripping with mischief. "Ohhhoho, this means Jeremy has to possess girls to survive now. Best. Punishment. Ever."
The Lena-copy folds her arms. "That doesn't explain why we joined Dan though."
Victoria's copy smirks. "Uh, hello? Have you seen our collection?" She gestures to herself, Lena's copied form, and your thief body. "We're clearly his starter harem."
The summoner's eye twitches. "I need wine."
---
{"So if I remember correctly while I was talking with the Goddess, you were about to check blessings, right?" You ask. The summoner pulls out a book, containing past blessings. She records your entire classes blessings, yours and Jeremy's included.
(Because your blessing now lets you have a person's real soul merge into you, you also get that person's Blessing. Jessica can also use Skill Share, on top of her actually blessing, due to being Jeremy's true host.)
Lena/Her Copy: Hearthfire
Victoria/Her Copy: Shadowweave
Kestra: Thief's Guile
Jessica: Beast Tamer
Petrov: Discipline Authority
Cara: Silvertongue
Alex: Reverse Engineer
Jeremy: Skill Share (Possession Version)
You: Internal Empowerment (Soul Version)}
The summoner flips open her massive tome with a thud, quill poised. "Let the record show that this summoning has been the most chaotic in eight centuries," she mutters before clearing her throat.
One by one, she calls out the blessings—each name glowing in the air as she writes:
- Lena & Copy: Hearthfire – Can conjure flames that heal allies and sear enemies.
- Victoria & Copy: Shadowweave – Controls darkness like tangible threads. (Victoria’s soul purrs: "Oh, we’re definitely playing with this later.")
- Kestra: Thief’s Guile – Enhanced stealth, lockpicking, and ahem "asset relocation" skills.
- Jessica: Beast Tamer – Commands animals... and apparently now also shares Jeremy’s Skill Share due to being his primary host. (Jessica smiles: "So I’m pet owner.)
- Ms. Petrov: Discipline Authority – Commands instant obedience from students. (She smirks. "Finally.")
- Cara: Silvertongue – Can convince anyone of anything... which explains the stolen artifacts now hidden in her sleeves.
- Alex: Reverse Engineer – Instantly understands and replicates any magic or tech. (She’s already dismantling a summoning orb.)
- Jeremy: Skill Share – Possesses others to copy their abilities for future use. (He’s currently making Jessica’s body do a handstand. Badly.)
- You: Internal Empowerment (Soul Version) – Absorb souls, their blessings, and leave flawless copies.
The summoner snaps the book shut. "Congratulations. You’ve broken every rule of summoning etiquette."
Kestra whispers: "Achievement unlocked: Oops, All Chaos."
---
{A younger priestess steps up to you, "My name is Lyra and I think it would be best to have a priestess with you, so I offer myself and my Blessing: Holy Prayer to you."}
Lyra steps forward, her white and gold robes fluttering as she bows deeply before you. She’s young—maybe even younger than your classmates—with wide, earnest eyes and silver-blonde hair braided neatly over one shoulder. There’s a nervous energy about her, like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.
"I—I’ve studied the legends," she stammers, cheeks flushing. "A-and if you’re going to break the Lifire Plague, you’ll need divine favor! My Holy Prayer blessing lets me channel miracles—healing, protection, even smiting!" She clasps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please, let me join you!"
Kestra’s voice drips with amusement in your mind. "Ohhh, she’s adorable. And useful. Say yes."
Lena’s soul sighs. "She’s way too pure for this group."
Victoria’s copy licks her lips. "Yeah, but imagine corrupting her."
The head summoner groans. "Lyra, you cannot just volunteer to be absorbed by a rogue otherworlder—"
Lyra whirls on her, eyes blazing. "With all due respect, Elder Maris, the goddess herself endorsed him! This isn’t just allowed—it’s destiny!"
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Jeremy (still in Jessica’s body) wolf-whistles. "Damn, holy girl’s got spine."
---
{Accept Lyra offer.}
You don’t hesitate. "Welcome to the team, Lyra."
Her face lights up like the sun, and before the head summoner can protest, you reach out—your slime essence surging forward. Unlike the others, Lyra steps into it, arms spread like she’s embracing divinity itself.
The absorption is seamless. Warmth floods your being as her soul merges with yours, her consciousness settling beside the others. Her copied body blinks back into existence, still beaming.
"It’s wonderful in here!" Lyra’s voice chimes in your mind, bright as a chapel bell. "So much light! And—oh! I can feel the others too!"
Kestra groans. "Great. Now we’ve got a nun in our head."
Lyra’s copy clasps her hands, practically glowing. "With Holy Prayer added to your collection, you’re practically invincible! Well, more invincible."
The head summoner looks like she’s about to faint. "This is heresy."
Ms. Petrov, finally breaking her silence, adjusts her glasses with a smirk. "No. This is education."
---
{"Lyra, would you allow Jeremy to try and possess you." You ask the copy in her body.}
Lyra's copied form tilts her head, her expression thoughtful but unbothered. "Oh! Of course!" she chirps, as if you'd just asked her to pass the salt. "If it helps the team, I don't mind at all!"
Kestra snorts in your mind. "Girl’s got zero sense of self-preservation. I love it."
Jeremy's misty form immediately peels away from Jessica's body—who collapses against a pillar, gasping like she just ran a marathon. "Finally! Freedom!" he whoops, before zipping toward Lyra's copy.
The moment his essence touches her, her eyes flash blue. Then—
"Whoa."
Jeremy's voice spills from Lyra's lips, but it's her voice—soft, melodic, and now tinged with his dumbstruck awe. He(?) looks down at Lyra's petite frame, her pristine robes, then wiggles her fingers experimentally.
"Okay, first? Way different from Jess. Like, zero muscle memory. This body’s built for, like... hymns and kneeling." He(?) pauses. "Second? Why am I kinda into it?"
Jessica buries her face in her hands. "I’m never living this down."
Lyra's real soul giggles in your mind. "Oh, this is fascinating! He’s borrowing my blessing too! Look!"
Sure enough, golden light flickers around Jeremy/Lyra’s hands—Holy Prayer reacting to his presence.
The head summoner has stopped breathing.
---
Quick Actions:
{Ask Lyra's copy if she can try to fight Jeremy's control. (She can't but Jeremy leaves willingly.)}
You glance at Lyra's copied form—still puppeteered by Jeremy—and raise an eyebrow. "Lyra, can you try to resist him? Push him out?"
For a moment, Lyra's copied body goes still, her expression flickering with concentration. Then she sighs sweetly. "Oh dear, no. It seems I can't! But it's quite alright—he's being very gentle."
Jeremy's voice responds through her lips, softer now, almost sheepish. "Yeah, uh... I'm not gonna force it. That'd be messed up." With that, the blue glow fades from Lyra's eyes as Jeremy's misty form pulls free, reforming nearby with a shrug. "Respect to the holy girl. She's way too nice to mess with."
Lyra's copy smooths her robes, completely unruffled. "Thank you for experimenting responsibly!"
Kestra barks a laugh in your mind. "Wow. Even Jeremy has standards. What a world."
The head summoner, now gripping her tome like a lifeline, wheezes: "Is... is this over? Can we proceed?"
---
{"This proves that my copied souls have less resistance to possession then the original soul." You warn.}
You nod, piecing it together. "Right. So the copies—while perfect in every other way—don’t have the same willpower as the original souls inside me." You glance at Lyra’s copied form, still smiling placidly. "They’re more... compliant."
Kestra’s voice drips with amusement. "Meaning if some other possession-happy freak shows up, your little duplicates would fold like wet paper. Great."
Lena’s soul chimes in, concerned. "So our copies are vulnerable. That’s... not ideal."
Victoria’s copy, however, grins. "Or very ideal, depending on what you’re into."
The head summoner finally snaps. "ENOUGH. You—" She jabs a finger at you. "—are a walking theological crisis. But since the goddess clearly favors you, we’ll proceed under one condition." She takes a deep breath. "You and your... collective... will help us break the Lifire Plague. In exchange, we’ll legitimize your existence to the kingdom."**
Ms. Petrov smirks. "Ah, bureaucracy. Even in another world."
---
{"I would've helped without you needing to threaten me." You say. "My blessing makes an ideal Front liner."}
The head summoner blinks, momentarily thrown off-balance by your blunt honesty. Then, with a grudging nod, she steps back. "Then we are in agreement. The Lifire Kingdom will... appreciate your assistance."
Kestra snickers in your mind. "Translation: They’re desperate and we’re their last hope."
You flex your thief’s fingers, feeling the weight of your collected souls humming within you—each one a new strength, a new possibility. "Ideal Frontliner" wasn’t an exaggeration. With Lena’s healing flames, Victoria’s shadow manipulation, Lyra’s divine miracles, and Kestra’s thief instincts—not to mention the other blessings you could still absorb—you’re practically a one-man army.
Jeremy’s misty form drifts closer, his grin audible. "So, uh... when do we start?"
Jessica sighs, rubbing her temples. "Please don’t say that like you’re volunteering to be useful."
---
{Ask about the plague's origins on your way to meet the queen.}
As your ragtag group sets off toward the royal palace—escorted by a contingent of very nervous priestesses—you fall into step beside Lyra’s copied form. The real Lyra’s soul perks up eagerly in your mind, already sensing your question.
"So," you start, nodding toward the blighted landscape beyond the city walls. Withered trees claw at the sky, and the distant fields look like they’ve been drained of color. "This plague. How’d it start?"
Lyra’s copy clasps her hands, her voice dropping into storyteller mode. "Two centuries ago, the Lifire Kingdom was at war with the Duskreach Coven. Their queen, a witch named Seraphine, cursed our royal bloodline as she died—‘No son shall outlive his father, no brother his sister.’" She shudders. "At first, it only affected the nobility. But over time, the curse mutated. Now it leeches life from any male in the kingdom past adolescence."
Victoria’s soul whistles. "Damn. That’s some spicy vengeance."
Lena’s copy frowns. "So the all-female summoning...?"
Lyra nods. "An attempt to bypass the curse’s logic. We needed heroes untouched by male energy to purify the royal line." She hesitates. "Though... given your blessings, I suspect the goddess had other plans."
Kestra’s grin is audible. "Plans involving us becoming the kingdom’s weirdest, hottest salvation."
---
{You arrive at the the Throne room. The summoner hands the queen the book.}
The grand doors of the throne room swing open, revealing a cavernous hall lined with armored knights and robed advisors. At the far end sits Queen Isolda—a woman whose regal bearing is undercut by the dark circles under her eyes and the way her fingers grip the armrests of her throne like she’s clinging to life itself.
The head summoner steps forward, presenting the book with a deep bow. "Your Majesty, the summoning is... complete." She hesitates. "Though not as expected."
Queen Isolda flips through the pages, her brow furrowing at the chaotic entries—blessings altered, souls duplicated, two rogue males somehow involved. When she reaches your entry (Internal Empowerment: Soul Version), her gaze snaps up to you.
"You." Her voice is razor-sharp. "You absorb souls. And their powers."
A murmur ripples through the court. One knight draws his sword on instinct.Lyra’s soul squeaks in your head. "Oh no. They think you’re a villain!"
Kestra sighs. "To be fair, we kinda are."
---
{You step forward, bow slightly and explain your specific story to the Queen, (From meeting the Goddess as a slime, choosing the meant to be executed Kestra to be your body, to Lena and Victoria willing offering themselves, of finding that you use the blessings of those merged with you, how Lyra offered herself, and now standing before her.)}
After you finish your story, the oldest princess offers herself to you as a way to ensure your loyality.}
You step forward, offering the queen a measured bow—not too deep, not too casual—just enough to show respect without groveling. Then, in clear, deliberate tones, you recount your journey: the goddess’s blunder, your slime form, Kestra’s "punishment," Lena and Victoria’s willing mergers, the discovery of borrowed blessings, and Lyra’s eager devotion. The throne room hangs on every word, the court’s initial hostility giving way to stunned fascination.
When you finish, the silence is thick enough to carve.
Then, from the queen’s side, a figure rises—Princess Elara, the eldest heir. Her gown is the color of tarnished silver, her dark hair braided into a crown. She steps down from the dais, her movements deliberate, until she stands mere inches from you.
"Then let me ensure your loyalty personally," she declares, her voice low but carrying. "Merge with me. Let my soul join your collection. That way, the crown will always know your intentions."
The queen’s breath catches. "Elara, you cannot—"
"Mother," the princess interrupts, never breaking eye contact with you, "our kingdom is dying. If this is the price of salvation, I pay it gladly."
Kestra’s whistle echoes in your mind. "Damn. Royalty’s got spine."
Lyra’s soul vibrates with awe. "This is so sacred! And so illegal!"
---
{You accept but let her chose a person loyal to prove it isn't dangerous. She choses her personal knight (is female becuase of the curse) and Maid (trained assassin).}
"Very well," you say, nodding to the princess. "But let's prove it's safe first." You gesture to the crowd. "Choose someone you trust—someone loyal. Let them volunteer to merge with me, so you can see there's no danger."
Princess Elara's lips quirk in approval. Without hesitation, she turns and snaps her fingers. "Siris. Mara. Step forward."
From the shadows of the throne room, two figures emerge:
1. Siris, the princess's personal knight—a towering woman in gleaming armor, her sword strapped to her back. The curse has long since purged male knights from the kingdom, leaving only the fiercest women to guard the royalty. Her scarred face is unreadable as she kneels before you. "If my lady commands it," she rumbles.
2. Mara, the "maid"—a petite woman in a demure gown whose fingers twitch toward hidden daggers. Her smile is razor-thin. "Oh, this’ll be fun," she purrs. Assassin confirmed.
The queen grips her throne, but Elara remains serene. "Well? Show us."
---
The Merging:
- Siris goes first. The moment your slime-form touches her, she tenses—not in fear, but in focus. Her soul merges with yours, a warm, steadfast presence. Her copy blinks back into existence, saluting sharply. "No discomfort, Your Highness."
- Mara practically grins as you absorb her. Her soul coils in your mind like a satisfied cat. "Oh, hello," she murmurs. Her copy adjusts her skirts, demure once more—but her eyes gleam.
Princess Elara exhales. "Convinced?" she asks the queen.
Her mother swallows hard, then nods.
---
Quick Actions:
{Merge with Elara. You tell the Queen each of their blessings. Afterwords the Queen asks the copy of Elara a question only the two of them now. When she answers right, the queen turns back to you, "About the weaker resistance noted by the summoner."
Siris: Dog of War
Mara: Moonlight Dance
Elara: Stormcaller}
You meet Princess Elara’s gaze and nod. Without hesitation, she steps forward—chin high, arms slightly spread—as your slime-form envelops her. The merging is seamless, her soul settling into yours like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Her copy materializes beside you, smoothing her gown with regal poise.
The queen leans forward, her voice taut. "Elara. When you were six, where did you hide after your first sword lesson?"
The Elara-copy doesn’t hesitate. "The royal pantry. I ate an entire wheel of cheese and vomited on Father’s favorite hound."
A beat. Then the queen’s shoulders slump in relief. "It is her. Every memory, every detail..." She turns to you, her expression unreadable. "And their blessings?"
You recite them effortlessly, the knowledge flowing from the souls within you:
- Siris: Dog of War – Strength multiplies when defending others.
- Mara: Moonlight Dance – Moves unseen in shadows, strikes with lethal precision.
- Elara: Stormcaller – Commands wind and lightning (her copy’s fingers crackle faintly for emphasis).
The queen exhales sharply. "Then the summoner’s report was correct. The copies are perfect... but weaker against possession." Her eyes narrow. "You understand why that concerns me."
Kestra’s voice drips with amusement. "Yeah, ‘cause if Jeremy can hijack a princess, this kingdom’s screwed."
---
{"Your Majesty, my teacher Ms. Petrov might be able to help in that regard." You offer a potential solution. "Elara tells me your Blessing is Royal Decree, so if used together with her Blessing you could create a failsafe. You use Royal Decree to make it law that my copied souls can't be possessed those the crown deems enemies, and then we have Ms. Petrov reinforce that through her Discipline Authority."}
The queen’s eyes flicker with intrigue. She straightens, her fingers drumming once on the armrest of her throne before she nods. "A royal edict reinforced by divine authority... Clever." She glances at Ms. Petrov. "You can do this?"
Ms. Petrov steps forward, adjusting her glasses with a smirk. "Discipline Authority compels obedience. If Her Majesty declares a law, I can ensure it’s enforced—magically."
Princess Elara’s soul hums approvingly in your mind. "A binding contract, then. No possession of copies by unauthorized parties."
The queen rises, her voice ringing through the throne room. "Then let it be decreed: Any soul copied by the Otherworlder Dan shall be shielded from hostile possession, save by his own will or the crown’s express permission!"Golden light erupts from her fingertips, swirling into the air like living script. Ms. Petrov’s eyes flash as she raises a hand—"And so it shall be."
The words sear into the air before dissolving, and you feel the change immediately—a new weight to the copied souls around you, an invisible barrier settling over them.
Jeremy’s misty form pouts. "Well, there goes my weekend plans."
---
{Have Jeremy test it by trying to possess Elara.}
You arch a brow at Jeremy’s still-misty form. "Well? Test it."
Jeremy’s grin is audible. "Oh, hell yeah." He darts toward Elara’s copied form—only to slam into an invisible barrier inches from her skin. A burst of golden light repels him, sending him spinning backward like a kicked tumbleweed.
"OW! What the—since when do laws HURT?!" he yelps, his form flickering like a staticky hologram.
Elara’s copy smirks, folding her arms. "It appears the crown’s will is quite literal."
The queen exhales, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Good."
Kestra cackles in your mind. "Welp. Jeremy just became the kingdom’s best bug zapper test."
---
Quick Actions:
{Check on Jessica, since you allow Lyra to house Jeremy so he can tell the Queen his story.}
You glance over at Jessica, who’s been standing near the back of the group, arms crossed and expression unreadable. With a mental nudge, you allow Lyra’s soul to temporarily "host" Jeremy so he can recount his side of the story to the queen—Lyra’s copied form flickers blue for a moment as Jeremy’s consciousness takes the wheel, her usual serene smile shifting into his trademark lopsided grin.
"Alright, so—" Jeremy-as-Lyra begins, clapping her(?) hands together. "Imagine getting isekai’d as a ghost and then finding out the only way to interact with the world is by literally borrowing someone else’s body. Glorious? Yes. Ethical? Debatable."
The queen pinches the bridge of her nose. "Why are the gods like this."
Meanwhile, you slip over to Jessica, who’s staring at the floor, her fingers twisting the hem of her tunic. "Hey," you say quietly. "You okay?"
She startles, then forces a smile. "Oh! Yeah. Just... processing. A lot." Her gaze flicks to Jeremy-as-Lyra, who’s now demonstrating how he accidentally phased through a wall and got stuck in a chandelier. Jessica’s voice drops to a whisper. "It’s just... weird. Knowing he’s in people. That he has to be. And now he’s in Lyra of all people..."
Her cheeks flush. You don’t need Kestra’s thief instincts to guess why that bothers her.
---
Quick Actions:
{You joke her, "At least your stolen Blessings don't come with personalities attached to them, like mine do."
She laughs drawing attention to you both.}
Jessica snorts, her laugh breaking through the tension like sunlight. "Yeah, guess I should be thanking the gods I just got stuck with a pervert and not a whole committee in my head." Her voice carries just enough that several heads turn—including Jeremy-as-Lyra’s, who gasps in mock offense.
"Rude!" he declares, pressing Lyra’s delicate hands to her chest. "I’m a treasure."
Lyra’s real soul sighs in your mind. "He’s really leaning into this, isn’t he?"
The queen clears her throat loudly. "As adorable as this is, we have a curse to dismantle. Focus."
Kestra mutters: "Buzzkill."
---
{Ask about the royal record and say Lyra already told you about the origin. (Story rule because of the curse most characters are female or in female bodies.)}
You raise a hand, cutting through the murmurs of the court. "Lyra already told us about the curse’s origin—Seraphine’s last act. But stories lie, or omit. What do the royal archives say?"
The queen’s lips thin. "Officially? That the Duskreach Coven’s curse was unprovoked. Unofficially..." She nods to a hooded archivist, who scurries forward with a weathered scroll. "My ancestor, King Aldric, broke their pact. He swore to marry Seraphine’s heir to unite the kingdoms—then burned their coven at the altar instead."
A collective gasp ripples through the room.
Princess Elara’s soul hisses in your mind. "No wonder her curse was vicious. We earned this."
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Your family’s messy, princess."
The queen continues, weary. "The curse was meant to end our line. But over generations, it grew—infecting all men. Now, we’re out of time."
---
{"How have you survived, because I would have thought that without men, and I mean this respectfully, that your kingdom would have collapsed by now." You asked head bowed.}
The queen’s expression darkens, but not at you—at the truth of the question itself. "We have been collapsing," she admits, her voice low. "Slowly. Invisibly. Our fields yield less. Our soldiers are fewer. Births decline each year—not just of boys, but of all children. The curse gnaws at the roots of life itself."
She gestures to the court around her—all women, from the knights to the scribes to the blacksmiths. "We’ve adapted. Women took up roles once forbidden to us. We trade with neighboring kingdoms for seed and strength. But it’s a stopgap. Without breaking the curse, Lifire will wither within two generations."
Princess Elara’s soul murmurs in your mind, pained. "Mother never speaks this plainly. She must truly trust you."
Kestra’s grin is sharp. "Or she’s really desperate."
---
{"Did Seraphine potentially have any descendants?"}
The queen exhales—a slow, measured breath—before nodding to the archivist again. The hooded woman produces another scroll, this one sealed in cracked black wax.
"Seraphine had a daughter," the queen says quietly. "A child hidden before the massacre. The records suggest she fled to the Veiled Peaks—a range near the coven’s ruins. But we’ve never found proof she lived... or that her line endured."
A charged silence follows.
Then, from the back of the room, Alex pushes her glasses up her nose and mutters, "So we’re hunting a maybe-witch who might hold the key to unfucking this mess. Cool. Cool."
Kestra’s laugh is downright giddy. "Oh, this just got spicy."
---
{"You kneel in prayer, before sarcastically saying, "Alright mighty Clutz may we borrow but a moment of your time for advice."
The Goddess actually shows up, "Your lucky I find you funny."}
The air shimmers with a sound like shattering stained glass—and then the goddess tumbles into existence, tripping over her own robes before catching herself on a conveniently placed (and very startled) knight’s shoulder.
"You’re lucky I find you funny," she huffs, straightening her silver hair. A few stars fall out of it. "And lucky I’m not smiting you for the ‘clutz’ comment." She eyes the kneeling courtiers, the queen’s stunned face, and Jeremy still mid-possession of Lyra’s body. "...Wow. You’ve been busy."
Kestra’s soul cackles. "Told you she’d show up."
You gesture grandly to the chaos. "We need to find Seraphine’s descendants. Got any divine hints?" The goddess taps her chin. "Hmm. Well, I could just tell you—" She pauses, then grins. "—or we could make it fun! How about a quest? Prove your worth, and I’ll point you to the last witch-blood!"
The queen looks like she’s about to combust.
---
{"If it be your will, almighty Ditz, that we should let this kingdom suffer for your errand then we must accept it." You tease, you can hear Lyra yelling.}
The goddess gasps—clutching her chest as if mortally wounded—while Lyra’s soul screams in your mind like a scandalized nun. "DANIEL!! YOU CAN’T JUST—SHE’S A GODDESS—"
The court collectively holds its breath.
Then the deity snorts, doubling over with laughter. "Oh, wow, I like you!" She wipes a starry tear from her eye. "Fine, fine. Since you’re hilarious—and because I did kind of mess up your summoning—here’s a freebie: The witch-blood you seek is already in this room."
Silence.
Then—gasps, chairs scraping, hands flying to weapons. The queen stands so fast her throne topples backward.
"What."
The goddess winks. "Oops. Spoilers~"
---
{The Queen orders the room locked down, but then a dark laughter emerges from the summoner.}
A slow, creeping laugh cuts through the chaos—dry as crumbling parchment. The head summoner, Elder Maris, peels back her hood, revealing eyes now blazing with violet fire.
"Oh, Isolda," she croons, her voice layered with a second, older rasp. "You thought your family’s sin could be buried forever?" The air around her warps, her robes melting into tattered witch’s weeds, her staff twisting into a gnarled black thorn. "Seraphine’s blood runs in my veins. And I’ve waited centuries to watch your line choke on its own curse."
The queen pales. "Maris... you—"
"Not just Maris." The witch’s grin splits her face too wide. "She welcomed me in years ago. A fitting host for the last daughter of Duskreach."
Kestra’s soul squees. "Possession inception! I love this!"
---
{"Mother will be waiting. And now she knows the heroes powers." The witch says being slitting her throat.}
The witch’s grin turns feral as she drags a jagged nail across her own throat—black blood bubbling forth like tar. "Mother waits," she gurgles. "And now... she knows you."
Her body collapses—but the black blood liquefies, slithering across the floor like a living shadow before vanishing between the cracks in the stone.
Silence.
Then—
"Well," Jeremy-as-Lyra says brightly. "That was horrifying."
The queen sways, gripping her overturned throne for support. "Seraphine... lives?"
Princess Elara’s soul whispers in your mind, trembling: "We need to find her. Now."
---
{"Your majesty, is possible to do a smaller hero summon."}
The queen’s fingers tighten on the armrest of her throne, her knuckles whitening. "A smaller summoning?" she echoes, her voice edged with exhaustion and suspicion.
You nod. "If Seraphine is alive—or at least her consciousness lingers—then she’s clearly tied to the curse. But she also just got a full report on our abilities. We need an edge she doesn’t expect."
The queen’s gaze flicks to the remaining summoners—now huddled together, their faces pale. "It’s possible," one of them admits. "But the ritual requires immense power, and after the last one... our reserves are depleted."
The goddess, still lounging mid-air like an amused spectator, twirls a lock of silver hair. "Oh, I could help with that~"
The queen’s eyes narrow. "At what cost?"
The goddess grins. "Entertainment. Drama. Maybe a little chaos."
---
{Agree to her terms. She summons your Ex, but with full knowledge of the current situation.}
The goddess claps her hands together with a sound like a thousand bells ringing. "Perfect! Let’s make this interesting!"
The air ripples—then tears—as a familiar figure tumbles out of the rift and lands face-first on the throne room floor.
"Ow. What the hell—"
Your stomach drops.
Because standing there, brushing off her jeans and glaring at you with begrudging recognition, is Hailey—your ex-girlfriend.
Her dark hair is still in that messy ponytail she always wore, her favorite leather jacket slung over a band T-shirt. She looks exactly like she did the day she dumped you—right down to the unimpressed arch of her brow.
And then she smirks.
"Wow. So this is your messed-up isekai arc? Figures." She cracks her knuckles. "Alright. The goddess filled me in. Let’s go break a curse."
Kestra’s soul howls with laughter. "OH MY GOD. THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY AFTERLIFE."
---
{Ask Hailey about her Blessing. She pause for a moment, "Sorry but its better if I keep it to myself, incase of another hidden witch."}
Hailey’s smirk doesn’t waver as she shrugs. "Nice try. But I’m not spilling my blessing in a room full of people who might also be secret witch-spawn." She taps the side of her nose. "Gotta keep some surprises for the finale."
Kestra’s soul vibrates with glee. "Ohhh, she’s good. I like her."
Princess Elara’s copy steps forward, eyes narrowed. "You expect us to trust you without knowing your power?"
Hailey rolls her eyes. "Trust? No. Use me? Absolutely. Same difference with him, right?" She jerks a thumb at you.
The queen exhales sharply. "Enough. If the goddess vouches for her, we proceed." She turns to Hailey. "But the moment you betray us—"
"Yeah, yeah, execute me dramatically. Got it." Hailey waves her off, then leans toward you, voice dropping. "P.S.? You owe me for this."
---
{Talk to Hailey privately but not about her blessing, you can respect her reasoning.}
You wait until the queen dismisses the court (with orders to prepare for war) before grabbing Hailey’s elbow and steering her into a vaulted hallway—just out of earshot. The moment you’re alone, she smirks up at you.
"Wow. Still bossy in another world, huh?"
You ignore the jab. "I get not revealing your blessing. But are you actually here to help, or just to screw with me?"
Hailey’s grin fades. She studies you for a long moment—then sighs. "Look. The goddess literally yanked me out of my apartment mid-microwave meal for this. If I wanted to mess with you, I’d have stayed home and keyed your car." A pause. "...Okay, that was a joke. Mostly."
She folds her arms. "Point is, yeah. I’ll help. But I’m doing it my way."
Kestra’s soul whispers: "She’s totally gonna betray us in a cool way later."
---
"Look I understand if your still hate me for what happened, but how have you been since the accident." You ask.}
Hailey’s smirk vanishes. For a second, she just stares at you—like she’s trying to decide if you’re serious. Then her shoulders slump.
"You mean since you got drunk at Jake’s party and I had to drive your dumbass home, only for us to crash because you panicked and grabbed the wheel?" Her voice is low, raw. "Since my arm got crushed and I lost my scholarship because I couldn’t play volleyball anymore?"
A beat. The air between you is suddenly heavy.
Then she shakes her head, forcing a laugh. "Wow. Yeah, Dan. I’ve been great."
Kestra’s soul winces. "Yikes. And I thought my exes were messy."
---
{You quietly say, "I never forgave myself for ruining your future, I went to the hospital twice when Mom find me mid suicide, first time from cut wrists and the second from OD on my anti-depressents. Its part of the reason you were ghosted, parents moved us, they also deleted you from everything thinking it would help but it got worse when you sent the letter calling me a coward. Mom found me on the balcony. You were my best friend and first love. I'd show you the scars but Kestra's body doesn't carry them." You tell her.}
You take a slow breath, Kestra's borrowed lungs tightening as you force the words out—words you've rehearsed in a thousand sleepless nights, words that taste like rust and regret.
"I never forgave myself for ruining your future." The confession hangs between you, raw as a fresh wound. "I went to the hospital twice after the accident. First time... wrists. Second time, pills. Mom found me both times."
Hailey's smirk dies.
"Parents moved us after that. Deleted you from my phone, my socials—thought it would help." Your borrowed throat bobs. "Then your letter came. Called me a coward. Mom found me on the balcony three days later."
For a heartbeat, the only sound is the distant clatter of armored boots in the throne room.
"You were my best friend. My first love." Your voice cracks. "I'd show you the scars, but..." You gesture to Kestra's unmarked forearm.
Hailey's expression does something complicated—anger melting into horror, then settling on something too close to grief.
---
{"You might not be able to show me the scars but you can still show me." She says as she places a hand on you, your memories of the fallout flowing into her.}
The moment Hailey’s hand makes contact with your chest—Kestra’s body or not—there’s a jolt, like a live wire brushing bare skin. Then the memories surge, unbidden:
- Your hands shaking as you fumble with the razor in the bathroom, your mother’s scream when she kicks in the door.
- The numb, cotton-mouthed haze of swallowing too many pills, the ER lights stabbing your eyelids.
- The letter in Hailey’s angry, slanted handwriting: ”You don’t get to run away from this.”
- The balcony railing under your palms, wind howling in your ears, your mother’s arms dragging you back—
Hailey staggers, tearing her hand away like she’s been burned. Her face is ashen. "Jesus Christ, Dan—"
For the first time since she got here, she looks lost.
Kestra’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet in your mind. "...Well. That happened."
---
{You apologize for trauma dumping on her but you had holding on it your feelings since mom pulled you away from the railing.}
You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "Shit. I'm sorry—that was way too much to drop on you right now. I just... never got to say any of it." Kestra's fingers flex at your sides, itching for a cigarette or a knife to fiddle with—anything to ground you. "Holding that in since... yeah. Since the balcony."
Hailey stares at you for a long moment, her arms crossed tight over her chest—like she's holding herself together. Then she snorts, but there's no humor in it. "Fuck. And I thought my therapist had her work cut out for her." She rubs her face, the ghost of her old volleyball injury twinging in her shoulder. "Look. We're not doing this now. Not here."
She jabs a finger at your chest. "But after we murder this witch and her shitty curse? We're talking. Properly."
Kestra's soul whistles. "Damn. She really used to love you, huh?"
---
{"The worst part was I never stopped missing you, but after your letter I assumed you never wanted to talk again. Jeremy's a good friend but he was quite you." You say before giving her a quick hug.}
The hug is quick—just a brief press of Kestra’s body against hers, leather creaking, warmth lingering for half a second before you pull back. But Hailey freezes for a heartbeat, her breath catching like she’d forgotten what it felt like.
"Yeah, well," she mutters, rubbing her arm—the one that used to spike a volleyball before the accident. "Turns out anger’s easier than grief." She meets your eyes, and for the first time in years, there’s no smirk, no deflection. Just honesty. "I missed you too, idiot."
Then Jeremy’s voice echoes down the hall, shattering the moment: "HEY! We’ve got witch problems! Also, the queen’s crying! It’s super awkward!"
Hailey rolls her eyes, the tension broken. "Ugh. Fine. Let’s go save a kingdom or whatever."
Kestra’s soul cackles. "God, this is better than reality TV."
---
{Next day regroup with an attack plan.}
The War Council – Dawn of the Witch Hunt
The next morning, you gather in the war room—a cavernous chamber dominated by a massive table carved with a map of the kingdom. The queen stands at its head, shadows under her eyes betraying her sleepless night. Around her, your assembled forces:
- Ms. Petrov has organized the royal archives into tactical folders (Discipline Authority makes her terrifyingly efficient).
- Alex is hunched over a stolen coven relic, muttering as her Reverse Engineer blessing deciphers its magic.
- Cara is... somehow negotiating better rations for your group while pocketing a silver candlestick.
- Jeremy (back in Jessica’s body, by popular demand) is sketching attack formations with alarming enthusiasm.
- Hailey leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.
The queen stabs a dagger into the map—right atop the Duskreach Coven ruins. "Seraphine’s lair is here. Our scouts report unnatural shadows pooling in the valley. She’s preparing."
Princess Elara’s soul murmurs in your mind: "We’ll need to strike fast. Before she fully awakens."
---
{"I'll lead a frontal charge and draw her attention." You start.}
"While I lead the frontal charge and draw her attention," you declare, rolling your shoulders. The weight of the collected souls within you hums in agreement—each a fragment of power ready to be unleashed.
The queen’s gaze sharpens. "A distraction?"
You nod. "Exactly. Seraphine expects us to come in sneaky, like her assassins and shadows. So we hit her loud." You gesture to the map. "Me, Jeremy in Jessica’s body for range, and the royal knights will assault the ruins head-on. While she’s focused on us—"
"—The rest slip in behind," Mara’s copy finishes, her assassin’s grin sharp. "Moonlight Dance makes me very good at backstabbing."
Hailey pushes off the wall. "I’ll go with the stealth team."
You raise a brow.
She smirks. "What? I told you I’m doing this my way."
---
{"Your majesty, can use Royal Decree so that the war plan can not be dicscussed outside the room by anyone. Petrov use your Authority to reinforce it and I'll use Victoria's Shadowweave to attached it to attach it every heart."}
The queen's eyes gleam with grim approval. "A binding of three blessings? Ruthless. I like it."
She rises, her voice echoing with Royal Decree's weight:
"None shall speak of this battle plan beyond these walls—not in whispers, not in writing, not even in thought shared knowingly with outsiders!" Golden light sears the air, sinking into the skin of every person present.
Ms. Petrov steps forward, her Discipline Authority flaring like a whip-crack:
"And so you shall obey." The compulsion tightens around them all like a vice.
Then you summon Victoria's Shadowweave—tendrils of darkness snaking from your fingertips to coil around each chest, merging with their heartbeats.
"Any betrayal," you murmur, watching the shadows pulse in time with their breath, "and these threads will strangle the secret before it's spoken."
A stunned silence follows.
Hailey whistles. "Damn. You have gotten scarier."
Kestra’s soul preens. "Oh, we are so keeping this blessing."
---
{Spend the rest the finalizing a war plan.}
THE FINAL WAR PLAN
The table rattles as you plant your palms on the map, eyes scanning your assembled forces.
1. DISTRACTION SQUAD (FRONTAL ASSAULT)
- You – Using Shadowweave to command darkness + Stormcaller (via Elara’s soul) to summon storms.
- Jeremy (in Jessica’s body) – Utilizing Beast Tamer to call wild creatures as fodder, Skill Share to mimic archers.
- Royal Knights (led by Siris’s copy) – Dog of War boosts their defensive strength exponentially when protecting allies.
- Lyra’s copy – Holy Prayer support (barriers, healing light).
2. STEALTH TEAM (BACKSTAB SPECIAL)
- Mara – Moonlight Dance makes her untraceable in shadows. Her mission: slit throats, plant cursed explosives (stolen by Cara).
- Hailey – ??? (Still won’t reveal her blessing, but insists she can "handle the witch").
- Alex – Carrying Reverse Engineered coven relics to disarm traps mid-siege.
3. WILDCARD
- Cara – Silvertongue will impersonate a fleeing Duskreach cultist to sow chaos in Seraphine’s ranks.
- Ms. Petrov – Discipline Authority will override fleeing soldiers to make them fight harder for you.
- Victoria’s copy – Using Shadowweave to telepathically sync the teams’ movements.
---
The Plan in Motion:
- Phase 1: You and Jeremy’s team trigger the coven’s wards with a literal storm of lightning and beasts, drawing Seraphine’s attention.
- Phase 2: Mara and Hailey infiltrate during the chaos, aiming for the ritual heart of the ruins.
- Phase 3: If Seraphine emerges, You unleash everything*.
The queen seals the plan by slicing her palm and smearing blood across the map. "For Lifire."
Hailey leans in as the others disperse. "Hey. Don’t die before we have that talk."
You smirk. "Wasn’t planning on it."
---
"You start the attack at night.}
Midnight Assault – Duskreach Ruins
The night swallows the valley whole as you stand at the edge of the ruins, the skeletons of blackened towers clawing at the starless sky. The air reeks of spoiled magic and wet earth—like a storm left to rot.
"Ready?" you murmur to Jeremy (still riding Jessica’s body like a stolen bicycle).
He grins, rolling her shoulders. "Born ready."
You raise a hand. The shadows coil around your fingers—Victoria’s Shadowweave—then Elara’s Stormcaller crackles in your veins.
You strike.
---
### PHASE 1: DISTRACTION SQUAD GOES LOUD
- Your opening move: A thunderclap so violent it shatters the ruins’ outer wards. Lightning forks from your fingertips, searing glyphs into the ground as the earth itself trembles.
- Jeremy-in-Jessica cups her hands around her mouth and shrieks—Beast Tamer’s power sending a wave of howls erupting from the forest. Wolves, bears, even a very confused griffin come stampeding toward the coven.
- Lyra’s copy raises her arms, golden light flaring as Holy Prayer shields the royal knights—just as the first volley of cursed arrows rains down from the towers.
From the depths of the ruins, a laugh echoes—honeyed and horrible.
"Little heroes." Seraphine’s voice is everywhere at once, the shadows pooling into a towering figure above the broken spires. "You brought me toys!"
---
### PHASE 2: STEALTH TEAM MOVES
- Mara is already gone—just a flicker of motion in the periphery, Moonlight Dance making her a ghost among ghosts.
- Hailey cracks her knuckles, then bolts toward a side passage—not sneaking. Sprinting. Like she wants to be seen.
- Alex ducks behind a pillar, her stolen coven relic humming as she Reverse Engineers the ruin’s traps one by one.
---
### SERAPHINE STRIKES BACK
The shadow-figure descends, her form solidifying into a woman with Seraphine’s face—but wrong. Too many teeth. Eyes like pits. She flicks a wrist, and the ground erupts with skeletal hands, dragging three knights under in seconds.
"I’ve tasted your souls already," she croons, lashing a whip of violet fire toward you. "Let’s see how you burn—"
---
{Counter with a mix of Stormcaller and Hearthfire.}
You dig your heels into the cracked earth and let go.
Stormcaller erupts first—a spear of white-hot lightning lancing from the sky straight toward Seraphine’s whip of violet fire. The collision shatters the darkness, the concussion wave sending cultists flying like ragdolls.
But lightning alone won’t be enough.
So you reach deeper—to Lena’s Hearthfire, warm and steady in your chest. The flames that spill from your palms aren’t destructive; they’re living. They coil around the lightning like a lover’s embrace, turning the raw fury of the storm into something worse for Seraphine—purification.
Her whip screams as the flames crawl up its length, a sound like glass breaking in reverse. The shadow-figure recoils, her form flickering—
"You ignorant child—" she snarls, but the Hearthfire doesn’t stop. It spreads, clinging to her essence like holy kerosene.
---
### HAILEY’S GAMBIT
While Seraphine’s distracted, Hailey leaps onto the central ritual altar—where a pulsing, blackened heart throbs with cursed energy. She doesn’t hesitate.
She stabs it.
Not with a blade.
With her bare hand.
For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then—
Hailey’s body convulses, her spine arching as black veins explode across her skin.
"Huh," she grits out, grinning through the pain. "Guess Corruption Eater works on god-tier curses too."
---
{Unleash a fully mixed version of the Blessings inside of you.}
You don’t hesitate.
"Everyone back!" you roar—then let go of every limit.
The souls inside you scream in unison as you force their blessings to merge:
- Stormcaller’s lightning twists with Hearthfire’s purity, becoming a storm that burns but does not consume.
- Holy Prayer’s golden light fuses with Shadowweave’s darkness, creating a paradox—shadows that heal, light that blinds.
- Moonlight Dance’s agility melds with Dog of War’s endurance, turning your body into a weapon of impossible precision.
The power ruptures out of you in a tidal wave of contradiction, a kaleidoscope of magic that should not exist.
It hits Seraphine like a fist of god.
Her shadow-form shatters, her scream fracturing into a thousand echoes as the merged blessings unmake her. The ruins quake, the sky splits, and for a single, blinding moment—
The curse breaks.
A pulse of golden light washes over the land, the withered trees groaning as life floods back into their roots. The knights gasp as old wounds close; the air itself sings.
And then—
Hailey collapses, the black veins receding from her skin as the last of the curse dissipates from her body.
---
{You pass out, the last you hear is someone calling you, "Dumbass."}
Darkness swallows you whole—but not before you hear Hailey’s voice, fond and exasperated, cutting through the fog:
"Dumbass."
Then—nothing.
---
### AWAKENING
You come to in a sunlit room, the scent of herbs and fresh linen thick in the air. Your body aches like you’ve been trampled by a cavalry, but you’re alive.
"Took you long enough," Hailey mutters from the chair beside your bed. There’s a bandage peeking under her sleeve, her old injury freshly stitched—but she’s smirking. "You’ve been out for three days. The queen’s been freaking out."
Kestra’s soul stirs in your mind, groggy but smug. "Oh good. We’re not dead."
Through the window, you see a kingdom healing—men and women working side by side in the fields, children laughing in streets no longer shadowed by plague.
---
{Check your soul. "Everyone okay. (Each merged soul answers back in an uniquely them way.)}
You close your eyes and reach inward, listening to the choir of souls housed within you—each responding in turn:
- Kestra purrs like a satisfied cat: "Oh honey, I’m fantastic. Especially now that we’re local heroes."
- Lena’s voice is warm as ever: "We’re all here. And… it’s kind of nice, honestly. Like a really weird sleepover."
- Victoria cackles: "Ugh. Do not make it sound wholesome. But yeah, I’m good."
- Lyra chimes in, bright as a hymn: "Divine blessings intact! Though, ah… please never do that again?"
- Siris grunts: "Still standing. And pissed I missed the final fight."
- Mara sighs dreamily: "Watching you annihilate a centuries-old curse? Best job I ever had."
- Elara hums, regal but amused: "Mother sends her regards. Also, she might adopt you."
Hailey raises a brow as you smirk. "What?"
"Just taking roll call," you say.
She snorts. "Freak."
---
{"So about that talk." You say. And the two of talk about every for the rest of the day}
The two of you talk—really talk—for the first time in years.
Hailey sits on the edge of your bed, sunlight streaming through the window as she unpacks it all: the anger, the grief, the way she hated you for leaving but missed you anyway. You tell her about the guilt, the therapy, the way your parents’ "fixes" only made it worse. There are tears. There’s yelling. There’s a very awkward moment when Jeremy tries to barge in with a tray of "emotional support snacks" and gets a pillow thrown at his head.
But by the time the sun sets, something unclenches in your chest.
"So," Hailey says, kicking her feet up on your mattress. "What now? You’re basically a demigod here. I’m stuck in Fantasyland with zero marketable skills. Do we, like… rebuild?"
Kestra’s soul pipes up: "Or we conquer. Just saying."
Hailey rolls her eyes. "I heard that."
---
{"Even if a way home is found I think I will stay here. My plan is to travel the world, helping those that need it. Your welcome to join me." You tell her.
She shakes her head, "I have people who need me, but you need someone to keep you alive, so let this me join your little collection and the copy can go home in my place. My copy can even say she met you in passing and she learned the truth and made up with you." She replies.
(Scene ends with you on a pier about to start your travels. Everyone is there to see you off.)}
### FINAL SCENE: THE PIER
The morning sun glitters on the harbor as you stand at the edge of the dock, sea breeze tugging at your cloak. The entire crew—your crew—has gathered to see you off:
- Jeremy is in (reluctant) possession of a seagull, flapping wildly as he squawks about "optimal wind currents."
- Jessica rolls her eyes but hands you a carefully wrapped bundle of supplies. "Try not to drown."
- Lena’s copy hugs you tight, whispering, "She likes you, you know." (You pretend not to hear.)
- Ms. Petrov gives you a rare smile. "Try not to destroy any more kingdoms."
- Alex shoves a sketchy-looking homemade compass into your hands. "It might lead to other cursed artifacts. Or explode. 50/50."
- Cara winks. "If you find any shiny cursed artifacts, I get first dibs."
- The queen clasps your shoulder. "Lifire will always shelter you."
Then there’s Hailey—or rather, the copy of Hailey, who gives you a cheeky salute before turning back toward the palace. The real Hailey is already inside you, her soul settling alongside the others with a contented sigh.
"Alright, loser," she murmurs in your mind. "Where to first?"
You grin, adjusting your bag.
"Wherever the wind takes us."
And as the ship pulls away from the dock, Kestra’s voice—ever the opportunist—chirps:
"I call dibs on the first treasure hoard we find."
---
{You return from your travels a couple of years later, (with a pirate captain named Elizabeth and a Blind Shrine Maiden named Sakura added into your collection), to ask the Queen for help. "Seraphina and her curse were a pawn and worse than that, we found another pawn with an equally deadly curse. Its located in the Icey Kingdom in the North, contained for now. If that was already bad enough, I suspect that there are others. One for each of the seven kindoms."
(Elizabeth's copy was executed a week after you added her, Sakura's copy was killed in a robbery after you added her.
Elizabeth's Blessing: Tiderider
Sakura's Blessing: Seer)}
RETURN TO LIFIRE – TWO YEARS LATER
The palace guards stiffen as you stride through the gilded gates—older, wearier, and flanked by two new souls whispering in your mind:
- Elizabeth, the tempest-eyed pirate captain, whose Tiderider blessing lets her command waves like a vengeful siren. "Ugh. Royalty. Hope the queen’s got decent booze this time."
- Sakura, the blind shrine maiden, her Seer blessing humming with eerie prescience. "The northern ice is already cracking… We’re not fast enough."
Queen Isolda rises from her throne, her gaze sharpening at your grim expression. "You look like death walking."
You toss a frost-rimed journal onto the marble floor—pages splayed to reveal sketches of a glacier prison, its dark core pulsing with the same cursed energy as Seraphine’s ruins.
"Seraphine was a pawn," you say. "And we found another. The Ice Kingdom’s barely containing theirs. I’d bet my soul there’s five more."
Princess Elara’s soul recoils. "A network of curses?"
Hailey’s voice is taut. "This just became a global problem."
---
{"Petrov, do you remember the seven sins?" You ask.}
Ms. Petrov's eyes narrow, her fingers tightening around her ledger. "Pride, Greed, Wrath, Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth," she recites, her voice sharp. "You think Seraphine's curse was just one piece of a larger system?"
You nod. "And not just any system—an engineered one." You flip the frost-crusted journal open to a page where Sakura's meticulous notes map out the seven kingdoms—each with a curse manifesting differently, but all carrying the same taint.
"Seraphine was Wrath," you say, tapping the sketch of her ruins. "The Ice Kingdom's curse? Gluttony. It doesn't just kill—it consumes, leaving frozen husks."
Kestra's soul hisses. "So some psycho built a world-ending machine out of sins?"
Hailey, restless in your mind, adds, "And we’ve got front-row seats to the collapse."
---
{"You majesty, to the best of your knowledge which sin would fit each kingdom, given what we currently know." You ask.}
The queen hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of her throne as she consults centuries of kingdom lore. "If we follow the pattern..."
She lists them, one by one:
1. Lifire (Wrath) – "An all-consuming vengeance. Seraphine’s curse burned inward, killing men first, then the land itself."
2. The Ice Reaches (Gluttony) – "The northern reports speak of villages vanishing overnight—swallowed by the snow, as if hungry."
3. The Verdant Expanse (Envy) – "Their crops grow unnaturally abundant, but those who eat them wither, coveting the health of their neighbors."
4. The Ashwind Dominion (Pride) – "Their rulers never age, never fall ill… but their people crumble to dust at their feet. A supreme arrogance."5. The Chainbreaker Isles (Greed) – "Pirate lords hoard cursed gold, drowning in it. Ships vanish into their coves, never to return."
6. The Hollow Delta (Lust) – "Bewitchments so potent they dissolve minds. Victims waste away chasing phantoms."
7. The Bastion of Stone (Sloth) – "A kingdom where time itself crawls. Citizens lie down one day… and never rise."
A chilling silence follows.
Sakura’s soul trembles. "Seven curses. Seven thrones. A perfect circle of ruin."
---
{"I plan to return to the Ice Reaches because I promised to help them, Hailey's Corruption Eater combined with Lena's Hearthfire gave a fighting chance. If you could spare a summoner so they can preform a summoning ritual, it would be apreciated. Also Petrov, you might be the best suited to aid the Hollow Delta, I would take a summoner as well. What I have learned is the summoning ritual does respond to intent."}
The queen exhales sharply, her fingers tightening around the arms of her throne before she gives a single, decisive nod. "You’ll have your summoners. And you’re right—intent shapes the ritual." She glances at Ms. Petrov. "Discipline Authority will be vital in the Delta. If their curse seduces minds, then command may be the only counterbalance."
Ms. Petrov adjusts her glasses with a faint smirk. "Finally, a civilization that needs a stern lecture."
One of the younger summoners—Lyra’s former apprentice—steps forward, clutching a grimoire to her chest. "I’ll go to the Ice Reaches with you," she says, trying (and failing) to hide the tremor in her voice. "I-it’s not like we’ve got better options."
"And I, Dyena" rumbles a grizzled summoner with a scar over one eye, "will endure the Delta’s charms." He nods to Ms. Petrov. "Try not to discipline me by accident."
Hailey’s soul stirs, restless. "So we’re splitting the party. Classic horror-movie rules. What could go wrong?"
Kestra’s laugh is all teeth. "Ohhh, this’ll be fun."
---
{Before you leave you ask about the rest of your class.}
"And my classmates?" You ask, chest tightening at the thought. "How are they?"
The queen's expression softens—just slightly—as she gestures for an attendant to hand you a scroll of reports.
### STATUS OF YOUR CLASS:
- Jeremy: Now the royal "Isekai Consultant" (a job he definitely invented). Uses Skill Share to train knights and avoid actual work. (Still flirts with Jessica daily.)
- Jessica: Runs the kingdom’s fledgling Beast Tamer Corps. Her direwolf pups are almost as terrifying as her glare when Jeremy’s being an idiot.
- Lena (Copy): Oversees Lifire’s restored farmlands with Hearthfire, coaxing life from once-blighted soil. (Still blushes when your name comes up.)
- Victoria (Copy): Leads the "Nightweavers"—elite spies using Shadowweave to infiltrate rival courts. (Very invested in blackmail.)
- Cara: Now the queen’s "diplomat" (read: professional swindler). Uses Silvertongue to negotiate outrageously favorable trade deals.
- Alex: Head of the Arcane Research Division. Currently devising a way to "weaponize" Reverse Engineer. (The queen is concerned.)
- Ms. Petrov: Promoted to Grand Inquisitor. Her Discipline Authority keeps the royal court in line. (No one dares skip meetings now.)
"Alive," the queen summarizes. "Thriving, even. And your stunt with the goddess made them all... louder."
Kestra’s soul preens. "Good. They’re all our legacy now."
---
{Send a letter, telling of the situation. You and your assigned summoner leave later that same day.}
Your pen moves swiftly across parchment, detailing the discovery of the seven curses—Wrath already felled, Gluttony looming in the north, five more lurking like coiled serpents. You leave out the worst of your suspicions (the architect, the scale of the doom) but make it clear: this is far from over. The letters are sealed with a drop of Hearthfire, ensuring only their intended recipients can break the wax.
As the sun dips below the palace walls, you shoulder your pack—now laden with frost-warding charms and the young summoner’s grimoire. Your assigned summoner, Ryn, clutches her staff with white-knuckled determination. "...Do you really think we can stop this?"
Elizabeth’s soul laughs darkly. "We’ll drown the curse in salt and blood if we have to."
Sakura whispers: "The ice is already sighing. We must hurry."
With a final glance at Lifire’s glittering towers, you step onto the northern road.
---
{As Elizabeth's crew tske you back North, Ryn comes up beside you. "Would be alright if I join Big Sis Lyra "}
The moment the words leave Ryn's mouth, Lyra's soul practically vibrates with joy inside you, her divine warmth pulsing like an overexcited heartbeat.
"YES! Oh, please say yes—! Wait, no, don’t pressure her—but also yes—"
You smirk. "Lyra’s already drafting the adoption papers in my head."
Ryn blinks, then grins—bold for the first time since the palace. "Then it’s settled." She presses her palm to your chest, eyes fluttering shut as she murmurs the binding words of the merging ritual.
The moment her soul slips into yours, Lyra tackles her with a psychic hug.
"Welcome to the chaos, little sister!"
Kestra sighs. "We’re running a soul orphanage now? Fine. But I get to teach her to pick locks."
Elizabeth’s voice cuts through the chatter, sharp as a cutlass: "Enough squawking. Ice ahead."
Sure enough, the horizon bleeds into a wall of impossible glaciers, their jagged peaks biting the sky—and deep within, something gnaws at its chains.
---
{"Hey Lucy, can I borrow a smite." You say invoking Lyra's blessing, The Goddess (Lucina, she told you one day during your travels) humors you.}
You raise your hands toward the sky, channeling Lyra’s Holy Prayer, and call out with a grin:
"Hey Lucy—can I borrow a smite?"
For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then—
A titanic, glowing foot crushes a nearby iceberg into powder as the goddess Lucina materializes mid-air—though "materializes" might be generous, given that she immediately trips on her own robe and faceplants into the deck.
"Ow," she grumbles, rubbing her nose as she floats upright. "You’re lucky I was already watching. Also, since when do mortals nickname me?!"
Ryn (the newest soul in your collection) squeaks. "We’re casual with a deity?!"
Kestra smirks. "Oh, just wait till you see what’s next."
Lucina rolls her eyes—then freezes as she senses the wrongness bleeding from the glacier ahead. Her usual air of divine whimsy evaporates.
"...Oh. That’s Gluttony?" She shudders. "It reeksss of old magic. Not mine. Older."
---
{"There's five others." You tell her.}
Lucina’s glowing eyes widen, her usual clumsiness momentarily forgotten as the weight of your words settles over her. The air around her shimmers with agitated divine energy, like disturbed water.
"Five more?" Her voice drops to a whisper—something you’ve never heard from her before. "That’s not just a curse. That’s a weapon. A scalpel." She floats closer, her fingers twitching toward the glacier. "Someone shaped this. And they had to be…" She hesitates, then looks truly unsettled. "Stronger than me."
A cold that has nothing to do with the ice slithers down your spine.
Kestra’s soul is uncharacteristically quiet. "...Shit."
Hailey’s voice is grim. "Yeah. Shit."
---
{"Doesn't change the plan, we still have to end the curses. But at least we have scale of the problem now." You grunt.}
Lucina stares at you for a long moment—then bursts into laughter, the sound like silver bells and shattering ice. "Mortals. Truly my favorite kind of disaster." She flicks a hand, and a ripple of golden light punches a hole straight through the glacier ahead, exposing its pulsing, blackened core.
"There. A door." She grins. "Now go stab the problem until it stops moving."
Before you can react, she boops your forehead—her blessing flaring in your veins like liquid sunlight—and vanishes, leaving behind only the echo of her voice:
"P.S. If you die, I’ll bring you back just to yell at you."
Hailey’s soul cracks her knuckles. "Alright. Let’s eat a curse."
---
{"ANYONE NOT NECESSARY FOR NAVIGATION, GUARD RYN UNTIL THE HERO IS SUMMONED." You shout out the order as frozen undead creatures begin to board.}
### BATTLE FOR THE RITUAL
Your voice booms across the deck, cutting through the howling winds. Instantly, the crew snaps into action.
- Elizabeth’s pirates form a steel ring around Ryn, cutlasses and pistols glinting under the shifting auroras.
- Sakura’s soul flares inside you—her Seer blessing casting ghostly premonitions that let the crew strike where the undead will be, not where they are.
- Hailey braces beside you, crackling with Corruption Eater’s volatile energy. "I’ll bite anything that gets too close."
Then the ice-walkers come.
Shambling corpses with frosted, hollowed-out ribs and eyes like frozen voids swarm the ship’s railings. Their jaws unhinge with a sound like splintering glaciers, and the very air around them sags—as if reality itself is being consumed.
Ryn’s voice shakes as she chants, the summoning circle at her feet flaring brighter. "I—I need two more minutes—"
A towering undead lurches past the defenders, its claw swiping for her—
---
{You intercept letting Hailey's Blessing flow through you. The hero summoned is Eric (now allowed to be summoned), who because of your intent has knowledge of the situation at hand}
### FROSTBITE AND FURY
You hurl yourself in front of Ryn, Kestra’s body twisting mid-air to take the undead’s full strike—raking claws bury into your torso, an immediate, gnawing cold seeping into your core. The curse burns like swallowed knives, but—
Hailey’s power erupts through you.
Black veins spiderweb across your skin as Corruption Eater locks onto Gluttony’s curse—devouring the decay before it can consume you. The undead’s hollow eyes widen as its stolen energy is ripped backward, surging into you instead. Its body shatters into brittle frost.
Ryn’s scream cuts through the chaos: "IT’S DONE!"
The summoning circle implodes with blinding light—and Eric tumbles onto the deck.
---
### HERO SUMMONED: ERIC
He looks exactly like he did in class—muscled, cocky, already scowling. But his glare snaps to the undead horde, his body instinctively shifting into a fighter’s stance. "Oh, hell no."
His blessing flares to life above his palm—a swirling sigil of Brute’s Will (passive: grows stronger the longer he’s in combat). "So. We punch the cursed snow zombies?"
Ryn pants, grinning wildly. "YES."
---
{After the fight, as your docking.
You ask about Earth.
Eric explains that 15 years have gone by since the class was intially summoned, leaving only him behind. "The class was declared dead, since no one came back. But thanks to Haliey's copy, who returned a year after with letters from you all, the fate of the class was finally reveal. I was angry at first, that despite the summoning being meant only for the girls, you and the idiot still got sucked up but then I heard you both lost your bodies so the summon could work I became glad I wasn't included."}
### AFTERMATH – THE HARBOR OF FROZEN TEARS
The ship groans as it scrapes against the glacial dock, the remnants of the undead horde now shattered across the ice like discarded glass. The air still hums with residual curse-energy, but the immediate threat is over—for now. Eric leans against the railing beside you, his breath fogging in the subzero air, his Brute’s Will blessing still pulsing faintly under his skin.
The revelation about Earth sits heavy between you.
"Fifteen years..." You exhale, watching the mist curl and vanish. "We’ve only been here for three."**
Eric’s jaw tightens. "Time’s fucked. No one knows why, but the portal screwed with it. Everyone back home thought you were gone—until Hailey’s copy showed up with your letters." He scoffs, but there’s no real heat in it. "At least the families got closure. Well. Most of ‘em."
A pause.
"Jessica’s parents cried when they read hers."
You don’t ask about your own.
Kestra’s soul whispers, "...Damn."
---
THE NEW REALITY:
- Earth moved on. You were mourned. Now? You’re legends in two worlds.
- Eric’s here for good. His blessing makes him stronger the longer he fights—perfect for Gluttony’s endless siege.
- Hailey’s copy lied smoothly. She spun a tale of "heroic sacrifices" and "otherworldly duties," ensuring no one searched for you.
---
{"Alright there's a local that helped me get out that I'm gonna regroup with. He and sister should help you get to the curse bearer." You say steering the conversation back to the curse.}
Eric shrugs, his breath puffing in the frigid air. "Yeah, sure. But just so we're clear—I'm not calling you 'Oh Mighty Slime King' just because you're technically older than me now."
You snort, leading the way down the icy dock toward the ramshackle outpost clinging to the glacier's edge. "His name's Jorvik. Runs supplies between the frozen hellholes up here. His sister, Ylva, is a Berzerker—blessing lets her weaponize cold damage."
Hailey’s soul perks up. "Wait. You befriended a berserker and a smuggler in the two weeks you were here before?"
Kestra cackles. "Duh. We’re likable."
As you approach the moss-chinked wooden doors of the Froststead Inn, a hulking figure draped in frost-laced furs throws them open—Jorvik. His beard is half-frozen, his grin sharp as a wolf's.
"Back already, slippery one?" he booms. "And you brought more doomed heroes! Wonderful!" Behind him, a woman with twin ice-axes glares—Ylva, her breath steaming like a kettle.
"The curse is waking up," she snaps. "You’re just in time to die."
---
{"Eric here was summoned and giving a blessing that makes him ideal to fight Lich King Dravagoth." You tell the pair.}
Ylva's frost-crusted eyelashes narrow as she studies Eric, sizing him up like a cut of meat. "Brute’s Will. Tch. Fine. He’ll last longer than the others."
Jorvik slaps Eric’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him—which, given Eric’s build, is impressive. "Hah! A man who grows stronger the more he’s beaten? Dravagoth will hate you."
Eric scowls, rubbing his arm. "Yeah, great. Love being the bait."
"Not bait," Ylva corrects, hefting her axes. "The distraction." She points to a jagged fissure in the glacier’s face, pulsing with an eerie violet glow. "Dravagoth’s lair is there. Every time we’ve gotten close, his hunger-magic drains us before we land a hit. But you?" She nods to Eric. "The more he takes, the harder you’ll hit back."
Kestra’s soul hums. "Ohhh, so we’re angry-sandwiching him. Classic."
---
{You ask about the failed heroes, "Maybe they didn't have die in vain. Their deaths can tell us about how the curse bearer fights."}
Jorvik and Ylva exchange a glance before the burly supply-runner wipes the frozen snot from his beard with a sigh.
"Four parties tried before you," Jorvik rumbles. "They all made the same mistake—they thought strength alone could break him."
Ylva strides to a battered chest in the corner and kicks it open, revealing four bloodstained weapons, each warped by grotesque frost patterns:
1. A shattered greatsword – "Thurgen. Got three swings in before his muscles withered to rags."
2. A snapped spear – "Liss. Dravagoth ate her mid-lunge. Left the wood."
3. Melted gauntlets – "Torbin. His fire blessing turned inward. Burned his own ribs out."
4. A hollowed-out shield – "Jora. Lasted longest—her defense became his feast."
Eric pales slightly. "So he... consumes strength?"
"Not just strength," Ylva growls. "Effort. Will. Hope. The harder you fight, the richer his meal."
Kestra’s soul goes unnaturally still. "...That’s not just Gluttony. That’s Despair masquerading as hunger."
---
{You watch as Eric picks up each relic, you can see the echoes of others forming behind him. You realize something, "Eric, your just like Jeremy and I, you collect rage. You were still touched by the portal before you were denied."}
Eric freezes—literally, ice crackling along his knuckles where he grips Thurgen’s greatsword. The air around him wavers with spectral heat, and for a fleeting moment, the shadows of the fallen heroes seem to solidify behind him—their postures tense, their faces contorted in battle cries.
Then it’s gone.
"...The fuck?" Eric’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet.
You step closer, watching the residual energy coil around him like a second skin. "The summoning marked you, same as me and Jeremy. You didn’t cross over, but the portal licked you on the way past. That’s not just Brute’s Will—it’s Wrath’s Legacy."
Jorvik whistles. "A collector of fallen fury. Now that’s a king-killer’s blessing."
Ylva’s axes gleam as she steps into Eric’s space. "Can you use them? The echoes?"
A slow, vicious grin spreads across Eric’s face as the greatsword’s hilt creaks in his grip. "Oh, I’m real motivated to try."
---
"Eric tests his collection, and Thurgen appears to explains to Eric the nature of his collection."
Eric clenches the shattered greatsword tighter—and suddenly, the air ripples like disturbed water. A ghostly figure materializes beside him, clad in the same battered armor as the weapon’s owner once wore.
Thurgen’s Echo stands solid despite his translucent form, his voice gruff but clear. "Boy. You’re holding my rage now." He flexes spectral fingers. "Dravagoth didn’t just kill me—he savored it. Left me alive long enough to taste my despair as my muscles wasted." The echo's eyes burn with cold fire. "But rage outlasts flesh."
He slams a fist against Eric’s chest—not to harm, but to ignite.
Eric gasps as Thurgen’s fury floods into him, his Brute’s Will flaring crimson. His muscles swell with borrowed strength, veins bulging with the echo’s vengeance.
"Holy shit," Eric breathes.
Thurgen’s grin is lethal. "Now imagine all four of us."
One by one, the other fallen heroes step forward—their phantom hands reaching to lend their wrath.
---
{"This changes things." You say.}
The room seems to hum with the weight of revelation—Eric standing there, crackling with borrowed fury, the fallen warriors’ echoes flickering around him like vengeful ghosts. Hailey’s voice in your mind is uncharacteristically subdued.
"So we’re not just breaking the curse. We’re giving the dead their vengeance too."
Jorvik lets out a booming laugh. "Hah! Now I see why the gods spat you lot into our world." He claps Eric’s shoulder—harder this time—knocking loose a few snowflakes of lingering frost. "You’re not just fighting the Lich King. You’re his reckoning."
Ylva, who’d been silently gripping her axes, finally smirks. "Fine. New plan. Eric lures Dravagoth into the open by pissing him off—"
"How is that different from my usual routine?" Eric mutters.
"—while you," she continues, ignoring him and pointing at you, "slip inside his defenses when he’s distracted. His hunger will be a weapon against him this time."
Kestra’s soul practically vibrates with excitement. "Oh, this is delicious. A lich getting outplayed by his own curse."
---
{You realize something, "Hey Lucy, are Eric, Jeremy and I gonna ascend?" She appears and considers your question. "Jeremy could qualify as a god of thieves, Eric would qualify as a god of rage or battle, and you would qualify as a god of souls or bonds."}
Lucina materializes mid-air—only this time, she doesn’t trip. Instead, she hovers there, silver hair drifting as if underwater, her gaze suddenly older than the glaciers outside.
"Oh. You noticed."
She spins lazily, tapping her chin. "Jeremy, absolutely. The little gremlin’s already halfway to godhood just by how annoyingly he exploits his powers. God of Thieves? Trickier? Either works."
Her eyes flick to Eric. "And you—" She gestures at the lingering echoes around him. "—Rage and Retribution fit like a glove. Maybe even War, if you survive the next century."
Then she grins at you. "As for you, Soul-Hoarding Wonder... yeah. You’re already Ascended in all but title. Bonds, Souls, maybe even Legacy."
A beat.
"But." She holds up a finger. "You don’t want it yet. Gods don’t get to play like mortals do. Rules and all that."
Kestra’s soul sighs. "Ugh. Divine paperwork."
---
{"As long as these curses still exist, I'm not interested in ascention. It just seemed like we are meant to with only us three getting collections."}
Lucina's lips quirk into a knowing smile, her divine presence flickering like candlelight. "Smart. True gods can't directly interfere with mortal curses—too many rules. But you? You're still gloriously, chaotically mortal enough to break the unbreakable." Her grin turns sharp. "Fate hates that. It's hilarious."
She flicks Eric's forehead as she fades out. "Go wreck a lich, then. We'll chat about godhood after you've finished cheating destiny."
Kestra's voice curls in your mind, smug. "Oh, we're so keeping her as our patron goddess."
Hailey sighs. "Great. Now we have to win, or we'll look like assholes in front of divinity."
---
{"Okay Eric runs as bait and the main attacker, he keeps Dravagoth attention. I run support with Corruption Eater and Heartfire. Everyone else just keeps the fodder off of us." You go over the plan.}
Ylva nods sharply, hefting her axes. "Bait and blade. Bold. I like it."
Jorvik chuckles, cracking his knuckles. "Aye, we’ll keep the gnawing dead off your backs. Just don’t die before the fun part."
Eric rolls his shoulders, the echoes of fallen heroes solidifying around him like a spectral war banner. "Alright, fuck it. Let’s piss off a lich."
### THE ASSAULT BEGINS
You breach Dravagoth’s lair—a cavern of living ice, its walls pulsing with a sickly violet glow. The moment you step inside, the air thins, as if the very atmosphere is being consumed.
Then he appears.
Dravagoth is emaciated, his skeletal frame draped in robes of frozen shadows, his jaw unhinging too wide as he smiles. "Ah. Dessert."
---
PHASE 1: ERIC DISTRACTION
Eric charges, Thurgen’s greatsword swinging in a blazing arc. Dravagoth laughs as the blade bites into his ribs—then steals the strike’s strength, his hollow chest swelling with stolen vigor.
"Pathetic," the lich croons—until Eric grins.
"Yeah? Eat this."
The four echoes detonate their wrath at once. Dravagoth screeches as the combined fury of his past victims rips through him, ice fracturing under the assault.
---
PHASE 2: YOUR MOVE
While the lich is staggered, you lunge, Hailey’s Corruption Eater flaring black in your grip. Dravagoth’s hunger instinctively reaches for it—
Mistake.
The curse reverses, his own power now feeding into Hailey’s blessing like a siphon. The lich’s eyes widen as his essence is force-vomited back into him, corrupted and searing.
"Now, Lena!" you shout.
Hearthfire erupts from your other palm—not to burn, but to purge. The flames scour the curse from Dravagoth’s core, leaving him hollow, brittle, gasping.
---
PHASE 3: FINISHER
Ylva’s axe shatters his spine.
Jorvik’s spear pins his skull to the ice.
Eric’s fist obliterates his ribcage.
And with a whisper, Sakura’s Seer blessing seals the curse away—"No more feasts."
The glacier groans... then falls silent.
---
AFTERMATH
Eric collapses, panting, the echoes saluting him before fading into peace.
Hailey’s soul staggers in your mind. "Ugh. I think I just ate a king."
Jorvik whistles at the corpse. "Huh. Looks smaller dead."
Kestra cackles. "Five curses to go!"
---
{Ylva come up to you. "Your collection is one of the soul, is it not." You nod. "Then let my rage aid you in your fight."}
Ylva steps forward, her ice-axes gleaming under the pale northern light. She locks eyes with you, then slams the pommels of her axes together—shattering them in a burst of frost.
"A berserker's rage doesn't die with the body," she growls. "If my soul fuels the next fight—take it."
Her breath ghosts between you, sharp as a knife’s edge. "But swear to me—when the last of these curses breaks, you'll let me go."
The weight of her offer settles over the group. Jorvik grimaces but doesn’t stop her. Eric wipes blood from his lip, nodding in respect.
And in your mind, Sakura’s soul whispers: "She won’t survive this war otherwise. She knows."
---
{"Once you merge with my soul that's it, an exact copy of your soul is left in your body to continue your life, while your real soul becomes a part of the chorus of voices." You explain.}
Ylva’s eyes narrow, her breath frosting in the air between you. Then, with a brutal, almost relieved laugh, she slams a fist against her chest.
"Even better. Means I get to watch you win."
She doesn’t wait for your reply. One moment she’s standing before you, axe-scars and battle-lust etched into every line of her body—the next, your slime-form surges forward, swallowing her in a shimmering veil. The merger is violent, her soul kicking like a wild thing before settling into place among the others.
Her voice rings clear in your mind a second later, sharp as a whetstone:
"Took you long enough. Now—let’s go gut the next curse."
A beat.
"...And tell my brother stop crying."
Jorvik, indeed, has a single tear freezing on his beard. He swats it away with a growl. "Shut up, you ice-brained wench. I’ll drink your share of the victory ale."
Ylva’s copy—now standing where she once was—flips him off.
---
IMMEDIATE EFFECTS:
- New Blessing Added: Winter’s Howl – Channel Ylva’s berserker fury to amplify physical strikes with glacial force.
- New Voice in the Chorus: Ylva’s commentary is 80% battle tactics, 20% insults.
- Jorvik Now Allies Permanently ("Someone’s gotta keep her ghost in line.")
---
{"I think, I'll stay here for now. Train my rage and collection." Eric tells you. You nod, "I'm heading to the Hollow next, I get the feeling Petrov needs some help." You tell him.}
Eric nods, clenching his fist as the lingering echoes of fallen warriors flicker around him like phantom flames. "Yeah, I’ll get stronger. Make damn sure the next time we fight, I carry the weight." He smirks. "And try not to die before I get there, Soul Boy."
Ylva’s soul scoffs in your mind. "He’ll need more than rage to keep up with us."
Jorvik slings a barrel of ale onto his shoulder. "C’mon, you lumbering oaf. Battle training starts after we drink to my sister’s stubbornness."
---
### ONWARD TO THE HOLLOW DELTA
You turn south, where tangled vines and murky whispers await—toward the kingdom rotting under Lust’s curse. The thought of Ms. Petrov trapped in that honeyed nightmare sends a chill through you.
Kestra stretches luxuriously in your mind. "Ooooh, time to ruin some romantic delusions."
Hailey groans. "Ugh. I’d rather fight more zombies."
---
As Elizabeth's crew sails to the Hollow, you reflect on yourself. (List all merged souls in order with their blessing.)
### YOUR CURRENT COLLECTION OF SOULS & BLESSINGS:
1. Kestra (Thief’s Guile) – Master of stealth, lockpicking, and "asset relocation." Voice: Smug and eternally plotting.
2. Lena (Hearthfire) – Healing flames that purify rather than burn. Voice: Warm, nurturing, low-key crushing on you.
3. Victoria (Shadowweave) – Controls darkness like tangible threads. Voice: Sarcastic, flirtatious, loves drama.
4. Lyra (Holy Prayer) – Channels divine miracles. Voice: Cheerful, devout, occasionally scolds you for recklessness.
5. Siris (Dog of War) – Strength multiplies when defending others. Voice: Stoic, loyal, perpetually unimpressed.
6. Mara (Moonlight Dance) – Moves unseen; lethal precision. Voice: Playful, bloodthirsty, loves backstabbing.
7. Princess Elara (Stormcaller) – Commands wind and lightning. Voice: Regal, dryly amused, fond of sarcasm.
8. Hailey (Corruption Eater) – Devours and inverts curses. Voice: Snarky, protective, trauma-bonded.
9. Sakura (Seer) – Visions of past, present, and possible futures. Voice: Eerie, soft-spoken, ominous.
10. Elizabeth (Tiderider) – Commands waves and storms. Voice: Bold, ruthless, pirate-queen energy.
11. Ryn (Summoner’s Pact) – Enhances ritual magic and soul bonds. Voice: Nerdy, excitable, Lyra’s adopted little sister.
12. Ylva (Winter’s Howl) – Berserker rage infused with glacial force. Voice: Brutal, blunt, zero patience for cowardice without purpose.
---
CURRENT COPY SOULS (LEFT BEHIND IN THEIR BODIES):
- Lena, Victoria, Elara, Hailey, Ylva, etc. – Living their "normal" lives, aware of their true selves’ merger with you.
---
### REFLECTION:
You feel the weight—and whispers—of them all, a chorus of personalities and powers woven into your being.
Kestra snickers. "We’re a full-blown pantheon at this point."
Lyra sighs. "A very unorthodox one."
Hailey mutters, "Gods. Weirdest. Road trip. Ever."
---
{"At least with having multiple souls, Lust won't be as strong on us." You say.}
Hailey’s soul scoffs in your mind, but there’s a flicker of unease beneath the bravado. "Yeah, well, don’t get cocky. Lust isn’t just desire—it’s obsession. And it adapts."
Kestra’s chuckle is dark. "Mmm, but imagine me seducing the curse. Bet I could make it blush."
Lyra groans. "Please don’t flirt with existential corruption."
As the ship cuts through the mist-laden waters toward the Delta’s tangled shores, Sakura’s Seer blessing stirs, offering fragmented glimpses of what awaits:
- Vines that whisper your name in voices you love.
- Pools of liquid mirror showing perfect versions of your life.
- Ms. Petrov, silhouetted in a gilded cage, her Discipline Authority warped into something hungry.
Ylva’s soul growls. "Tch. Sounds annoying."
---
{"Time to rescue Petrov, if she's in danger."}
"Then let’s move fast," Hailey’s voice cuts in, sharp with urgency. "Every second we waste, the curse digs its claws deeper."
Elizabeth’s Tiderider blessing surges, the ship slicing through the water with unnatural speed as vines from the Delta’s shores twitch toward you, as if sensing fresh prey. The air thickens with the scent of overripe fruit and salt—a trap disguised as paradise.
Sakura’s whispers grow louder. "She’s in the heart of the Delta’s capital. The locals call it the Gilded Cage—a palace of mirrors and desire."
Kestra licks her lips. "Ooooh, heist time."
---
{"Lets group with the Hero Petrov would've summoned." You find Dyena slightly dazed, which you have Hailey eat before sending him.back to the ahip with instructions to leave at sunset to avoid the curse. You see the hero summoned is Victoria's Excorist Mom.}
The moment you breach the Delta’s cursed capital, you find Dyena—the summoner who accompanied Ms. Petrov—slumped against a gilded pillar, his eyes glassy and sweat-drenched, fingers twitching toward phantom whispers. Hailey doesn’t hesitate; her Corruption Eater lashes out like a striking viper, devouring the lust-curse fogging his mind. He gasps, the delirium clearing just long enough for him to rasp, "T-the Cage… she’s… still fighting—"
You send him back to the ship with orders to flee at sunset—just as the summoning circle at his feet explodes with violet light.
Out steps a woman in a tailored exorcist’s coat, her raven-black hair streaked with silver, her gloved fingers already spinning a blessed talisman.
"Oh, fantastic," Victoria’s soul groans in your head. "Mom’s here."
Exorcist Naoko cracks her neck, her gaze sweeping the rotting opulence of the Delta before landing on you. "So. You’re the soul-hoarding delinquent my daughter merged with." A smirk. "Let’s go save your teacher."
---
ADVANTAGES:
- Naoko’s Blessing: Purge Demon – Her talismans sever psychic and supernatural bonds.
- Victoria’s Trauma: "She’s scarier than the curse, just FYI."
- Kestra’s Observation: "Damn. No wonder Vicky’s kinky."
{"Sakura can you guide us to Petrov."}
Sakura’s soul shimmers within you, her Seer’s vision unfurling like a silken thread through the twisted maze of the Delta.
"She’s close," she murmurs, her voice distant, as if listening to a song only she can hear. "Past the Hall of Mirrors, where the vines coil the tightest—where the curse sings the sweetest. She resists… for now."*
Her sight cuts through the illusions, revealing the path:
- Mirrors that whisper your deepest desires—ignore them.
- Floors that shift like quicksand—step only where Sakura guides.
- A door at the hall’s end, pulsing with gilded rot—Petrov is behind it.
Naoko’s talismans already glow in her hands, her voice clipped. "Lead the way, Seer."
Kestra grins. "Love it when the scary lady’s on our side."
---
{Sneak as Naoko strikes}
"Move like shadows," Naoko murmurs, her talismans humming between her fingers.
You nod—and with Kestra’s Thief’s Guile and Mara’s Moonlight Dance, your steps become utterly silent, your form flickering at the edges like a half-remembered dream. Behind you, Naoko moves with eerie precision, her coat barely stirring as she presses a talisman to every mirror you pass, stifling their whispers before they can betray your presence.
The halls warp around you:
- A mirror offers you Lena’s copy, smiling, reaching out—Naoko slaps a talisman on it. The image shatters.
- The floor yearns to pull you under—Sakura signals the safe path with a pulse of light.
- Victoria’s shadow weave unravels behind you, casting phantom footsteps away from your true trajectory.
Then—the door. Oozing golden sap, its surface breathes.
Naoko flicks two talismans into the air. "On three. Muffle and strike."
---
{You mean to pick the lock when Naoko kicks the door in.}
"Wha—wait—!" You hiss, but it’s too late.
Naoko’s boot smashes into the gilded door with a crack like splitting bone, the wood splintering inward as her talismans detonate in tandem. The cursed sap sealing the frame screams, recoiling as her holy fire scorches it to ash.
Kestra’s outraged shriek fills your mind. "I WAS GONNA DO A COOL THING—"
The door collapses.
Inside, Ms. Petrov is not how you remember her.
Chained to a throne of entwined vines, her typically pristine blouse is undone at the collar, her lips stained with some shimmering poison, her eyes glowing violet. Her Discipline Authority has been twisted—instead of commanding order, the air around her pulses with addictive compulsion.
"Oh shit," Hailey mutters.
Petrov’s head lolls toward you, a drunk, languid smile spreading. "Daniel~ You finally came to misbehave?"
Naoko doesn’t miss a beat. "Exorcism Protocol Alpha." She flicks a talisman straight for Petrov’s forehead—
---
{Have Corruption Eater work alongside Naoko}
"Naoko! Sync with Hailey—now!" you bark.
The exorcist doesn’t hesitate. She slaps the talisman onto Petrov’s brow—not to purify, but to anchor her—as Hailey’s Corruption Eater surges forward from your fingertips like black lightning. The two powers collide inside Petrov’s psyche:
- Naoko’s purge binds the curse in place, forcing it into solid, severable strands.
- Hailey’s hunger clamps down, not just eating the corruption, but dissecting it with surgical precision.
Petrov arches off the throne, a guttural scream tearing from her throat as violet ichor seeps from her pores. The vines around her turn to brittle husks, the throne collapsing into dust—
Then it’s over.
She slumps into your arms, gasping. Her eyes, when they open, are hers again—clear, livid, and deeply embarrassed.
"...Not. A. Word," she rasps, wiping the ichor from her lips.
Naoko exhales, rolling her shoulders. "Hmph. Good job, kid."
Hailey, meanwhile, is gagging in your mind. "Ugh. Tastes like perfume and regret."
---
{Petrov asks to join your collection, "Lust will return, and its cursebearer is smart and adapts soon enough I'll be back in that state."}
Petrov straightens her rumpled blouse with trembling hands, her usual steel returning to her voice despite the exhaustion lining her face. "I won’t be a liability or a hostage again. If this curse can bend my blessing once, it’ll do worse next time." She meets your gaze, unflinching. "Merge with me. Leave my copy to rebuild the Delta’s defenses. The real me will be your weapon."
Naoko’s eyebrow arches. "Finally, someone sensible about possession."
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Even I didn’t see that coming."
---
{"Alright but can I have first name."}
Petrov glares at you, a flicker of her infamous temper cutting through the lingering haze of the curse. "It's Irina," she mutters, as if confessing to a crime. "But if you ever use it in class, detention will be eternal."
Then she steps forward, pressing her palm to your chest. "Now hurry up. We have curses to break."
The merger is swift—Discipline Authority slots into your soul-collection like a final puzzle piece, its rigid structure now laced with the stubborn resilience that’s kept Irina Petrov standing through decades of teaching hormonal teenagers and, now, world-ending schemes.
Her voice is the last to join the chorus, crisp and no-nonsense: "Prioritize efficiency. Sentiment is for after we survive."
Kestra cackles. "Welcome to the party, Irina."
Hailey groans. "Great. Now we have two moms."
---
IMMEDIATE EFFECTS:
- New Blessing: Discipline’s Edge (Commands absolute focus—yours or your enemies’).
- New Voice: "Stop slouching." / "Stop licking curses, Hailey." / "Why is there a pirate in here?!"
---
{Turn to Naoko, "So have pictures of baby Tori."
She sighs almost sadly, "All the cute ones are back home."}
Turning to Naoko with a grin, you quip, "So... got any pictures of baby Tori?"
Naoko pauses mid-talisman check, her stern composure slipping just enough for a flicker of maternal exhaustion—and fondness—to show. She sighs, almost wistfully. "All the cute ones are back home." For the briefest second, her fingers twitch toward a nonexistent pocket, as if reaching for a wallet that isn’t there.
Victoria’s soul shrieks in your head:
"OH MY GOD, MOM—NOT HERE—"
Kestra cackles. "Pfff. Ghost mom still embarrasses her."
Then Naoko’s glare shuts down the moment. "Focus. Or I will show the class her bath photos."
---
{Turn the the copy in Irina, "So how did you get caught."}
The copy of Irina Petrov—left behind in her original body—crosses her arms, her expression a mix of irritation and grudging respect. "The curse didn’t seduce me. It tricked me."
She exhales sharply, straightening her blouse with a crisp tug. "I thought I was containing it. Using my Discipline Authority to force the curse into a single host—a nobleman who’d already succumbed. But the moment I commanded it..." Her jaw tightens. "It reversed my blessing. Turned my own power against me. Instead of imposing order, I became the source of chaos."
Naoko’s eyes narrow. "Clever. It weaponized your strength."
The copy nods. "Exactly. And it’ll do the same to you if you’re not careful."
Hailey’s soul scoffs. "Joke’s on it. We’re the chaos now."
---
CRUCIAL INTEL:
- The curse inverts blessings that try to control it.
- Its bearer is watching. Adapting.
- Petrov’s copy managed to shield the Delta’s children before she was captured. ("Priorities," she mutters.)
---
{"Alright, I've had Dyena tell Elizaberh's creww to set sail at sunset to avoid falling to the curse."}
"Smart," the copy of Irina nods, her stern approval sharpening into tactical focus. "The curse is weakest at dawn and dusk—when hunger and indulgence blur. If we time our strike right, we can exploit that."
Naoko flicks a talisman between her fingers, the paper igniting briefly before she crushes it to ash. "Then we have until sunset to do real damage."
YOUR CURRENT POSITION:
- Elizabeth’s crew is already moving, the ship’s sails catching the fading light as they retreat to safer waters.
- The Delta’s capital is half-purged—its gilded vines brittle, its mirrors cracked, but the core of Lust’s curse still pulses somewhere in its heart.
- Petrov’s intel confirms the cursebearer is adapting, not fleeing.
---
{"We know Naoko blessing is uniquely tailored for the cursebearer." You say as you recount your adventure in the Reaches with Eric, how the blessing he was given was a perfect counter to Dravagoth's wear them down to kill them. "Hell even Hailey's Corruption Eater was perfect for when we fought Seraphina, as when she used it, I was given the open I need to overpower her with my blessing overload, meaning I was also likely a perect counter for Seraphina."}
The realization settles over the group like a frozen breath—those sharp, crystalline moments where purpose clicks into place.
Naoko's eyes gleam—a hunter’s recognition. "You mean the summoning planned this."
"Or something did," you say. The implications crawl up your spine, a shiver dancing along your nerves. "The goddess's 'mistake' wasn’t random. Jeremy’s Skill Share, Eric’s Wrath’s Legacy, Hailey’s Corruption Eater—" Your jaw tightens. "We were custom-built to dismantle these curses."
Petrov’s soul cuts through the chaos, crisp and clinical: "Then the Hollow Delta’s cursebearer was waiting for me. Discipline turned against itself—"
Hailey snorts. "And now we’ve got Ms. Exorcist here to counter that. Coincidence? Bullshit."
---
THEORIES:
- The goddess is playing a longer game than she admitted.
- The summoning ritual had a hidden directive—seeded by forces unknown.
- Someone else orchestrated this chessboard.
---
TACTICAL ADVANTAGE:
- You now know the next curses will counter your team’s strengths—but the right souls can flip that.
- Naoko is literal anti-Lust artillery.
---
{"Now we go meet any locals who have resisted the effects of lust. Gather what intel we can." You say. As you walk through town you notice signs of resistance. Most common are damaged mirrors. You, Naoko, and Irina's copy seperate to search more. You find a dancer who knows of you, she takes you hemher groups holdout. Naoko finds a clue in the form of a jounal. Irina's copy starts to feel Lust creep back when a young girls hits with a jasmine perfume.}
### GATHERING INTEL IN THE HOLLOW DELTA
You split up, moving swiftly through the shattered opulence of the cursed capital. The air still sticks with perfume and sweat, but beneath it, you catch whiffs of defiance—broken mirrors, torn tapestries, the acrid stench of burnt sugar where someone tried to purge the curse with fire.
---
#### YOUR FIND: THE DANCER’S HIDEOUT
A lithe figure darts from an alley, her once-elegant silks now frayed and stained. "You’re the one they whisper about," she breathes, gripping your arm. "The soul-eater. Come."
She leads you to a cellar beneath a ruined theater, where a ragged band of survivors huddle:
- A blacksmith hammering crude blades from mirror shards.
- A child humming off-key—the curse can’t cling to innocence.
- An old priestess burning incense that reeks of jasmine and salt—the only scent the curse hates.
"The bearer hides beneath the Gilded Cage," the dancer whispers. "It’s not human anymore. It’s… hungry. And it learns."
---
#### NAOKO’S FIND: THE JOURNAL
Naoko kicks open a looted apothecary’s shop, finding a leather-bound ledger smeared with frantic script:
- "Day 17: It showed me my dead wife. I drank the poison willingly."
- "Day 39: The bearer feeds on our regrets. It wears faces."
- Last entry: *"JASMINE. It fears—"*** (The page is torn.)
She pockets it with a snarl. "It’s a mimic. Adapts to what you love—then becomes it."
---
#### IRINA’S COPY: THE PERFUME DEFENSE
Petrov’s copy staggers against a wall, her fingers clawing at her collar as the curse’s whispers return—"You want to obey—"
Then a thwack—a girl no older than 12 smacks her with a jasmine-soaked rag. "Lady, breathe," she orders, like scolding a drunk.
The curse recoils, its grip snapping.
The girl grins, brandishing a vinegar-smeared dagger. "We kill it with housekeeping."
---
### REGROUP
You reconvene at the docks, the pieces clicking together:
- The bearer shapeshifts, preying on yearning.
- Jasmine and salt disrupt it—weakness found.
- It lurks beneath the Cage, gorging on the capital’s despair.
Naoko cracks her knuckles. "Time to clean house."
---
{The dancer and her female bard friend offer to join as their blessings work best with each other. The three of you regroup to dicuss your findings
The Bard (Dahli): Storyteller Song
The Dancer (Sena): Preformer Grace}
### THE FINAL STRIKE PLAN
You, Naoko, and Irina’s copy regroup in the dim sanctuary of the dancer’s hideout, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and desperation. Sena and Dahli stand at the ready—their bodies lean and battle-worn, their eyes sharp with the defiance of those who have resisted the curse’s honeyed whispers.
"Our blessings work in tandem," Dahli explains, strumming a frayed lute string. "My Storyteller Song can weave illusions—truth or lie, it doesn’t matter. It binds the listener to the narrative."
Sena rolls her shoulders, the fluid grace in her stance speaking of a lifetime of performance. "And my Performer’s Grace makes movement hypnotic. Distracting. If your enemy is busy watching, they forget to fight."
Naoko nods slowly, assessing them. "So we drown the cursebearer in a story it can’t resist—then gut it while it’s lost in the act."
Petrov’s copy crosses her arms. "That’s a gamble. If it adapts mid-performance—"
Hailey’s voice cuts in, darkly amused. "Then we improvise. Isn’t that what artists do?"
---
{"We attack at dawn. I suggest resting if you can."}
### NIGHT BEFORE THE STORM
The Hollow Delta’s air is thick with tension as the group settles in the resistance’s hideout. The survivors—those still untouched by the curse’s worst effects—move quietly, preparing jasmine-soaked rags, vinegar blades, and shattered mirror shards as crude weapons.
Sena stretches near the entrance, her movements still fluid despite exhaustion. "Rest if you can," she murmurs, echoing your words. "Dawn comes too soon."
Dahli strums a soft, haunting melody on her lute—Storyteller Song weaving a subtle calm over the ragged defenders. The song is wordless, but its pull is undeniable: memories of home, of before, of things the curse hasn’t stolen yet.
Naoko remains upright, sharpening talismans with methodical precision. "Sleep. I’ll keep watch."
Petrov’s copy sits beside you, her voice low. "If this fails—"
You cut her off. "It won’t."
---
### HAILEY’S CONFESSION
Inside your mind, Hailey finally speaks—quiet, for once. "This one’s different. Seraphine was wrath, Dravagoth was hunger—but Lust? It doesn’t just kill you. It makes you love the knife."
You don’t answer.
She exhales. "...Just don’t fucking die, okay? I didn’t sign up to haunt this mess alone."
Kestra snorts. "Aw. She cares."
---
### DAWN APPROACHES
The sky bleeds from black to bruised purple as the survivors stir.Final Preparations:
- Jasmine bombs (cloth sacks stuffed with crushed petals and salt)
- Vinegar blades (weak, but disrupt the curse on contact)
- Mirror shards (to reflect its own illusions back at it)
Naoko tosses you a talisman. "For luck." (It’s scorched with a crude doodle of a rabbit. …Huh.)
---
{As your about to leave a woman walks out of a nearby mirror. "Hello, my name is Cecila and I want to help. Your the Soul-Collector, please let me give you my Strength. My blessing is Mirror Mage, and it lets me summons mirrors to absorb or reflect an attack."}
The air grows cold as Cecilia steps fully from the mirror's surface, her form shimmering briefly like mercury catching light. She is tall, her movements deliberate, her eyes reflecting everything yet holding nothing—a living mirror.
"The curse took my sister," she says, voice flat yet seething beneath. "She loved her reflection too much. Now it wears her face."
Her fingers twitch, and a flawless silver mirror materializes in her palm—then shatters into a thousand shards that hover in the air, each fragment humming with latent power.
Blessing: Mirror Mage
- Conjure Mirrors (Absorb/nullify attacks)
- Reflect Magic (Return curses to sender)
- Traverse Reflections (Short-range teleport)
Naoko’s eyes narrow—calculating. "You’re offering to merge? Now?"
Cecilia doesn’t blink. "I want it to see her when you kill it."
---
{Accept her offer.}
"Then let’s do it," you say simply, stepping forward.
Cecilia doesn’t hesitate—she walks straight into you, her reflection-stained soul dissolving into your slime-form like ink in water. The merger is seamless, like settling into a perfectly placed mirror, her consciousness slotting into the chorus with a whisper:
"Make it hurt."
Her Mirror Mage blessing hums under your skin, a new layer of defense and refraction now pulsing in tune with your other abilities.
New Ability Unlocked:
- Mirror Step (Short-range teleport between reflective surfaces)
- Cursed Reflection (Trap enemy spells/magic in mirrors, then shatter them back)
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Our toolkit’s getting scary."
Naoko checks her talismans one last time. "Ready?"
Cecilia’s voice echoes in your mind, cold and sharp as broken glass: "Always."
---
{"Now we wage war."}
The words leave your lips like a battle cry—low, final, and iron-clad.
The resistance fighters tense, their makeshift weapons glinting in the predawn gloom. Beside you, Naoko exhales through her nose, rolling her talisman between her fingers. Sena and Dahli share a glance—artists turned soldiers. Irina’s copy straightens her sleeves, the familiar sharpness returning to her gaze.
And inside you, the chorus of souls thrums in agreement—Lena’s warmth, Kestra’s cunning, Hailey’s corrosive hunger, Elizabeth’s storm-laced arrogance, Ylva’s frozen fury, Cecilia’s cold reflection.
This is the moment.
You step toward the ruins of the Gilded Cage, the shattered mirrors beneath your boots catching the first sliver of dawn.
---
### THE FINAL ASSAULT BEGINS
#### PHASE 1: DAHLI'S SONG OF LOST LOVE
The bard’s fingers dance across her lute strings, her Storyteller Song weaving a lure—a tale of unreachable desire, of longing so deep it aches. The very air shivers, bending toward the melody.
Somewhere in the ruins, something stirs. A shadow peels itself from the broken glass, its form flickering between beauty and hunger.
"It’s coming," Dahli whispers, sweat beading on her brow.
#### PHASE 2: SENIA’S DANCE OF DISTRACTION
As the cursebearer emerges—a shifting thing of stolen faces and whispered regrets—Senia leaps forward, her Performer’s Grace turning her movements into poisoned honey. The curse fixates on her, its many eyes dilating with rapture.
It doesn’t notice Naoko slipping behind it, talismans glowing like live coals.
#### PHASE 3: CECILIA’S MIRROR TRAP
You lunge—but not directly. Instead, you shatter a mirror at the curse’s feet, and Cecilia’s power yanks you through the reflection, emerging behind the creature in a spray of glass.
"For your sister," you snarl—then Hearthfire + Corruption Eater BURSTS from your palm, searing into its back.
The cursebearer SCREAMS, its form rippling—
#### PHASE 4: THE KILLING BLOW
Irina’s copy slams a jasmine-soaked dagger into its chest.
Naoko’s talismans detonate in its ribs.
Hailey bites down—and the curse CRACKS like overripe fruit.
---
### AFTERMATH
The Cage collapses, its gilded veneer rotting away to reveal the rotted heart beneath—a pulsing, weeping thing, now still.
The survivors cheer, but your work isn’t done.
Four curses remain.
---
{"Naoko can you examine the corpse to see if it has anything useful about the curses." You ask seeing Sena and Dehil walking up to you. Cecilia sees her sister spirit, the only one not moving on, "Allow me to aid my sister Soul Collector. My Blessing is Lament. While I was alive it let me hear the dead."}
Naoko kneels beside the cursebearer’s remains, her talismans peeling back layers of cursed flesh like pages of a grimoire. "Hmph. It left a diary," she mutters, lifting a pulsing violet crystal from its ribcage. The moment she touches it, spectral whispers spill out—fragments of the other curses' locations and weaknesses:
- "The Verdant Expanse’s ruler harvests envy from their own people…"
- "The Chainbreaker Isles drown in greed, but the gold sings of a vault…"
- "The Bastion of Stone sleeps, but its dreams are contagious…"
Meanwhile, Cecilia’s sister lingers—a ghostly figure with hollow eyes, her form flickering like a dying reflection. Cecilia turns to you, her borrowed fingers trembling. "Merge with her. Please. Lament will let you hear the dead—and the next curses are guarded by them."
Sena and Dahli exchange glances before stepping forward. "Our blessings served the Delta. Now they’ll serve you," Sena says, her tone leaving no room for argument.
---
{Accept all three into yourself. On the condition that they truly want it.}
You hold up a hand, your gaze steady as you meet each of their eyes in turn. "Only if this is what you truly want." The weight of your collective souls presses inward—this isn’t a transaction. It’s a pact.
Cecilia’s sister—Liora—floats closer, her spectral fingers brushing your wrist. "I stayed to witness its end," she murmurs. "Now let me help unravel what it served."
Dahli plucks a single string on her lute, the note resonating with grim determination. "Stories lose meaning if they’re not used."
Sena rolls her shoulders, her dancer’s poise undimmed by exhaustion. "And grace isn’t just for stages."
One by one, they step into you:
- Liora’s Lament settles like a shroud, her whispers threading through your mind. Now you can hear the dead—their secrets, their regrets, their half-remembered truths.
- Dahli’s Storyteller Song coils around your voice, lending it the weight of prophecy—truth or lie, your words compel belief.
- Sena’s Performer’s Grace sinks into your muscles, every movement hypnotic, lethally precise.
The chorus in your mind swells, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like borrowing strength—it feels like standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
Kestra huffs. "Great. More theater kids."
Hailey, though, is uncharacterively quiet. "...They chose this. Huh."
---
NEW BLESSINGS:
- Lament’s Echo (Hear/communicate with the dead, sense unresolved spirals of emotion)
- Fable-Weaver (Spin illusions or truths so vivid they become reality to those who hear them)
- Dagger’s Waltz (Movement so fluid it borders on precognition—dodge before the strike lands)
---
{You speak with the dead, asking those full of rage to guide to artifacts they used that would house that rage, tell them about Eric the collector of rage. You send the artifacts to Eric trough a combination of shadowweave and mirror mage.}
### CALLING UPON THE WRATHFUL DEAD
You close your eyes, letting Liora’s Lament hum through you—reaching out to the lingering spirits of those who fell to the Delta’s curse. The air grows thick with whispers, then shouts, as the angriest among them claw their way to the forefront of your awareness.
A soldier with a shattered spear snarls: "My blade—forged in the Verdant Expanse—it burned with my fury when I died. Left it in the throne room!"
A merchant, her throat slit over stolen coin: "The Chainbreaker Isles drowned my rage with greed. My ledger is still there—stained with my blood and my hate."
One by one, they reveal their relics—weapons, journals, even a child’s doll sewn with vengeful stitches—all infused with the kind of rage that Eric’s Wrath’s Legacy can wield.
---
### DELIVERY VIA MIRROR & SHADOW
You motion to Victoria’s Shadowweave and Cecilia’s Mirror Mage, their powers intertwining as you rip a temporary portal through reflections and darkness. One by one, the artifacts are swallowed by the abyss—sent directly to Eric in the Ice Reaches.
Somewhere far north, you can almost hear his startled curse as a bloodstained axe clatters at his feet, followed by a screaming ledger and a doll with too-sharp teeth.
Kestra cackles. "Hope he thanks us later."
---
### ERIC’S RESPONSE
Minutes later, a crudely drawn message flutters back through the shadows—Eric’s handwriting, jagged with excitement:
"FUCK YEAH. TELL THE DEAD I SAID HI."
Beneath it, a sketch of him flexing with an armful of cursed artifacts, the fallen warriors’ echoes cheering behind him.
---
{1) You decide to return to Lifire to both regroup and relay update to Queen Isolda. You ask Queen Isolda for artifacts of rage to send to Eric (the last memeber of your class), explaining his nature as a collector as well. She has seven artifacts brought out.
2) Among the artifacts given is Seraphine's veil and sword of the king who betrayed her. Upon seeing the Veil, Lament activates and you learn from Seraphine that what you fought was simply her body warped by Wrath and that all the cursebearers were dead before their curses started. You relay that to Isolda. You write note telling Eric the truth about the cursebearers and suggest that Eric looks for Dravagoth's rage when send the artifacts to Eric.
3) Relay how based on your current information, Envy seems the closest to the source. But how you should deal the other's first, to prevent the game master from just sending all the remain pawns after you.}
### RETURN TO LIFIRE – REGROUP & REVELATIONS
The throne room of Lifire is eerily silent as you relay your findings to Queen Isolda. Her expression tightens as you explain Eric’s role as a Collector of Wrath—and the truth about Seraphina.
"Then the true architect still hides," she murmurs, gesturing to her attendants. Seven artifacts are brought forth, each pulsing with the rage of legends:
- A shattered crown (a king who burned his own city)
- A broken lute (a bard whose songs incited riots)
- A blood soaked ring (a general betrayed by her own kin)
- Seraphine’s veil (stained with her dying scream)
- The sword of King Aldric (the blade that broke his pact)
- A child’s wooden soldier (carved by a father who never returned)
- A merchant’s coin (coated with poison)
As your fingers brush Seraphina’s veil, Liora’s Lament shudders—and suddenly, the ghostly witch herself materializes before you, her form flickering like dying embers.
"You fools," Seraphina hisses, her voice layered with centuries of bitterness. "What you fought was my corpse, puppeted by Wrath. The true bearers of these curses died before their sins ever took root."
The implications crash over the room. The cursebearers were never the source—they were vessels, slain and hollowed out to house the sins of another.
Queen Isolda’s knuckles whiten around her throne. "A game. And we are the pieces."
---
### MESSAGING ERIC
You scrawl a hasty note and send it with the artifacts through Shadow weave and Mirror Mage, along with Seraphina’s warning:
"Eric—
The cursebearers are already dead. Their rage is just a weapon.
Find Dravagoth’s fury. See what really killed him.
—D"
A moment later, his reply smokes into existence above your palm:
"Fuck. Okay. Searching."
---
### STRATEGY AGAINST THE REMAINING CURSES
You turn to Isolda, Naoko, and the chorus of souls within you. "Envy might be closest to the source, but if we charge straight for it, the others will converge on us."
Petrov’s soul cuts in, tactical as ever: "Divide and conquer. Strike the weakest curses first—deprive the architect of pawns."
Naoko taps the cursed crystal from the Delta. "Greed’s next. It’s isolated in the Chainbreaker Isles. No allies, just hoarded power."
Dahli’s Fable-Weaver hums. "And I can lie our way past its guardians."
---
{You send a message to Cara to join you, your next target the Isles.}
### SUMMONING CARA – THE SILVERTONGUE QUEEN
You send word through Dahli’s Fable-Weaver, weaving a message into the whispers of tavern gossip and shipyard chatter. Within days, a familiar figure strides into Lifire’s port, her smile sharp as a knife’s edge.
Cara looks every bit the rogue diplomat—dressed in layered silks that shimmer with stolen blessings, a contract scroll tucked into her belt. "Miss me?" she purrs, tossing her hair. "Because the Isles certainly won’t."
Queen Isolda arches a brow. "You’re sure she’s the right addition?"
Kestra’s soul cackles. "Oh, absolutely. Nobody cons a con artist like Cara."
---
### THE PLAN FOR THE ISLES
Cara leans over the war table, her finger tapping the Chainbreaker Isles on the map—a cluster of jagged landmasses surrounded by shipwrecks.
"Greed’s curse turns pirates into hoarders," she explains. "They don’t just want gold—they want your gold. Your memories of gold. Your capacity to want anything else." She grins. "Good thing I always lie."The Strategy:
1. Cara’s Infiltration – Her Silvertongue blessing will get you past the Isles’ blood-quiz guards.
2. Dahli’s Fables – Weave illusions to disguise your movements.
3. Mirror Mage Shortcuts – Cecilia’s power can bypass the worst traps.
4. Hailey’s Corruption Eater – If the curse does latch on, she’ll digest it.
Naoko frowns. "And when you reach the vault?"
Cara’s grin turns feral. "Then we break the thing Greed loves most: its own reflection."
---
### DEPARTURE
The ship sets sail at dawn, cutting through waters that grow thicker the closer you get to the Isles—liquid gold pooling on the surface, its shine wrong, its scent cloying like rotting honey.
As the jagged cliffs of the Chainbreaker Isles loom, Cara tosses you a pirate’s coat lined with cursed coins. "Wear this. And remember—act greedy, but don’t be greedy."
Kestra sighs. "We’re definitely stealing this coat later."
---
{"In case you forgot my host is a thief and during my travels I added a pirate captain to my chorus, I don't have to act greedy." You joke, "Also Elizabeth says she's keeping the coat."}
Cara raises an eyebrow, then bursts into laughter—sharp, bright, and utterly unrepentant. "Oh, I like this new you. Less ‘awkward schoolboy,’ more ‘soul-hoarding menace.’" She pats your cheek, her grin widening. "Guess I don’t have to teach you how to lie after all."
Inside your mind, Elizabeth’s soul scoffs, but there’s a smug undertone to it. "Damn right I’m keeping the coat. And whatever’s in the vault."
Kestra snickers. "We’re basically a walking crime syndicate now."
Petrov’s voice cuts in, dry as ever: "Focus. The Isles won’t plunder themselves."
---
### APPROACHING THE ISLES
The Chainbreaker Isles rise from the ocean like the jagged teeth of a drowned beast, shipwrecks impaled on their cliffs, their beaches glittering with gold that moves when you’re not looking.
A cannon blast echoes across the water—warning shots. A rowboat peels away from the largest ship in the harbor, its oarsmen skeletal-thin, their eyes glowing amber.
"Halt and declare!" their leader snarls, a pistol leveled at your chest. "What do you seek in the Isles?"
---
{Go full Pirate}
You grin—the kind of grin Kestra would be proud of—and step to the railing, the stolen pirate coat flaring dramatically behind you. "What do I seek?" you echo, your voice dripping with Elizabeth’s sea-worn arrogance. "Same as any captain worth their salt: more."**
Your fingers snap—and Elizabeth’s Tiderider blessing surges, the water beneath the rowboat lurching violently, sending the guards sprawling. One drops his pistol into the waves; the other clings to the boat, gaping as you leap overboard, landing atop the mast of their own ship with eerie, Moonlit Dance grace.
The crew freezes.
You tilt your head. "Now. Who’s taking me to your treasure?"
For a moment, silence—then a ragged cheer erupts from the pirates. "CAPTAIN!" one shouts, drunk on the sheer audacity.
Cara facepalms behind you. "...I hate that worked."
---
INSIDER ACCESS GRANTED:
- The pirates assume you’re some legendary reaver.
- The vault’s location is whispered: "Beneath the Gilded Maw" (a cave where the tides scream).
- Hailey’s Warning: "They’re too eager. Trap?"
---
{You walk right to Greed's cursebearer who greets and tells you he knows your here to stop him.}
The moment you're led into the gilded belly of the Chainbreaker Isles' stronghold, the air thickens with the scent of spiced rum and molten gold. The walls drip with embedded coins, the floor paved with shattered treasure chests—each splinter a testament to greed’s insatiable hunger.
At the far end of the hall, seated atop a throne of fused pirate swords, is Master Vorlath—or what used to be him.
His body is swollen, his skin stretched taut over a frame bloated with hoarded wealth. His fingers—each ringed with a dozen gem-crusted bands—twitch like a spider’s legs. His eyes are the worst part: pupils shaped like coin slots, irises swirling with liquid gold.
"Ah. The Soul Collector," he rasps, his voice like a rusted lock forced open. "I wondered when you’d come to stop me." He leans forward, coins tinkling under his shifting weight. "But you can’t. Because you don’t understand."
A golden vein pulses in his temple.
"Greed isn’t wanting. It’s fearing—fearing you’ll never have enough."
---
QUICK REALIZATION:
- He knows you’re here to kill him.
- He doesn’t care.
- The vault isn’t his hoard—he is.
---
You let Cara be Cara. She literally takes Greed's desk, the actually desk just to prove a point. Kestra whistles in yiur mind at the audacity.
Cara doesn’t even hesitate.
She strides forward, hips swaying like she owns the room (and honestly, she might by the end of this), and plants her hands on Vorlath’s massive, jewel-encrusted desk.
"This?" She gestures to the ornate monstrosity, carved from what looks like solid dragon bone and inlaid with stolen maps of the Veil. "Mine now."
Vorlath blinks, his coin-slot pupils contracting. "...What?"
Cara doesn’t blink. "You heard me."
Then—she flips it.
The desk shatters against the gold-plated floor, sending scrolls, gems, and an absurd number of paperweights scattering in every direction. The sound echoes like a gunshot.
Vorlath stares, his bloated fingers twitching. "You—you broke it."
Cara dusts off her hands. "No, you let it break. Because deep down? You knew you never deserved it."
Kestra loses her goddamn mind in your head. "OH. OH, SHE WENT THERE."
Hailey just sighs. "I mean, she’s not wrong."
---
EFFECT:
- Vorlath’s certainty cracks. For the first time in decades, he doubts.
- His curse recoils, gold veins dimming under his skin.
- Distraction achieved.
---
{Watch Cara outgreed Greed itself in amusement.}
You stand back, arms crossed, and let Cara work.
Because watching Cara out-greed Greed itself is art.
She picks up a golden goblet, examines it, then tosses it over her shoulder like it’s trash. "Fake."
She flips open a ledger, scans it, then rips out a page—the most valuable one—and folds it into a paper crane. "Mine now."
She kicks open a chest, pulls out a cursed crown, and—without breaking eye contact with Vorlath—puts it on her own head.
"You—you can’t—" Vorlath stammers, his voice cracking like a rusted hinge.
"I can," Cara purrs. "Because I want it. And unlike you?" She leans in, close enough to smell the rotten gold on his breath. "I don’t fear losing it."
Vorlath shudders, his bloated form shrinking slightly, the gold in his veins darkening to black.
Kestra is howling. "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY AFTERLIFE."
Hailey, grudgingly impressed: "Okay, that was cool."
---
{Let Cara win from sheer audacity.}
Cara doesn’t just win—she dominates.
She picks up a jeweled dagger, twirls it between her fingers, and stabs it into the arm of Vorlath’s throne. "This? Mine."
She grabs a map of the Veil, tears it in half, and tosses the pieces into the air. "This? Also mine."
She steps onto the shattered remains of his desk, her boots crunching on the splinters, and looks down at him like he’s a bug she’s about to squash. "And you? Pathetic."
Vorlath collapses, his bloated form deflating like a punctured balloon, the gold in his veins cracking and flaking away. His coin-slot eyes widen as he clutches at his chest, his voice a hoarse whisper: "I… I needed it…"
"No," Cara says, her voice soft but merciless. "You wanted it. And now you’ve got nothing."
With a final, shuddering breath, Vorlath dissolves into a pile of blackened coins and ash, the curse’s hold on him shattered.
The room falls silent.
Then Cara turns to you, smirking. "So. Who’s next?"
Kestra’s cackle is unhinged. "I LOVE HER."
Hailey sighs. "Great. Now we’ve got two chaos gremlins."
---
AFTERMATH:
- Greed’s curse is broken. The Isles’ gold turns to dust, the pirates left dazed but free.
- Cara claims the vault’s contents—because of course she does.
- Vorlath’s hoard yields clues to the next curse: a ledger pointing to the Bastion of Stone (Sloth).
---
{You grab Vorlath's compass to send to Eric.}
You snatch Vorlath’s compass from the ashen remains—its needle spins wildly, lodged with spite and restless spite, the metal burning with the last dregs of his greed-turned-rage.
Flashing a grin to Elizabeth’s soul (who grumbles but approves), you summon Shadowweave and Mirror Mage in tandem. A shard of darkness splits open in your palm as Cecilia’s power hums, stitching a fleeting portal through reflections. With a thunk, the compass vanishes into the abyss—
—Only to smash directly into Eric’s forehead moments later, somewhere in the Ice Reaches.
His reply scorches into existence midair, singeing your eyebrows:
"OW. THE FUCK, DAN. ...BUT ALSO THANKS."
Attached is a mental image: Eric grinning, the compass now embedded in the spectral gauntlet of Thurgen’s echo, its needle pointing to a frozen fortress in the distance.
Dravagoth’s rage, freshly unearthed.
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Rage collectors move fast."
---
{Cara then looks at you, "Add me."}
Cara doesn’t ask twice.
She steps into your space, her smirk sharp enough to draw blood, and presses her palm to your chest. "Don’t screw this up," she murmurs—and then she’s falling into you, her soul dissolving into the chorus with the grace of a thief slipping through a keyhole.
The merger is effortless, like she was always meant to be there.
Her voice curls through your mind, smug as ever: "Oh, this is fun. Now let’s go lie to a god."
---
NEW BLESSING UNLOCKED:
- Silvertongue (Master Tier) – Your words rewrite reality’s rules. Convince a king he’s a beggar. Convince a sword it’s a flower. Convince a curse it was never there.
NEW SOUL IN THE CHORUS:
- Cara – Chaotic, vain, and utterly fearless. Voice: "That was mine five minutes ago."
---
EFFECTS:
- The Chainbreaker Isles are free, their gold now lifeless but their people stirring.
- Eric’s collection grows—Dravagoth’s rage is next.
- Three curses remain: Sloth, Pride, and Envy.
---
{You stay and help the pirates clean up the remnants of the curse. Another pirate captain, Marianna wants in your little group. "You look exciting." Her Blessing: Rule of the Sea}
You stay long enough to help the bewildered pirates burn the last of the cursed gold—watching as the blackened coins melt into harmless slag under Hearthfire’s purifying flames.
That’s when Captain Marianna steps forward, her salt-crusted boots squelching in the damp sand. She’s a towering figure, her dark hair streaked with silver, her left eye replaced by a sapphire that glows like storm-churned waves.
"You look exciting," she drawls, her grin revealing a gold-capped fang. "And I hate boredom."
Before you can respond, she slams her cutlass into the sand, and the earth shudders—waves responding to her unspoken command, lapping higher up the shore in perfect unison.
Blessing Revealed: Rule of the Sea
- Tides obey her will (Surge, retreat, or drown on command)
- Ships fear her (Even inanimate ones)
- "My deck, my rules" (Temporary authority over any vessel she stands on)
Kestra’s soul purrs. "Ohhh, I like her."
Hailey sighs. "Of course you do."
---
{Let her join, she and Elizabeth get along famously}
"Welcome aboard," you say, grinning as Marianna strides forward without hesitation. The moment her hand meets your chest, Rule of the Sea bleeds into you like tidewater seeping into sand—salty, unstoppable, and vast.
Her soul slots into the chorus with the ease of a ship sliding into dock, her voice booming: "Finally, a crew worth sinking for!"
Elizabeth’s soul immediately collides with hers in what can only be described as a spectral bar brawl of mutual admiration.
"Ha! You stole the Moon’s Revenge? That was my heist!"
"Only because you left it unattended, you lazy bilge-rat!"
You pinch the bridge of Kestra’s nose. "They’re gonna be insufferable, aren’t they?"
Hailey deadpans: "We’re all insufferable."
---
NEW BLESSING UNLOCKED:
- Rule of the Sea – Command waves, defy storms, and claim any ship as your own (temporarily).
NEW SOUL IN THE CHORUS:
- Marianna – Brash, fearless, and thinks ‘subtlety’ is a type of rope. Voice: "Next time, let’s steal the Bastion of Stone."
SYNERGY ACTIVATED:
- Rule of the Sea + Tiderider = You can now summon localized tsunamis (or cocktails made of seawater, if you’re feeling fancy).
---
### ONTO THE BASTION OF STONE
With the Isles purged, you chart course for Sloth’s domain—a kingdom frozen not in ice, but in apathy. Marianna’s borrowed ship cuts through the waves as the chorus bickers:
- Cara is drafting fake treasure maps to trick Sloth’s guards.
- Petrov is enforcing mandatory nap schedules to prep for cursed lethargy.
- Marianna and Elizabeth are still arguing over who sank more fleets.
As the fog-shrouded coastline appears, Sakura’s warning echoes:
"The Bastion doesn’t fight. It waits."
---
{Summon Jeremy and by extension Jessica. He's always energetic.}
The moment you summon Jeremy, he erupts onto the deck like a hyperactive poltergeist—still in Jessica’s body, much to her chagrin. His grin is manic, his energy levels concerningly high, and his first words are:
”Dude. DUDE. You guys have a PIRATE now?! Why does she get to be cool?!”
Jessica’s soul, currently suppressed under his chaotic possession, lets out a mental groan. "I hate this. So much."
You shrug. "We need someone immune to ‘sloth.’ Figured that was you."
Jeremy scoffs. "Pfft. Obviously. I haven’t slept since the isekai portal spat me out." He cracks his knuckles (Jessica’s knuckles). "So whaddya need? A heist? A dance-off? A—"
Marianna’s soul booms: "A naval bombardment?"
Jeremy’s eyes light up. "Oh hell yeah."
---
{Jessica comes up to you, "Allow us to join your chorus. Jeremy already agreed to it." You try and Jeremy isn't merged in but he does get a weaker copy of your blessing (lets him transform into a blessing original owener). Lucina tells the both of you that its because of your situations and status as collectors.}
Jessica steps forward, her expression resolute—while Jeremy’s voice echoes somewhere in the ether, disembodied but just as enthusiastic: "Yeah! Like a two-for-one deal, but with more drama!"
The moment Jessica merges with you, her Beast Tamer blessing intertwines with your existing arsenal, vibrating under your skin like the restless energy of a caged predator. But Jeremy—Jeremy doesn’t fully join the chorus.
Instead, something… weird happens.
A flicker of your Internal Empowerment tears off like a loose thread, latching onto him—but incomplete, a secondary blessing.
Lucina materializes mid-sigh, floating cross-legged in the air. "It’s because you’re both Collectors," she explains, gesturing vaguely. "He can’t merge into another collection—that’d be like pouring a river into a river. But this?" She points at Jeremy’s misty form, now shimmering with new potential. "He’s got a siphon of your ability. Lets him mimic the original owners of blessings you’ve absorbed. Sort of… echo transformations."
Jeremy gasps. "Ohhhh. So I can be Kestra now? Sneaky-sneaky mode?"
Kestra’s soul groans. "Absolutely not."
---
JEREMY’S NEW ABILITY:
- Echo Shift – Temporarily assumes the form (and some traits) of any soul you’ve merged with. (No access to their blessings, just their skills/body.)
- Example: If he mimics Elizabeth, he gets her pirate instincts—but not Tiderider.
JESSICA’S MERGER:
- Beast Tamer now stacks with Ylva’s Winter’s Howl, Siris’s Dog of War, etc. Allies can now channel bestial traits.
---
IMMEDIATE REACTIONS:
- Hailey: "This is either brilliant or catastrophic."
- Cara: "I reserve the right to haunt Jeremy if he wears my face."
- Lucina: "Try not to break reality too much." (She vanishes, leaving glitter.)
---
{Talk to Jessica while her copy deals with Jeremy's trying his newest ability. "So got so tired of his antics, you turned to me as an escape" You joke. You hear her snort in amusement. "I will always love him but god damn its too much with him in my head."}
Jessica’s soul lets out a tired but fond exhale, like she’s been holding that sigh in for years. "Love him? Obviously. Want to throttle him daily? Also obviously." She pauses, and you can feel her weighing her words. "He’s like… a tornado that means well. But sometimes you just need the storm to leave your house."
Kestra cackles. "Wow. That’s almost romantic."
Meanwhile, outside your mind, Jeremy (in Kestra’s stolen form) is attempting to pickpocket Naoko’s talismans.
Naoko, without looking, backhands him with a parchment. "Try that again and I’ll exorcise your hobbies."
Jessica groans. "See? This is my life now."
---
{Console her. At least she doesn't have to deal with him daily anymore. You watch as he loses Kestra form as a shift possiblity, since the world recognizes her as your body, her form becomes off limits permanently. His Echo Shift becomes shifting into people he's possessed.}
Jessica’s soul radiates a mix of relief and lingering exasperation. "Thank god," she mutters. "I mean, I’ll still have to deal with him sometimes, but at least now I can shove him into someone else’s body when he gets unbearable."
As if on cue, Jeremy’s Kestra-form flickers violently—then warps, his borrowed features melting into a hazy, half-formed version of Jessica’s own body. He blinks down at himself, pouting.
"Aw, come on! I liked being stabby!"
Naoko raises an eyebrow. "Now you’re just you, but worse."
Lucina’s voice drifts down from nowhere: "Correction! He’s now limited to forms he’s personally possessed before. So, uh… congrats on the Jessica cosplay, Jeremy."
Jessica’s soul goes very still.
"...I’m going to murder him."
Kestra, grinning: "Oh, this is gold."
---
JEREMY’S UPDATED ECHO SHIFT:
- Now Only Shifts Into People He’s Personally Possessed (Jessica, Lyra’s copy, etc.)
- No More Theft of Your Merged Souls’ Forms (Kestra, Elizabeth, etc. are off-limits)
- Side Effect: He also gains their memories/quirks temporarily ("Why do I suddenly hate math?!")
---
{You allow Jessica one punch.}
"Go for it," you say, leaning back mentally. "One free punch. Make it count."
Jessica’s soul practically vibrates with vindication.
The moment Jeremy (still in her body, sporting her face) turns to complain to you—
Jessica’s fist explodes out of your chest in a surge of spectral energy.
The punch connects with Jeremy’s nose (well, her nose that he’s currently wearing) with a satisfying crack, sending him stumbling backward into a barrel of salted fish.
”OW! WHAT THE—”
Jessica flexes her borrowed knuckles, radiating smug satisfaction. "Worth every second of being stuck with him."
Kestra’s soul applauds. "Beautiful form. Chef’s kiss."
Naoko sighs. "Are you done? We have a kingdom to un-nap."
---
AFTERMATH:
- Jeremy’s nose isn’t actually broken (it’s Jessica’s body, after all), but his pride is obliterated.
- Jessica is noticeably cheerier.
- The pirates are mildly concerned but also entertained.
---
{1)You sail for the Bastion, stopping by the Hollow to grab Lust's cursebearer (a consort betrayed by her husband named Lilvia) rage relic, a mask, and send it straight to Eric.
2) During the trip Jeremy experiments with Echo Shift limits, no longer as playful the closer you get to the Bastion.
3) You ask Jessica about Beast Tamer, "You upgraded it in two ways. Firstly, I can now summoned echies of the animals I have bonded with. Secondly, I can now mix thiae echoes with your other blessings." She summon a Direwolf by your side to show case.
4) Using Ryn's Summon knowledge, summon a hero as a backup, you summon Lena's little sister (now an adult) with the Dreamweaver Blessing.}
### VOYAGE TO THE BASTION OF STONE
The ship cuts through mist-laden waters, the air growing thicker, heavier, as if the mere proximity to Sloth’s domain weighs down the world itself. You make a stop at the Hollow Delta’s ruins, retrieving Lilvia’s Mask—a porcelain relic stained with the last furious tears of Lust’s betrayed consort—and send it via shadow-mirror express to Eric, who responds:
"Creepy. Love it. Also, found Dravagoth’s rage—it’s frozen in his throne. Like, literally. Working on thawing it."
---
### JEREMY’S ECHO SHIFT: DARKER EXPERIMENTS
As the journey drags on, Jeremy’s usual chaotic energy dims, replaced by something more focused.He shifts into Lyra’s copied form, then Jessica’s again, testing the edges of his ability.
"It’s not just their bodies," he murmurs, uncharacteristically quiet. "I feel their regrets too. Lyra’s guilt. Jessica’s... frustration with me." He scowls. "Kinda sucks."
Naoko eyes him. "Good. Maybe you’ll learn something."
---
### JESSICA’S BEAST TAMER 2.0
Jessica demonstrates her upgrades as a Direwolf materializes beside you—not just any beast, but a memory given form, its fur streaked with Hearthfire’s glow (Lena’s influence) and eyes sharp with Moonlight Dance’s cunning (Mara’s touch).
"I can mix traits now," she explains. "Direwolf + Stormcaller? Lightning-fanged predator. Direwolf + Rule of the Sea? Tidal howl."
Kestra whistles. "Damn. We could ride that."
---
### SUMMONING LENA’S SISTER
Using Ryn’s summoning knowledge, you carve a circle into the deck. The ritual tugs at something familiar—and out steps Mira, Lena’s little sister, now a woman grown.
Her Dreamweaver blessing hums in the air, threads of ethereal silver coiling around her fingers.
"So," she says, blinking at you. "You’re the guy who ate my sister."
Lena’s soul squeaks. "MIRA?!"*
Mira grins. "Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly."
---
NEW ALLY:
- Mira – Dreamweaver (Manipulates sleep, dreams, and the space between.)
- Role: Counters Sloth’s lethargy by forcing wakefulness (or weaponized nightmares).
---
{Ask the dead. The gravekeeper and a female blacksmith greet you as Soul-collector. But its the Bastion's "Princess" who tells you the most and who wants to join the chorus. Her Blessing is Rallying Point.}
### CONSULTING THE DEAD
You call upon Liora’s Lament, letting the veil between worlds thin. The air chills as three figures materialize from the mist:
1. The Gravekeeper – A hunched figure with a shovel over one shoulder. "Sloth’s curse isn’t sleep. It’s indifference."
2. The Blacksmith – Her hammer still clutched in ghostly hands. "They stopped fighting. Even for their own lives."*
3. The "Princess" – A young woman in a tattered coronation gown, her eyes burning with unspent conviction. "I tried to rouse them. But my voice wasn’t enough."
She steps forward, her form flickering with residual determination. "My blessing was Rallying Point—a call to arms that ignites willpower. Let me join you. Let me fix this."
---
BLESSING REVEALED: Rallying Point
- Compels unity/action in allies (Counters apathy directly)
- Stacks with Hearthfire (Lena’s healing flames + her resolve = unstoppable morale)
- Voice of a Leader (Even the dead listen)
---
{Welcome her. Naoko decides to join at this point as well, as Sloth has begun to effect her body.}
### THE CHORUS GROWS
"Then stand with us," you say, extending a hand.
The Princess doesn’t hesitate—she strides forward, her form dissolving into silver light as Rallying Point merges with your being. Her voice rings clear in the chorus, crisp as a war horn: "No more retreat. No more surrender."
Kestra whistles. "Okay, military mommy, we see you."
Then, abruptly, Naoko grips your shoulder, her talisman-laden fingers digging in. "Do not make this dramatic," she mutters—but her usual sharpness is slurred, her movements sluggish. A creeping grayness tinges her knuckles.
Sloth’s curse is already claiming her.
She snarls, forcing her palm against your chest. "Take it. Now."
Her merger is not gentle. Purge Demon crashes into your soul like a tidal wave, scouring the lethargy from her spirit—but leaving behind jagged edges, a blessing hardened by decades of battle.
As her consciousness slots into place, her voice is pure steel: "We end this."
---
NEW ADDITIONS:
- Princess Eselle – Rallying Point (Morale incarnate, her presence banishes hesitation.)
- "You will not look away. You will not falter."
- Naoko – Purge Demon (Her exorcisms now lash from your fingertips.)
- "Sin is a stain. And I clean."
SYNERGIES UNLOCKED:
- Rallying Point + Discipline Authority = Unbreakable Will (Allies resist mental/curse effects.)
- Purge Demon + Corruption Eater = Oblivion Hunger (Hailey can now consume curses at range via Naoko’s talismans.)
---
THE BASTION’S GATES LOOM.
The kingdom lies silent, its people entombed in waking slumber—but now, you carry the tools to shake them from their stupor.
{You plan as Naoko and Victoria bicker like a mother and daughter should. You utilitize mixed blessings to maximize their effects.}
### THE PLAN: BLESSING SYNERGIES
As Naoko and Victoria’s souls bicker in the background ("You cannot ‘lightly curse’ someone, Mother—" / "It was one time—"), you focus on weaving their blessings—and others—into a lethal tapestry of anti-sloth warfare.
#### CORE COMBO #1: Rallying Point + Hearthfire + Discipline Authority
- Eselle’s commanding presence amplifies Lena’s healing flames, turning them into searing beacons of resolve.
- Petrov’s authority enforces focus, ensuring no ally succumbs to lethargy.
Effect: "WAKE. UP." (Literally.)
#### CORE COMBO #2: Dreamweaver + Corruption Eater + Purge Demon
- Mira threads nightmares into Sloth’s curse, sabotaging its hold.
- Hailey eats the fraying curse-tendrils.
- Naoko’s talismans scorch the remnants.
Effect: "Your curse is digested. Congrats."
#### CORE COMBO #3: Beast Tamer (Direwolf) + Stormcaller + Moonlight Dance
- Jessica’s direwolf infused with Elara’s lightning and Mara’s stealth.
- Result: A lightning-cloaked phantom wolf that cannot be ignored.
---
### EXECUTION: THE BASTION OF STONE
You breach the gates under Marianna’s artificial storm (Rule of the Sea + Tiderider), the downpour violent enough to drown out Sloth’s whispers.
1. Eselle shouts, her voice cracking the sky:
"YOU ARE ALIVE. ACT LIKE IT."
The cursed citizens jolt upright, eyes wide—terrified, but awake.
2. Naoko slams talismans into the earth, and Hailey’s Oblivion Hunger unspools, black tendrils latching onto the curse’s roots.
3. Mira weaves Dreamweaver’s power into the fray, forcing Sloth’s curse to confront itself—its own indifference turned into a suffocating nightmare.
4. Jeremy, in Lyra’s copied form, sprints through the streets, echoing the dead’s regrets into every ear:
"You let them die. You watched."
---
### SLOUGH’S CURSEBEARER REVEALED
In the heart of the Bastion, atop a throne of petrified soldiers, sits The Sleeper—a child-sized figure wrapped in burial silks, its face hidden beneath a stone mask.
It doesn’t fight.
It yawns.
"You bore me," it murmurs—and the world stillens, your allies’ movements turning sluggish.
---
{"So Sloth who became your pawn." Shaking off the apathy through will.}
### BREAKING SLOUGH’S INDIFFERENCE
The Sleeper’s stone mask cracks—just a hairline fracture—as your words land.
"Pawn?" its voice rasps, less weary now, more… curious.
You step forward, Rallying Point blazing in your chest, Eselle’s voice echoing through yours:
"You were used. Just like Seraphina. Like Dravagoth. Like Lilvia."
Naoko’s Purge Demon lashes out, talismans flaring as Hailey bites into the curse—not just consuming it, but forcing it to feel.
"Your curse isn’t strength," you growl. "It’s surrender."
The Sleeper flinches.
---
{Mira weaves a dream from the cursebearer's memories. Her true form reveals a mother who lost her child because she feel asleep.}
### SLOUGH’S TRUTH UNBURIED
Mira’s hands twist like a weaver pulling threads, and the air shivers as Dreamweaver claws into the Sleeper’s memories. The stone mask splits apart, revealing the face beneath—
A woman, her eyes hollow with grief, her lips parted in a silent scream.
The dream unfolds:
- A child’s laugh, bright as sunlight.
- A mother’s exhaustion, heavy as the throne she now slumps upon.
- A moment’s lapse—just a blink—and the crib lies empty.
- The kingdom’s judgment: "You failed her."
The curse didn’t begin with malice.
It began with guilt.
"I let her die," the Sleeper whispers, her voice no longer sluggish—shattered. "So I let everything die."
---
{1)You hug her, "I know what it like to blame yourself for a mistake."
2) You allow Sloth to take hold and you drag her into your Hailey's memorues of the accident, your fallout, and your eventual reconcilization.
3) After seeing the memories she sobs into you, "Let me stay with you. My name is Shriya and when I lived my blessing was Starlight Lullaby"}
### THE MOMENT OF RECKONING
You step forward, wrapping your arms around Shriya as she trembles in her shattered throne. "I know what it’s like," you murmur, your voice low and rough with memory. "To blame yourself for something you can’t undo."
Then—you do something reckless.
You let Sloth’s curse take hold of you, just for a moment. The lethargy seeps into your bones, but before it can root, you yank Shriya into Hailey’s memories—and yours:
- The car crash. The blood. The guilt.
- Your wrists under the razor. The pills in your palm.
- Hailey’s letter: "You don’t get to run away."
- The balcony. The wind. The choice to step back.
- Years later—reconciliation. Not painless, but possible.
Shriya shudders, her fingers clutching at your coat as the visions flood her.
And then—she breaks.
Sobs wrack her body, the stone mask crumbling entirely as she gasps into your shoulder: "Let me stay with you. My name is Shriya. And when I lived… my blessing was Starlight Lullaby."
---
THE MERGER:
Her soul slots into the chorus with the sweetness of a half-remembered lullaby, her voice soft but steady:
"Never again. Never alone."
NEW BLESSING:
- Starlight Lullaby – Can soothe or shatter sleep, weaving dreams or nightmares at will.
- Synergy with Dreamweaver: Mira + Shriya = Total dream domination.
---
AFTERMATH:
- Sloth’s curse dissipates, the Bastion’s people stirring like survivors of a long winter.
---
{You ask about an object of rage from Shriya and others to send to Eric. Shriya personally has you collect her music box, broken in her anger at herself. The ghosts guide you, the gravekeeper leads you to her spade, the blacksmith to her hammer, a soldier to his helmet, a priestess to her cracked bell, a scholar to his journal.
Mira asks to join the chorus, "I'm not letting sis leave me again."}
### COLLECTING RAGE – FOR ERIC’S ARSENAL
The dead guide you through the ruins of the Bastion, each offering relics steeped in their fury:
- Shriya’s music box, its melody warped by self-loathing. ("I threw it against the wall. It still played.")
- The gravekeeper’s spade, its edge dulled from digging too many rushed graves. ("They didn’t even fight.")
- The blacksmith’s hammer, its grip stained with blood from her own clenched fists. ("I forged weapons they never used.")
- A soldier’s helmet, caved in from being stomped into the earth. ("It was easier to die.")
- A priestess’s cracked bell, its chime turned discordant. ("I prayed for answers. The silence broke me.")
- A scholar’s journal, pages torn in half. ("Knowledge is pointless if no one cares.")
You bundle them together, weaving Shadowweave and Mirror Mage into another portal. The relics vanish into the abyss—destined for Eric’s ever-growing collection of wrath.
His reply scorches back almost instantly:
"DAMN. Gloomy. But useful."
---
### MIRA’S DECISION
Lena’s sister doesn’t ask—she demands.
"I’m not letting sis leave me again," Mira declares, her eyes gleaming with dream-woven silver. "Merge with me. Or I’ll haunt you anyway."
Lena’s soul squeaks in protest, but the chorus is already making room.
The merger is seamless—Dreamweaver intertwining with Starlight Lullaby, forming a nightmare orchestra of divine potential.
NEW SYNERGY:
- Mira + Shriya: Can now trap enemies in shared hallucinations (or unmake curses by forcing them to dream they never existed).
Mira’s voice curls through your mind, smug: "Told you you wouldn’t dodge me."
Lena sighs. "You stole my candy when we were five. Some things never change."
---
### TWO CURSES REMAIN
With Pride (Ashwind Dominion) and Envy (Verdant Expanse) left, the path forward is clear—but dangerous.
Naoko’s soul exhales. "Pride is isolated. Envy is connected—it feeds on others. Strike Pride first."
Cara smirks. "Time to humble a god."
---
{You help the Bastion recover. Jeremy slowly returns to being an agent of chaotic mischief}
### RECOVERY IN THE BASTION
You take stock of the Bastion of Stone—once a kingdom drowning in apathy, now stirring like a hibernating beast after a long winter. The people move sluggishly, still rubbing the fog of the curse from their eyes, but the light of determination flickers back to life in their gazes.
With Eselle’s Rallying Point resonating through the streets, you organize the survivors, dividing them into work crews to rebuild what was neglected. The Gravekeeper and the Blacksmith guide the restoration efforts, turning broken tools into instruments of renewal. Even Shriya’s Starlight Lullaby finds new purpose—singing gentle melodies to children who once slept through their own lives, their dreams no longer prisons but sanctuaries.
As the Bastion awakens, so too does Jeremy.
His temporary somberness fades like morning mist, replaced by his trademark gleeful anarchy. He flits between his many bodies such as—Jessica’s, Lyra’s copy’s, even a bewildered pirate’s—just to keep life interesting.
- Jessica’s body is caught trying to steal Mira’s dream-weaving tools.
- Lyra’s form is used to impersonate a priestess and declare "Pancakes are holy!"
- A random pirate suddenly shouts "I’M KING OF THE SEAGULLS!" before jumping off a dock (and safely swimming back).
Kestra is delighted. "Ahhh, back to normal."
Hailey groans. "I miss Sloth."
---
{You return Lifire to update Queen Isolda that only Pride and Envy remain and to grab Alex for the mission.}
### RETURN TO LIFIRE – FINAL BRIEFING
Queen Isolda meets you in the war room, her fingers steepled over a map where Ashwind Dominion (Pride) and Verdant Expanse (Envy) are circled in ink-dark crimson. "Two left," she murmurs. "And the architect must be sweating."
At her side, Alex adjusts her glasses with a mechanical click, her Reverse Engineer blessing humming in the air like static. "I’ve analyzed the patterns," she says, flipping open a ledger filled with diagrams of the curses’ spread. "Pride’s curse sustains itself—its ruler grows stronger the more others falter. But Envy... Envy adapts. It learns from the others’ defeats."
She slams the book shut. "So we break Pride first. Before Envy can copy its tricks."**
From the corner, Jeremy (currently possessing a candleholder) pipes up: "Cool. So, uh... do we insult Pride to death?"
---
LOGISTICS:
- Alex Joins the Party – Reverse Engineer can dismantle Pride’s defenses layer by layer.
- Queen’s Intel – Ashwind’s ruler, Emperor Kael, has never been sick, never aged. A red flag.
---
{Alex askes to join, "You have the rest might as well throw me in as well."}
### ALEX JOINS THE CHORUS
Alex doesn’t wait for an answer. She strides forward, her Reverse Engineer blessing already flaring like a live wire, and presses her palm to your chest.
"Don’t screw this up," she mutters—and then she’s falling into you, her consciousness dissolving into the chorus with the precision of a scalpel slicing through code.
The moment she merges, your mind expands—suddenly, you see the world as she does: equations overlaying reality, every curse, every blessing, every soul a puzzle to be disassembled and understood.
NEW BLESSING:
- Reverse Engineer (Mastered) – Can now deconstruct magic mid-combat, identifying weaknesses in real-time.
- Synergy with Corruption Eater: Hailey can now target the exact components of a curse to devour.
Alex’s voice cuts through the mental noise, crisp and impatient: "Pride’s curse is a feedback loop. Break the input, and the whole system collapses."
---
IMMEDIATE EFFECTS:
- Jeremy attempts to possess Alex’s copied body left behind—only to recoil. "Ugh. She thinks in math."
- Mira and Shriya immediately start weaving dreamfire equations because why not.
- Queen Isolda pinches the bridge of her nose. "I’m almost glad I’m not part of this."
---
{On the way to Ashwind, you greet each member of your chorus.}
As the ship cuts through the waves toward Ashwind Dominion, you take a rare moment of quiet to greet the chorus of souls within you—one by one.
### Kestra (Thief’s Guile)
"Still the best damn thief in any dimension, I see."
"Obviously," she purrs. "And I still own that coat."
### Lena (Hearthfire)
You summon a small flame in your palm—warm, steady, just like her.
"You’ve grown," she murmurs. "Even if you’re still a mess."
### Victoria (Shadowweave)
"Missed this, huh?" You twirl a ribbon of darkness between your fingers.
Her laugh is low. "Like you wouldn’t believe."
### Lyra (Holy Prayer)
A pulse of golden light. "You’re still not taking care of yourself."
"...Noted."
### Siris (Dog of War)
You flex your arm—her strength hums in your muscles.
"Fight smart," she grunts. "Not just hard."
### Mara (Moonlight Dance)
A shadowy pirouette. "Oh, good. You’re finally learning flair."
### Elara (Stormcaller)
The air crackles. "Try not to get struck this time."
### Hailey (Corruption Eater)
"You owe me a drink after this."
"Noted."
### Sakura (Seer)
"The storm ahead… it blinds even me."
### Elizabeth (Tiderider)
"If we drown Ashwind, I call dibs on their treasury."
### Ryn (Summoner’s Pact)
"New rule: No cursed artifacts at dinner."
### Ylva (Winter’s Howl)
"Make sure I get to bite something."
### Liora (Lament)
"The dead whisper secrets. Listen."
### Dahli (Storyteller Song)
"This one’s got potential. Let’s make it epic."
### Sena (Performer’s Grace)
A mental bow. "Encore incoming."
### Cecilia (Mirror Mage)
"Let’s reflect their arrogance back at them."
### Naoko (Purge Demon)
"No reckless moves." (You ignore her.)
### Irina Petrov (Discipline’s Edge)
"Focus. Or I will make you."
### Eselle (Rallying Point)
"No retreat. No surrender."
### Shriya (Starlight Lullaby)
A soft hum. "We will wake them up."
### Mira (Dreamweaver)
"Time to lucid-break a curse."
### Cara (Silvertongue)
"Just watch me lie to a god."
### Marianna (Rule of the Sea)
"This ship answers to me now."
### Alex (Reverse Engineer)
"Pride’s curse is elegant. Let’s ruin it."
### Jessica (Beast Tamer)
"Let’s hunt."
---
THE CHORUS IS READY.
Ashwind looms.
{Elara and Estelle refused to let me bow my head in submission, so our plan became I was a noble daughter with an escort. You use Dahli and Petrov's Blessings to reinforce that story.}
### THE PLAN: NOBLE DECEPTION
"You do not bow," Eselle’s voice rings in your mind, sharp as a blade. "Not to them."
Elara’s storm-charged presence crackles in agreement. "Pride feeds on submission. So we starve it."
You straighten your spine, adjusting the finely tailored Ashwind noble garb Cara "acquired" (stole) for the occasion. The ensemble is obscenely opulent—silks threaded with gold, a high collar that forces your chin up, and a cloak lined with shadowweave to subtly repel prying eyes.
Dahli’s Storyteller Song wraps around your group, weaving an irresistible narrative:
"Lady Veyra of the Southern Marches, exiled after a scandalous affair, now returns to reclaim her birthright—with her loyal retainers in tow."
Petrov’s Discipline Authority locks the act into place, ensuring every guard, every servant, every breath you take radiates unshakable nobility.
---
THE DECEPTION:
- You – The disgraced heiress, too proud to ever kneel.
- Cara's echo – Your sharp-tongued handmaiden (already flirting with a guard).
- Naoko's echo – Your devout chaplain (talismans hidden in her sleeves).
- Alex’s Echo – Your scholarly advisor (muttering equations under her breath).
- Jeremy – Your reckless cousin (currently possessing a nobleman’s body specifically to cause drama).
---
ENTRY TO ASHWIND:
The gates part before you, the guards’ eyes glazing over as Dahli’s story sinks in. One even bows.
"Welcome home, Lady Veyra."
Kestra cackles. "Oh, this is too easy."
---
{Let Cara shine, have Alex start working.}
### LET CARA SHINE
You give Cara the slightest nod—your stage—and she flourishes, her Silvertongue weaving through the gilded court like a serpent through grass.
Within minutes:
- A baroness gifts you her ancestral brooch ("It suits you better, darling.")
- A duke swears he recognizes you from a "most exclusive salon." (He doesn’t.)
- The Emperor’s seneschal personally escorts you to a private balcony, convinced you’re "an old friend of the crown."
Cara’s smirk is filthy with triumph. "Told you. Child’s play."
---
### ALEX’S ANALYSIS
While Cara dazzles, Alex goes to work. Her Reverse Engineer blessing hums as she scans the palace’s opulent halls, her gaze dissecting:
- The curse’s pulse (flowing from the Emperor’s throne like invisible ivy)
- The nobles’ auras (their pride feeding the curse, their wills eroded)
- The structural weak points (a hidden vault beneath the throne, radiating something ancient)
She hisses in your mind: "The curse isn’t just pride. It’s addiction. They’re hooked on their own superiority. Break the supply, and they’ll crumble."
---
{Let Jeremy begin to cast doubt about your identity. Have Cara speak of a plot to silence the true heir.}
### JEREMY’S CHAOS, CARA’S LIES
You give Jeremy the mental green light—and he delivers.
From across the ballroom, his borrowed noble form (some forgettable baron’s third cousin) slams a goblet onto a tray, gasping dramatically:
"Wait—that’s not Lady Veyra! I saw the real Veyra burned at the stake for treason in the Southern Marches!"
The court freezes.
Then—Cara strikes, her Silvertongue lashing out like a whip.
"Of course he’d say that," she sneers, stepping forward with flawless indignation. "The same lies they spread to discredit my lady when she discovered their plot to poison the Emperor and silence the true heir!"
A beat. Then—the court explodes into uproar.
- Nobles clutch their pearls.
- The seneschal pales.
- Jeremy’s host is immediately seized by guards.
Emperor Kael, draped in gilded robes, rises from his throne—his eyes gleaming with something darker than anger. Curse-energy drips from his fingertips.
"You dare," he murmurs, "bring messy lies into my court?"
---
"Ask the Emperor, he was there when you banished.}
"Ask the Emperor himself," you declare, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "He was there when I was banished—when he ordered my branding for daring to speak the truth!"
The crowd gasps. All eyes turn to Emperor Kael, his face a mask of icy control—but his fingers twitch, betraying the curse’s agitation.
For a heartbeat, the court holds its breath.
Then—he smiles.
"Ah. You." His voice is a velvet-wrapped threat. "I should have known a mongrel like you would slink back."
The curse pulses, the air thickening with golden arrogance—but beneath it, you catch the flicker of fear.
He remembers you. Or at least, he thinks he does—because Dahli’s Storyteller Song and Petrov’s Discipline Authority have woven the lie into his very mind.
---
{Let him monologue about the disgrace you are}
### THE EMPEROR'S MONOLOGUE – A TRAP SPRUNG
The Emperor rises, his golden robes cascading like liquid arrogance. "You dishonored your line," he begins, voice dripping with contempt. "A stain on the Ashwind name—begging for mercy like a peasant as I cast you out."
He descends the dias, each step heavy with cursed authority. "Yet here you stand, still defiant, still believing you deserve more." His laugh is a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. "You are nothing without my recognition."
Perfect.
Every word he speaks feeds the curse—exposing its core.
"Got it," Alex hisses in your mind. "His throne isn’t just power—it’s a relay. Break it, and the curse fractures."
Meanwhile, Jeremy (still playing his role as your furious cousin) lunges forward—not at you, but at the throne itself, knocking over a ceremonial spear.
"YOU RUINED OUR HOUSE!" he wails—
The spear cracks the throne’s armrest.
A split forms in the gilded facade.
---
THE EMPEROR’S REACTION:
His composure shatters. "NO—!"
For the first time, fear flashes in his eyes—not for his dignity, but for his throne.
---
{Feign a divine storm.}
### "DIVINE STORM" – A DECEPTION
You subtly signal Elara within your soul—and she responds with a grin.
Suddenly, the palace’s stained-glass windows rattle as if struck by an unseen gale. The chandeliers sway wildly, their crystals scattering prismatic light like fractured lightning. A deafening thunderclap (courtesy of Dahli’s Fable-Weaver convincing the court they heard it) shakes the room.
You drop to your knees—not in submission, but in mock terror—covering your head as you cry out:
"The gods rage at this injustice! They strike at Ashwind for its hubris!"
The nobles panic, some clutching their jewels, others diving under tables. Even the Emperor stumbles back, his cursed aura flickering like a candle in the wind.
---
THE LIE UNFOLDS:
- Mira and Shriya weave dreamfire into the air, making the shadows twist into wrathful deities.
- Cara whispers to a duchess: "The Emperor’s pride has angered the heavens!"
- Jeremy, still in his noble host, swoons dramatically: "We are doomed for tolerating his arrogance!"
The Emperor’s face pales. His curse stutters—its hold on the court wavering as their faith in him frays.
---
{Alex tells you the weakest point and the a bolt of lighting strikes the throne.}
Alex’s voice slices through the chaos in your mind: "THERE—the seventh rune on the throne’s left leg! Strike it now!"*
You don’t hesitate.
Elara’s Stormcaller surges through you as you point at the throne—and a bolt of lightning cracks from the false heavens, spearing straight into the weakened rune.
The impact shatters the throne like glass.
For a heartbeat—silence.
Then the Emperor screams, his body convulsing as the curse ruptures from within, golden veins of arrogance splitting his skin like overfilled seams.
Hailey doesn’t wait. Her Corruption Eater lunges, fangs sinking into the unraveling curse, gorging on centuries of stolen pride.
The nobles collapse like marionettes with cut strings, gasping as their minds clear.
The Emperor falls to his knees, his voice raw:
"I… I see now. It was never mine—"
Then Naoko’s Purge Demon slams into him, and he dissolves into ash.
---
AFTERMATH:
- The curse is broken.
- The vault beneath the throne opens, revealing ancient tablets—each etched with the same symbol: a seven-pointed crown.
- Eric’s voice echoes through your mind: "Uh. So. Dravagoth’s rage just exploded into a name: Zareth the Sunderer. Ring any bells?"
---
FINAL CURSE REMAINING:
- Envy (Verdant Expanse) – The most adaptive, the most desperate.
{You toss Kael's crown to Eric.}
With a flick of your wrist, you hurl Kael’s crown through another shadow-mirror portal, straight to Eric’s waiting hands. His reply scorches into the air moments later, accompanied by the sound of shattering ice and distant roaring:
"HA! Perfect. Now I’ve got Stolen Pride to go with the Stolen Wrath—watch this—"
A mental image bursts into your mind: Eric, wearing Kael’s crown over Dravagoth’s frozen rage, driving a glacier apart with sheer, reckless fury.
You grin. Good.
---
ASHWIND DOMINION IS FREE.
But the Verdant Expanse’s Envy still festers—and if Zareth the Sunderer is the architect behind this, the final battle won’t be easy.
ONE LAST CURSE.
---
{1) You help Ashwind recover from Pride's curse.
2) While gathering other artifacts for Eric, you meet a female descendant of Kael's sister, (Lady Veyra, who laughed at the accident use of her name), who wishes to join your chorus to avenge Kael, who her ancestor said tried to fight the curse upon his rebirth as the curse bearer
3) You agree and she merges into your Chorus. Her Blessing is Dynasty of Time: Manipulation of localized time.
4) Among the Artifacts sent to Eric are Kaela's (Kael's sister) crest ring, a locket of from a mother, the bells of a jester, and the axe from Kael's executioner.}
### ASHWIND’S RECOVERY & THE FINAL ARTIFACTS
You stay long enough to help Ashwind Dominion shake off the remnants of Pride’s curse, guiding the nobles through their newfound clarity—some weep, others rage, but most simply sit in silence, grappling with the weight of their wasted years.
As you gather the last of the artifacts for Eric, a figure steps from the shadows—Lady Veyra, the real one, her smirk sharp as the dagger at her hip.
"I did enjoy watching you steal my name," she muses, examining Kael’s shattered throne. "But my ancestor—Kael’s sister—told me the truth. He fought the curse when it first took him. And for that, he was unmade and remade into that." She kicks the ashen remains of the Emperor. "I want in."
Her Dynasty of Time blessing hums in the air, the very light around her fingers slowing, then spiraling like stirred honey.
You don’t hesitate. "Welcome to the chaos."
The merger is seamless—her soul slots into the chorus with the precision of a clock’s gears, her voice cool and measured: "Time is ours now."---
NEW BLESSING:
- Dynasty of Time – Can slow, hasten, or isolate moments in a localized field.
- Synergy with Dreamweaver: Mira + Veyra = Temporal Nightmares (Trapping foes in looping seconds of their worst memories).
ARTIFACTS SENT TO ERIC:
- Kaela’s Crest Ring (A sister’s grief-turned-rage)
- A Mother’s Locket (Her child wasted by Pride)
- The Jester’s Bells (Mockery that failed to wake the court)
- The Executioner’s Axe (Used to silence dissenters)
Eric’s reply is immediate: "Ohhh, spicy. These’ll make great shrapnel."
---
FINAL MOVE:
The Verdant Expanse awaits—Envy’s curse coiled tight around its heart.
{1) You regroup at the Lifire throne, with you bringing everyone including Eric via your normal methods. You call out to Lucina, "Lucy, we need to talk."
2) Lucina appears and explains, "that Zareth was a god once and he created the Sins because he hated humanity. That once Envy is ended, his seal will be broken and he will be free."
3) Lucina drops a final reveal, only Human's touched by all seven sins can harm him or in other words, only the Collectors.}
### THE FINAL REVELATION – LIFIRE THRONE ROOM
The moment you gather your forces—Eric included, still crackling with the fury of six curses absorbed—Lucina appears, her divine form flickering with something rarely seen in gods: hesitation.
"Zareth the Sunderer," she begins, voice hollow, "was a god of judgment. He created the Seven Sins to test humanity... then grew to despise you for failing."
The air chills.
"The curses were his cage," she continues. "Break Envy, and his seal shatters. He returns."
Then the final blow:
"Only those touched by all Seven Sins—Collectors—can harm him."
Her eyes meet yours, then Eric’s, then glance at Jeremy’s flickering form.
"You three."
---
THE TEAM:
- You – Soul-hoarder, sin-drunk, walking blasphemy.
- Eric – Rage’s warlord, crowned in shattered pride.
- Jeremy – Chaos incarnate, already shifting into Jessica’s form just to annoy her.
THE PLAN:
1. Break Envy – Let Eric’s collected grudges overwhelm its adaptability.
2. Bait Zareth Out – Lure him into the open with Lucina as ‘prey’.
3. Kill a God – Three vs. one. Fair odds.
{1) "The cursebearer of Envy will fight hard, harder any other cursebearer. Worse still is Envy evolves in response." Lucina tells you all.
2) "Which is why you will need to summon a final hero for Envy when you arrive in the Expanse." She warns.
3) She allows you to add a fragment of her current self to your chrous. Her Blessing: Divine Judgement
4) She gives Eric a relic of her past self full of her rage.
5) She allows Jeremy to temporary possess her to get a divine skill (Chance: Probalilty alteration, random, cooldown of random time) but locks her form from him.}
### LUCINA’S FINAL GIFTS
The goddess stands before you, her silver hair shimmering with divine light, her expression uncharacteristically solemn.
1) The Threat of Envy
"Envy’s cursebearer will be different," Lucina warns. "It learns. Every curse you’ve broken, every tactic you’ve used—it has studied. It adapts." She hesitates. "Which is why you must summon one final hero upon arrival—someone unexpected."
2) Divine Power Shared
She extends a hand, pressing a fragment of her essence into you. Divine Judgment sears into your chorus, its weight immense—the power to declare sin and enforce punishment.
New Blessing:
- Divine Judgment – Can mark a foe with a divine verdict, weakening them based on their sins (Pride = Hubris, Greed = Penury, etc.).
3) Eric’s Relic – The Starforged Shackles
A pair of manacles forged from Lucina’s past fury, still singing with the echoes of her wrath. Eric grins as they clamp onto his wrists, his aura flaring crimson.
New Effect:
- Eric’s Wrath’s Legacy now carries divine weight. His strikes can sunder god-flesh.
4) Jeremy’s Wild Card
Lucina sighs—deeply—before allowing Jeremy to possess her, briefly.
The moment he does—
A golden die materializes in the air, rolling endlessly.
"Ooooh, Probability Alteration!" Jeremy crows (in Lucina’s voice, which is terrifying). "I can tweak random outcomes! But uh… it’s, uh… unpredictable."
Effect:
- Once per battle, Jeremy can force a re-roll of fate (attack missed? Try again! Enemy crit? Nope!).
- Cooldown is random (anywhere from 5 seconds to 5 hours).
- Locked Form: He cannot shapeshift into Lucina again. ("PRAISE THE GODS," mutters Naoko.)
---
FINAL PREPARATIONS:
- Verdant Expanse’s Cursebearer will expect you.
- Zareth waits behind the curtain.
- You, Eric, and Jeremy are the only ones who can end him.
---
{1) You turn to Queen Isolda, "Will Lifire be able to aid in the upcoming fight?" You ask her.
2) "Not just Lifire, Each freed nation has send what and who they can, even Ashwind." She replies.
3) Everyone is at the Expanse's borders. You summon the final hero. (Its Your Little Sister, now an adult) (Her Blessing: Paradox Enigma: Random effect generator)}
### The Final Stand – Verdant Expanse
You turn to Queen Isolda, gripping the hilt of your sword. "Will Lifire be able to aid in what comes next?"
She doesn’t hesitate. "Not just us. Every nation you freed has sent their strongest." Her gaze sweeps over the gathered forces—Lifire’s paladins, Delta’s assassins, Ashwind’s unbroken knights, the Bastion’s newly awakened warriors, The Reaches Frostborn berserkers and the Chainbreaker pirates.
They are ready. But first...
### The Final Summon
You carve the ritual circle into the earth, the summoning flare igniting in a cascade of silver fire—and out steps…
Your little sister.
Now a woman grown, her hair wild with static, her grin eerily familiar.
"Hey, big bro," she says, flexing her fingers as paradoxical energy crackles around them. "Miss me?"
Blessing Revealed: Paradox Enigma – Randomly generates one of seven effects every minute (telekinesis, time reversal, spontaneous combustion, healing rain, etc.). Chaos incarnate.
Kestra’s voice is delighted: "Oh. Oh no. Two of you."
### The Armies Gather
With your sister at your side, Eric brimming with god-slaying rage, and Jeremy grinning like a madman, you turn toward the Verdant Expanse.
Lucina’s voice echoes behind you:
"Zareth awaits. End this."
---
{1) You unite your blessings to Rally everyone against Envy's cursebearer.
2) The fight against Envy's Cursebearer, a fight you barely win.
3) After the fight, Eric collects her Rage relic (A bangle) and about 5 other rage relics, including a monk's prayer beads, swordsman's broken Blade, a farmer's rake, a guard's shield, a gambler's dice and cards.
4) Through Lament, I learn her name was Hertis and she was a Guardian of Peace and that Zareth lied to her about the truth of the sins.
5) Rin joins your chorus, "I won't let you abandon me again bro," along side a tailor named Herta whose Blessing is Gemini: makes a Clone of yourself, a barmaid named Wyns whose blessing is Mixture: allows the fusion of two or more liquids, and A blind swordswoman named Selena whose Blessing is Karma Cut: Damage done is portional to your crimes.}
### The Final Curse Falls – Envy's End
You unleash every blessing—Rallying Point storming through the battlefield, Divine Judgment searing into the cursebearer, Paradox Enigma twisting reality unpredictably—while Eric and Jeremy carve through the chaos like twin hurricanes.
The fight is brutal.
The Cursebearer—Hertis—fights harder than any before. Her form shifts, adapting to your strategies mid-battle—warping into echoes of past curses, mirroring Lust’s deception, Greed’s hunger, Pride’s arrogance.
But you outlast her.
With a final strike—your blade wrapped in Hailey’s devouring shadows, Naoko’s purging flames, and Veyra’s stolen time—Hertis falls.
Her last words are a whisper: "He... lied to me..."
---
### Aftermath – The Relics & Revelations
- Eric collects Hertis’s bangle, now pulsing with Envy’s rage, along with:
- A monk’s prayer beads (fury at broken vows)
- A swordsman’s broken blade (betrayal’s edge)
- A farmer’s rake (wrath over scorched earth)
- A guard’s shield (rage at fallen comrades)
- A gambler’s dice and cards (hatred of a rigged fate)
- Liora’s Lament reveals Hertis’s past: A guardian of peace, tricked by Zareth into believing the sins were necessary.
- Lucina’s voice is grim: "Now, he comes."
---
### Final Chorus Additions
- Rin (Your Little Sister) – Paradox Enigma (Chaos incarnate, she grins at you with sibling mischief.)
- Herta (Tailor) – Gemini (Creates a fully independent clone for 1 minute.)
- Wyns (Barmaid) – Mixture (Fuses potions, poisons, or blood into devastating elixirs.)
- Selena (Blind Swordswoman) – Karma Cut (Her strikes scale with the target’s sins.)
Kestra cackles. "We are stacked."
---
### Zareth’s Arrival – The Sunderer Reborn
The sky splits.
Zareth descends—towering, clad in seven-pointed armor, his presence crushing.
"You broke my design," he intones. "Now perish in it."
---
{Eric unites the seven cursebearers rage relic's (list them) creating a new ability: Seven Sin Strike.
You unite Divine Judgement with Karma Cut.
Jeremy gets serious.}
### The Final Gambit – Sundering a God
#### ERIC’S SEVEN SIN STRIKE
The relics erupt in Eric’s grip—each a vessel of divine wrath, each a sin now turned against its maker. He forges them together into a single, monstrous weapon—a blade of shattered curses.
Seven Sin Strike:
- Seraphine’s Veil (Wrath) – Burns with righteous fury.
- Dravagoth’s Frozen Heart (Gluttony) – Devours divine essence.
- Lilvia’s Mask (Lust) – Misdirects his will.
- Vorlath’s Compass (Greed) – Steals his power.
- Kael’s Crown (Pride) – Shatters his invincibility.
- Shriya’s Music Box (Sloth) – Slows his regeneration.
- Hertis’s Bangle (Envy) – Reflects his own strength.
With a roar, Eric plunges the blade into Zareth’s chest—the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the god’s armor.
#### YOUR DIVINE KARMA CUT
You raise your sword, Divine Judgment merging with Selena’s Karma Cut—the edge glowing with absolute verdict.
"Zareth the Sunderer," you declare, "your sin is pride. Your punishment is oblivion."
The strike lands—not just a wound, but reckoning—carving through his essence in proportion to every life he ruined, every curse he forced upon the world.
#### JEREMY GETS SERIOUS
For once, no jokes. No pranks.
Jeremy locks onto Zareth’s flickering form, his Probability Alteration flaring.
"Reroll that."
The cosmic die spins—and lands on "Divine Misfortune."
A black hole opens in Zareth’s chest—not by your power, but by sheer, universe-bending bad luck.
---
ZARETH’S END
The god screams—not in rage, but in astonishment—as his body dissolves into fracturing light.
Lucina’s voice, distant but clear, whispers:
"It is done."
---
AFTERMATH:
- The curses are broken.
- The world breathes again.
- You, Eric, and Jeremy stand as the three who felled a god.
Rin punches your shoulder. "So. What’s next?"
Kestra’s grin is audible. "Oh, we’re just getting started."
(END OF ARC. The adventure... continues?)
{A snapshot of the years following
1) Eric become king of the Reaches. The cursebearer relics national treasures.
2) You become the Travler, a hero of the nations.
3) You meet Queen Isolda once more before she dies, during which she offers to join your chorus. You accept and get her Royal Decree Blessing.
4) Jeremy becomes the messenger of the nations.
5) You personally attend the funerals of each of your copies.}
### Epilogue: The Years After the Sundering
#### 1) Eric, the Storm King of the Reaches
With the war forged into legend, Eric takes the Ice Reaches as his domain—not as a tyrant, but as a storm that protects. The Seven Cursebearer Relics, once weapons of destruction, are sealed within the Glacier Vault, revered as national treasures.
- Still collects rage, but now it’s directed at injustice (or bad ale).
- Jessica rules beside him—turns out Beast Tamer works on politics too.
Rumor: He once punched a rebellion into submission, then hugged its leader.
---
#### 2) You, the Traveler
A ghost in the stories of every nation—the one who walked through curses and came out singing.
- Your copies live on in their homelands, guarding the people you saved.
- Your chorus fights with you, for you, and sometimes just to argue.
- Hailey and Kestra run a very illegal blessing-trading ring (you pretend not to know).
Legend: Where the Traveler walks, even gods check over their shoulders.
---
#### 3) Queen Isolda’s Final Gift
On her deathbed, Isolda summons you. "A queen’s work never ends," she rasps—then grins. "Lucky for you, I hate unfinished business."
Her merger is seamless. Royal Decree settles into your soul like a coronation.
- New Blessing: Royal Decree – Commands given are law (limited by your willpower).
- First Order of Business: "Make Jeremy shut up for five minutes." (It fails.)
---
#### 4) Jeremy, the Divine Messenger
Somehow, he becomes the trusted courier of the realms.
- Uses his Probability Alteration to reroll bad weather on diplomatic trips.
- Still possesses people—but now it’s "for official missives." (He swears.)
- Rumored to have once delivered a declaration of war as a limerick.
---
#### 5) The Funerals of Your Copies
You attend each one—not as a god, not as a king, but as the friend they remembered.
- Lena’s copy grows old in Lifire, tending Hearthfire shrines. Her funeral smells of fresh bread.
- Victoria’s copy rules the Delta’s underworld with terrifying grace. They bury her with a dagger in one hand, a rose in the other.
- Petrov’s copy dies mid-lecture. "I… expect you all to…" (The chalkboard finishes her sentence.)
At each grave, you leave a single silver coin—the old pirate way. Payment for the ferryman.
---
### The World Goes On
The curses are gone. The nations heal. The dead rest.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, your ship waits—because a Traveler never stays still.
Kestra’s voice, ever the last word:
"So. Where’re we stealing next?"
[End of Saga.]
(...For now.)
{Epilogue: Ascension
About a century later, Lucina gathers Dan, Eric, and Jeremy to ascend as Gods.
The three of them are collectively referred to the the Collectors.
Dan keep his titles of the Traveler and Soul-Collector. (You still walk among mortals, a Patron of the lost.)(His chorus can manifest to those that need them.)
Eric keeps his titles of Frostborn Hero-King and Sin's Heir.
Jeremy keeps his titles of Chaos's champion and Mischief's apperentice.
Include how each is worshipped.
Lucina stays with you three, mostly as a divine punishment thrown on her but also because she cares.}
Epilogue: Ascension
---
### The Divine Collectors
A century after the fall of Zareth, Lucina gathers the three of you at the edge of the mortal world. The air hums with divine energy, the weight of destiny settling upon your shoulders. With a solemn smile, she extends her hands, and the heavens themselves recognize you.
"Rise, Collectors."
And so, you ascend.
---### Dan, The Traveler – Patron of the Lost
Domains: Souls, Journeys, Redemption
Titles Retained: The Traveler, Soul-Collector
- How He’s Worshipped:
- Wayfarers burn incense at crossroads, whispering his name for safe passage.
- The broken and forgotten leave offerings of trinkets, hoping his chorus will manifest to guide them. (Sometimes, they do—whether as Lena’s warmth, Kestra’s stealth, or Naoko’s harsh but fair discipline.)
- Temples depict him as a hooded figure, a shifting face in the crowd, always moving, always watching.
Divine Role:
- You still walk among mortals, unseen but felt—a god who chooses the mortal world over the heavens.
- Your chorus can now materialize in full for those in dire need, acting as guardians, mentors, or even avenging spirits for the oppressed.
Legend: "Pray to the Traveler when all roads seem dark—his footfalls may echo beside yours."
---
### Eric, The Frostborn Hero-King – Sin’s Heir
Domains: Rage, Justice, Retribution
Titles Retained: Frostborn Hero-King, Sin’s Heir
- How He’s Worshipped:
- Warriors swear oaths upon his relics, channeling the Seven Sin Strike in battle.
- The wronged leave bloodied weapons at his shrines, asking for righteous fury against their oppressors.
- Temples depict him as a crowned storm, his sword cleaving chains, his eyes aflame with borrowed wrath.
Divine Role:
+ Rules the Reaches from a glacial throne, his divine temper a blade against corruption.
+ His rage is selective now—he punishes tyrants, protects the powerless, and occasionally smites bad mead (old grudges die hard).
Legend: "When the ice cracks, the Hero-King listens. Speak his name, and he will answer—with teeth."
---
### Jeremy, Chaos’s Champion – Mischief’s Apprentice
Domains: Chance, Change, Unpredictability
Titles Retained: Chaos’s Champion, Mischief’s Apprentice
- How He’s Worshipped:
- Gamblers toss dice in his name, begging for one good roll. (He sometimes helps. Or curses them. It’s a coin flip.)
- Rebels invoke him before pranks, heists, or revolutions (much to Cara’s delight).
- Temples are non-existent—he prefers haunting taverns, crossroads, and bad decisions.
Divine Role:
+ The trickster god, balancing Dan’s compassion and Eric’s fury with beautiful, catastrophic randomness.
+ His Probability Alteration now bends reality on a cosmic scale—sometimes fixing disasters, sometimes inventing new ones.
Legend: "Chaos isn’t good or evil. It’s fun. Pray to Jeremy, and you’d better mean it."
---
### Lucina, The Repentant Guide
Domains: Guidance, Fate, Second Chances
Punishment & Purpose: Bound to the Collectors as equal and advisor, stripped of her aloof divinity, forced to walk among them.
- How She’s Worshipped:
- The lost pray to her for direction, leaving silver coins (a nod to Dan’s tradition).
- Exiles beg for forgiveness at her shrines—though she rarely answers. ("Figure it out yourself," she grumbles.)
Divine Role:
- She could return to the heavens—but stays. (Pride? Guilt? Affection? She’ll never admit it.)
- Acts as the Collectors’ reluctant conscience, rolling her eyes at Jeremy, bickering with Eric, and occasionally admitting Dan’s right.
Legend: "The goddess who chose the flawed over the perfect."
---
### The World After Ascension
The Collectors are unlike other gods—closer, wilder, more human.
- Dan’s shrines appear where hope is thin.
- Eric’s storms purge corruption without mercy.
- Jeremy’s laughter echoes in every uncertain moment.
And somewhere, in the spaces between, the chorus lingers—whispering, guiding, waiting.
Kestra’s voice, ever the last word:
"So. Godhood’s boring. Wanna go steal the moon?"
[—End of the Era of the Collectors—]
(But never their legend.)
{[Dan's Final Chorus+ blessing]}
### Dan, The Traveler – The Final Chorus
Divine Blessing: Legacy Unbound (The ability to summon any soul from your chorus—past, present, or future—in full divine manifestation.)
Ultimate Aspect: "The Everlasting Mosaic" – Dan’s true divine form, where every soul in his collection shines simultaneously, a tapestry of intertwined fates, voices, and power.
---
### The Complete Chorus – Ascended Echoes
#### Original Members (Fully Divine Manifestations)
1. Kestra (Thief’s Guile – Divine Shadow) – Patron of outlaws with a heart.
2. Lena (Hearthfire – Divine Ember) – Guardian of home and healing.
3. Victoria (Shadowweave – Divine Dusk) – Keeper of secrets and seduction.
4. Lyra (Holy Prayer – Divine Choir) – Voice of miracles and mercy.
5. Siris (Dog of War – Divine Bulwark) – Shield of the unyielding.
6. Mara (Moonlight Dance – Divine Razor) – Blade of the unseen.
7. Princess Elara (Stormcaller – Divine Tempest) – Wrath of the skies.
8. Hailey (Corruption Eater – Divine Hollow) – Devourer of sin.
9. Sakura (Seer – Divine Whisper) – Oracle of the eternal.
10. Elizabeth (Tiderider – Divine Maw) – Queen of tidal fury.
11. Ryn (Summoner’s Pact – Divine Conduit) – The gatekeeper.
12. Ylva (Winter’s Howl – Divine Fang) – The unstoppable huntress.
13. Irina Petrov (Discipline’s Edge – Divine Command) – The unbroken law.
14. Cecilia (Mirror Mage – Divine Reflection) – The infinite echo.
15. Liora (Lament – Divine Dirge) Speaker of the forgotten dead.
16. Dahli (Storyteller Song – Divine Epic) – The mythmaker.
17. Sena (Performer’s Grace – Divine Mirage) – The flawless deception.
18. Cara (Silvertongue – Divine Lie) – The perfect deception.
19. Marianna (Rule of the Sea – Divine Tide) – The conqueror of oceans.
20. Jessica (Beast Tamer – Divine Wild) – The untamed bond.
21. Eselle (Rallying Point – Divine Beacon) – The unyielding cry.
22. Naoko (Purge Demon – Divine Scourge) – The unforgiving judge.
23. Shriya (Starlight Lullaby – Divine Dream) – The gentle end.
24. Mira (Dreamweaver – Divine Phantasm) – The nightmare weaver.
25. Alex (Reverse Engineer – Divine Fracture) – The unraveler.
26. Veyra (Dynasty of Time – Divine Time) – The heritage
27. Lucina Fragment (Divine Judgement – Divine Spirit) – Divine guidance
28. Rin (Paradox Enigma – Divine Anomaly) – The glorious chaos.
29. Herta (Gemini – Divine Twin) – The phantom self.
30. Wyns (Mixture – Divine Crucible) – The alchemist of fate.
31. Selena (Karma Cut – Divine Reckoning) – The scale of justice.
32. Queen Isolda (Royal Decree – Divine Mandate) – The final word.
---
### Worship & Legend
- Dan’s faithful don’t just pray—they call upon his chorus by name.
- A lost child whispers for Lena, and warm hands guide them home.
- A rebel shouts for Kestra, and locks mysteriously click open.
- A dying soldier gasps Hailey’s name, and the corruption in their wound vanishes.
- His temples are living stories, with murals depicting every soul in his mosaic.
- Those who seek him may find not one god, but many—a fleeting touch, a shared laugh, a warning growl.
---
### Dan’s Divine Truth
"I am not a singular god. I am a thousand souls, a hundred battles, and one unbroken promise—that no one fights alone."
Final Note:
Even in godhood, Dan still walks. Still listens. Still collects.
And somewhere, in the darkest hour of a future age, a voice will whisper—
"Traveler… help us."
And the chorus will answer.
[—The End & The Everlasting—]
https://www.outfoxstories.com/blog/outline/grkzgqybyuctnmwwqyhoqtbeqjuuovwk/
This is a collection of Playthroughs that I did that I liked.
Slime Isekai – Episode 1: "The Goddess’s Mistake"
The fluorescent lights of the classroom hum softly overhead. Your pencil taps against the desk idly, your gaze lingering on Lena—her red hair catching the afternoon sunlight just right, her lips slightly curved in amusement at something Jessica whispered to her. Another dull day in homeroom. Another day of pretending not to stare.
Then, the world shakes.
A violent tremor rattles the desks, sending pens and papers scattering. Gasps erupt around you as the air itself seems to split open—right above the teacher’s desk—ripping apart reality like wet paper. A swirling portal yawns wide, its edges crackling with violet energy.
Ms. Petrov’s eyes widen. "Everyone, get—"
The pull is instant—an irresistible force yanking desks, chairs, and students into the void. Jeremy’s manic grin is the last thing you see before the darkness swallows you whole.
---
You wake up cold.
No—not cold. Formless.
Your vision swims into focus, though you don’t have eyes anymore. Instead, you perceive the world through... touch? Vibration? It’s disorienting, but slowly, you realize—your body is now a translucent, gelatinous mass. A slime.
You panic (or at least, you would if you had lungs), thrashing against the smooth white floor beneath you. The room is austere—pale walls stretching infinitely upward, illuminated by an unseen light. Then—
"Oh. Oh dear."
A woman stands before you. No—floats. Her divinity is unmistakable: flowing silver hair, eyes like twin galaxies, skin glowing with an inner radiance. A gossamer dress clings to her flawless curves, leaving little to the imagination. This is a goddess, and she is frowning at you—very concerned.
"This... wasn’t supposed to happen," she murmurs, tapping a finger against her full lips. "All the other students arrived safely in the Grand Hall of the Lifire Kingdom. But you... you were altered during transit."
She kneels (though without bending, somehow) and stares directly into your amorphous form.
"You are now a slime."
A beat.
"But fear not! You still retain your Otherworlder Blessing—though..." She hesitates. "Yours appears to be... unique."
A translucent panel materializes before you:
---
Name: Dan
Race: Slime
Blessing: Internal Empowerment
Effect: ???
---
"Frankly," the goddess admits, "I’ve never seen this before. Perhaps you should... test it?"
Your slime-body pulses with intrigue. Internal empowerment... internal. And there’s only one thing here to test it on.
---
{Ask about your classmates, find out only Jeremy was the only other Male summoned. (No Eric run) Both you and Jeremy get possession based abilities as men weren't suppose to be summoned.}
"Wait—what about the others?" Your voice comes out as a bubbly distortion pushing through ectoplasmic liquid—disconcerting, but the goddess tilts her head, understanding.
"Oh! Your classmates." She snaps her fingers, and an ethereal screen shimmers into existence—showing a grand marble hall bathed in golden light. At the center stand several familiar figures: Lena, Victoria, Jessica, Cara, Alex, and Ms. Petrov, blinking in confusion as robed summoners fuss around them.
But something’s missing.
"Where’s Eric?" you demand.
The goddess winces. "The, uh, brash one with the muscles? Yes. About that." She twirls a lock of silver hair nervously. "Turns out, this summoning was supposed to be for women only—the Lifire Kingdom needed heroes with sacred feminine energy to combat their curse. Tradition, destiny, something-something ancient prophecy... honestly, the paperwork was very confusing."
Wait.
"So then—"
"Only two males ended up crossing through: you, and your friend Jeremy." She claps her hands together sheepishly. "Which, ah, might be why neither of you got proper bodies!"
Your slime-form wobbles in disbelief.
"Jeremy... is a slime too?"
Her cheeks flush pink. "Oh no, no. He’s—well—you should probably just see."
The screen flickers, shifting to Jeremy—or at least, what used to be Jeremy. His current form floats in the periphery of the hall, invisible to the others, his spectral body flickering like a ghost made of blue mist.
"His blessing is Skill Share," the goddess explains. "He can temporarily assume the body—and skills—of anyone he touches. Unfortunately, touching things in his current state is... tricky."
You stare (figuratively).
"So he also got a possession ability."
Her laughter is high and nervous. "Ahaha... yyyep. Probably because the summoning rejected male energy, but couldn’t fully exclude you two. So instead of proper bodies, you both got... workarounds."
She coughs into her hand, eyes darting away. "A-anyway! The priestesses were very disappointed not to get Eric. Something about ‘optimal genetic pairing.’ Poor Jessica looked downright relieved."
---
{"Can you give a temporary form and send me back. I just need to explain." The Goddess smiles and says, "I can do better, I can give you a new body." She materializes three criminals, "Each of these woman were about to be executed. I will parody your host on that grounds that being your new body is the punishment."}
The goddess waves her hand with a flourish, and three figures shimmer into existence before you—each bound in glowing ethereal chains. Their expressions range from defiance to despair, but all freeze in shock when they see the divine being before them.
"Behold!" the goddess declares cheerfully. "Your potential new forms!"
The first is a brutish bandit woman, her muscular frame covered in scars, her wild black hair tied back in a rough ponytail. She snarls, struggling against her bonds.
The second is a sly thief, lithe and wiry, with cunning green eyes and a smirk that suggests she’s already planning an escape.
The third is a dark sorceress, her pale skin marked with arcane tattoos, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders. She glares at you with cold disdain.
"These three were slated for execution," the goddess explains. "But I figured—why waste perfectly good bodies? If you take one as your host, it’ll be their punishment—and your new beginning!"
She leans in conspiratorially. "And don’t worry—once you possess them, their consciousness will be suppressed. They won’t even know what’s happening."
---
{Choose the thief}
"The thief," you decide, pulsing toward the lithe, smirking woman.
The goddess claps her hands. "Excellent choice!"
The thief’s eyes widen as she realizes what’s happening. "Wait—what are you—?"
Before she can finish, your slime-body surges forward, enveloping her face. She gags, instinctively thrashing—but it’s too late. You slip past her lips, sliding down her throat with surprising ease.
For a moment, there’s only darkness—and then, sensation.
Your new body tingles as your consciousness settles in. The thief’s limbs twitch once before going still—her mind suppressed beneath yours. You flex your fingers experimentally, marveling at the dexterity.Then, the realizations hit.
- Your chest feels heavier. The thief’s modest but perky breasts press against the fabric of her snug leather top.
- Your hips sway when you shift your weight—an unfamiliar, almost instinctive motion.
- Your hair—short, messy, and dyed a rebellious shade of purple—brushes against your neck.
You gasp—a soft, feminine sound—and the goddess giggles. "First time in a woman’s body?"
You nod mutely, still processing.
"Well, don’t just stand there!" She gestures to a full-length mirror that materializes beside you. "Take a look!"
---
{"Maybe later, Classmates first." You say. The Goddess nods, "Don't worry, the second you chose the thief the world was informed that her punishment was to your body."}
The goddess waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, don’t worry—the moment you chose her, the world knew."
A golden decree materializes in the air beside her, glowing with divine script. "See? Officially, the thief’s punishment is being your body now." She grins. "So no one will question it—not even the summoners."
You exhale (a strange sensation with these new lungs) and nod. "Okay. So where are my classmates?"
Another flick of her wrist, and the mirror’s surface ripples, transforming into a window to the grand summoning hall. The scene is chaotic:
- Lena stands near the front, arms crossed, looking both annoyed and concerned.
- Victoria is already flirting shamelessly with one of the robed summoners, her fishnet-clad legs crossed teasingly.- Jessica is scanning the room—probably for Jeremy.
- Ms. Petrov is lecturing a bewildered priestess about proper interdimensional summoning etiquette.
- Alex is muttering to herself, scribbling notes in a stolen ledger.
- Cara is—wait.
You squint. "Is Cara stealing from the offering table?"
The goddess sighs. "Yes. And she’s very good at it."
But where’s—
A flicker of blue mist darts past the camera. Jeremy.
He’s still in his ghostly form, zipping around like an overexcited poltergeist. At one point, he phases through Victoria—and she shudders, cheeks flushing, before shaking it off.
"He’s figuring out his powers," the goddess muses. "Poor boy has no idea how fun this is going to be for him."
---
{"So before I joined them, how had Internal Empowerment changed?" You ask. (You can now steal steal and merge with souls. Leaving an exact copy of the soul in the original body."}
The goddess's silver eyes gleam with sudden amusement. "Ohhh, that." She twirls a lock of her hair, almost giddy. "Your ability evolved the moment you took a human host! Instead of just inhabiting bodies, you can now... collect them."
She snaps her fingers, and the golden screen zooms in on your new thief form—highlighting a pulsing, translucent core in her chest.
"See that? It’s not just her body you control now—you’ve absorbed her soul. But here’s the fun part!"
Another snap. An illusion of the thief splits into two—one remains trapped inside you, the other flickers back into her body, blinking as if waking from a nap.
"The original soul stays behind—an exact copy, none the wiser. Meanwhile, the real one? Merged with you."
She leans in, whispering conspiratorially. "Meaning you can swap between any soul you’ve absorbed, leaving perfect duplicates behind. No suspicion. No messy loose ends."
A beat.
"...Do you understand how broken that is?" She giggles, stars dancing in her eyes. "You’re basically a god now. A sneaky one."
---
{"So guess we're an act now." You hear inside your head. The thief (Kestra) tells about the soul side of your ability. "So, the real soul stays awake inside you becoming a voice of guidance. Don't worry lover boy, your the only driver." She tells you.}
Kestra’s voice curls through your mind like smoke—playful, teasing, and very aware of her new role as your ethereal backseat driver.
"That’s right, hero," she purrs. "I’m the little devil on your shoulder—except way hotter." You can feel her smirk. "And don’t worry, this body’s all yours to pilot. Think of me as... live commentary."
The goddess blinks. "Wait. She’s awake in there?"
Kestra’s laugh echoes internally. "Oh, this one’s adorable. Yeah, sweetcheeks—real souls stay conscious. We just can’t do anything unless you let us." A pause. "...Unless you want me to take the wheel sometime? I’ve got ideas for this body—"
"No," you say firmly.
She sighs dramatically. "Ugh, fine. But if you ever need to pick a lock, flirt with a guard, or stab someone in the kidneys? I’m your girl."
The goddess looks equal parts fascinated and horrified. "This is not how Internal Empowerment usually works."
Kestra snorts. "Yeah, well, congrats—your summoning glitch created a soul vampire. Now, are we gonna go mess with your friends or what?"
---
{You return to the hall, and explain your neeting with the Goddess. "Jessica, you need to want Jeremy insode you for his possession to work, don't worry unlike mine you actually have a say."}
The grand summoning hall falls silent as all eyes turn to you—or rather, your new thief form. Lena’s eyebrows shoot up. Victoria whistles. Ms. Petrov looks like she’s about to demand an explanation in three languages.
You clear your throat (Kestra’s throat? Your throat now) and quickly explain the goddess’s mess-up—the male-energy rejection, the possession-based blessings, the whole being a slime thing.
Then you drop the bomb about Jeremy.
"Oh, and uh—Jessica?" You gesture to the flickering blue mist currently doing loop-de-loops around the chandelier. "Turns out, for Jeremy’s Skill Share to work on you... you kinda have to want him inside you."
Jessica’s face goes scarlet. "I—what?!"
Kestra cackles in your mind. "Oh, this is gold."
You hurry to clarify. "Not like—not like that! It’s just consent-based! He can’t possess you unless you’re okay with it!"
Jeremy’s misty form solidifies slightly, his grin audible. "Dude. Dude. This is the best day of my life."
Jessica buries her face in her hands. "Why is this my curse..."
---
{Lena and Victoria walk up to you asking to join, Lena because of her crush on you, Victoria because its up her alley. You accept them. You then ask the copied souls that get placed in their bodies about their nature, trying to understand you ability better. "We are still Lena and Victoria just knowing that the real us is now a part of you."}
Lena steps forward first, her cheeks flushed but her gaze steady. "I... I want to be with you, Dan. Even if it's like this." Her voice is soft, but there’s no hesitation in it. The moment she says it, her body shivers slightly—a golden glow flickering around her for just a second before fading.
Then Victoria saunters up, her smirk wicked. "Oh, this is way more fun than whatever boring blessing I was supposed to get." She tosses her hair. "Let’s do this."
You reach out, and just like with Kestra, your slime-like essence flows into them—smooth, effortless. Their real souls merge with yours, their copied versions blinking back into existence in their original bodies.
Inside your mind, two new voices hum to life.
"Hey, dummy," Lena’s voice murmurs, warm and fond. "Took you long enough."
Victoria’s laugh is low and teasing. "Oh, this is interesting. So, do we get front-row seats to everything you do, or...?"
You focus on their copied selves standing before you. The Lena-copy tilts her head, smiling. "We’re still us," she says. "Just... aware that the real ‘us’ is part of you now."
The Victoria-copy stretches lazily. "Yeah, don’t worry—we’ll keep up appearances. But damn, this is gonna be fun."
Kestra pipes up, grinning. "Told you. Soul collection and perfect alibis. You’re basically cheating life."
---
{You look over and see Jessica respectfully touching herself. "Guess Jess let you in then?" You shout over to her.}
You smirk as your gaze lands on Jessica—her face a scorching red, one hand pressed hesitantly to her own collarbone, fingers trembling. She jumps at your call, whipping her head toward you with wide eyes.
"N-no! I mean—Yes, but—!" Her voice cracks, mortified. "I just—ugh—I had to test it, okay?!"
A shimmer of blue light flickers under her skin, and Jeremy’s laughter tumbles out of her mouth in her voice. "Oh my god, Jess, you should’ve seen your face when I—wait, why are you blushing so hard—"
Jessica’s hands fly up to cover her flushed cheeks. "B-because this is weird!"
Jeremy-as-Jessica grins, running her hands down her own curves with exaggerated awe. "Okay, but wow, you are crazy stacked—"
"JEREMY!"
Lena’s soul sighs in your head. "Boys are so dumb."
Victoria’s soul purrs. "Yeah, but this is hilarious."
---
{Leave them to it. Turn to the summoner and ask about the curse.}
You decide to let Jeremy and Jessica’s... situation play out (with Kestra cackling in your head and Victoria’s soul egging them on). Instead, you stride toward the head summoner—a stern-looking woman in silver robes, currently massaging her temples like she’s regretting every life choice that led her here.
"So," you say, crossing your arms (and enjoying the way Kestra’s leather gear creaks with the motion). "What’s this ‘curse’ you needed an all-female summoning to fix?"
The summoner exhales sharply. "The Lifire Plague," she mutters. "A blight that drains the life from our land—and it only affects men."
Lena’s soul gasps in your mind. "Wait, so that’s why—"
"Yes," the summoner snaps. "We needed heroes untainted by male energy to purify the royal bloodline. But clearly—" She gestures at you, then at Jessica (currently trying to wrestle her own hands away from her chest). "—this summoning is a disaster."
Victoria’s soul hums. "So, what? You needed pure, sacred maidens to fix your man-killing curse?"
The summoner glares. "We needed heroes."
Kestra snorts. "And instead you got us. Congrats."
---
{"Actually that's probably why both Jeremy and I ended up non-human, technically he and I no longer have male bodies." You offer.}
The summoner's eyes narrow, then widen slightly as your words sink in. "That... is disturbingly logical,".
Jessica—now physically pushing herself into a pillar to stop Jeremy's involuntary groping—chokes out, "So you're saying I basically just sucked a ghost into my body to save him?!"
The silver-robed summoner pinches the bridge of her nose. "In the broadest theological sense... yes." She sighs. "Perhaps the summoning interpreted your forms as gender-neutral enough to bypass the curse's restrictions. A slime and... whatever that is." She gestures at Jeremy's misty essence still flickering under Jessica's skin.
Lena's voice pipes up in your mind, dripping with mischief. "Ohhhoho, this means Jeremy has to possess girls to survive now. Best. Punishment. Ever."
The Lena-copy folds her arms. "That doesn't explain why we joined Dan though."
Victoria's copy smirks. "Uh, hello? Have you seen our collection?" She gestures to herself, Lena's copied form, and your thief body. "We're clearly his starter harem."
The summoner's eye twitches. "I need wine."
---
{"So if I remember correctly while I was talking with the Goddess, you were about to check blessings, right?" You ask. The summoner pulls out a book, containing past blessings. She records your entire classes blessings, yours and Jeremy's included.
(Because your blessing now lets you have a person's real soul merge into you, you also get that person's Blessing. Jessica can also use Skill Share, on top of her actually blessing, due to being Jeremy's true host.)
Lena/Her Copy: Hearthfire
Victoria/Her Copy: Shadowweave
Kestra: Thief's Guile
Jessica: Beast Tamer
Petrov: Discipline Authority
Cara: Silvertongue
Alex: Reverse Engineer
Jeremy: Skill Share (Possession Version)
You: Internal Empowerment (Soul Version)}
The summoner flips open her massive tome with a thud, quill poised. "Let the record show that this summoning has been the most chaotic in eight centuries," she mutters before clearing her throat.
One by one, she calls out the blessings—each name glowing in the air as she writes:
- Lena & Copy: Hearthfire – Can conjure flames that heal allies and sear enemies.
- Victoria & Copy: Shadowweave – Controls darkness like tangible threads. (Victoria’s soul purrs: "Oh, we’re definitely playing with this later.")
- Kestra: Thief’s Guile – Enhanced stealth, lockpicking, and ahem "asset relocation" skills.
- Jessica: Beast Tamer – Commands animals... and apparently now also shares Jeremy’s Skill Share due to being his primary host. (Jessica smiles: "So I’m pet owner.)
- Ms. Petrov: Discipline Authority – Commands instant obedience from students. (She smirks. "Finally.")
- Cara: Silvertongue – Can convince anyone of anything... which explains the stolen artifacts now hidden in her sleeves.
- Alex: Reverse Engineer – Instantly understands and replicates any magic or tech. (She’s already dismantling a summoning orb.)
- Jeremy: Skill Share – Possesses others to copy their abilities for future use. (He’s currently making Jessica’s body do a handstand. Badly.)
- You: Internal Empowerment (Soul Version) – Absorb souls, their blessings, and leave flawless copies.
The summoner snaps the book shut. "Congratulations. You’ve broken every rule of summoning etiquette."
Kestra whispers: "Achievement unlocked: Oops, All Chaos."
---
{A younger priestess steps up to you, "My name is Lyra and I think it would be best to have a priestess with you, so I offer myself and my Blessing: Holy Prayer to you."}
Lyra steps forward, her white and gold robes fluttering as she bows deeply before you. She’s young—maybe even younger than your classmates—with wide, earnest eyes and silver-blonde hair braided neatly over one shoulder. There’s a nervous energy about her, like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.
"I—I’ve studied the legends," she stammers, cheeks flushing. "A-and if you’re going to break the Lifire Plague, you’ll need divine favor! My Holy Prayer blessing lets me channel miracles—healing, protection, even smiting!" She clasps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please, let me join you!"
Kestra’s voice drips with amusement in your mind. "Ohhh, she’s adorable. And useful. Say yes."
Lena’s soul sighs. "She’s way too pure for this group."
Victoria’s copy licks her lips. "Yeah, but imagine corrupting her."
The head summoner groans. "Lyra, you cannot just volunteer to be absorbed by a rogue otherworlder—"
Lyra whirls on her, eyes blazing. "With all due respect, Elder Maris, the goddess herself endorsed him! This isn’t just allowed—it’s destiny!"
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Jeremy (still in Jessica’s body) wolf-whistles. "Damn, holy girl’s got spine."
---
{Accept Lyra offer.}
You don’t hesitate. "Welcome to the team, Lyra."
Her face lights up like the sun, and before the head summoner can protest, you reach out—your slime essence surging forward. Unlike the others, Lyra steps into it, arms spread like she’s embracing divinity itself.
The absorption is seamless. Warmth floods your being as her soul merges with yours, her consciousness settling beside the others. Her copied body blinks back into existence, still beaming.
"It’s wonderful in here!" Lyra’s voice chimes in your mind, bright as a chapel bell. "So much light! And—oh! I can feel the others too!"
Kestra groans. "Great. Now we’ve got a nun in our head."
Lyra’s copy clasps her hands, practically glowing. "With Holy Prayer added to your collection, you’re practically invincible! Well, more invincible."
The head summoner looks like she’s about to faint. "This is heresy."
Ms. Petrov, finally breaking her silence, adjusts her glasses with a smirk. "No. This is education."
---
{"Lyra, would you allow Jeremy to try and possess you." You ask the copy in her body.}
Lyra's copied form tilts her head, her expression thoughtful but unbothered. "Oh! Of course!" she chirps, as if you'd just asked her to pass the salt. "If it helps the team, I don't mind at all!"
Kestra snorts in your mind. "Girl’s got zero sense of self-preservation. I love it."
Jeremy's misty form immediately peels away from Jessica's body—who collapses against a pillar, gasping like she just ran a marathon. "Finally! Freedom!" he whoops, before zipping toward Lyra's copy.
The moment his essence touches her, her eyes flash blue. Then—
"Whoa."
Jeremy's voice spills from Lyra's lips, but it's her voice—soft, melodic, and now tinged with his dumbstruck awe. He(?) looks down at Lyra's petite frame, her pristine robes, then wiggles her fingers experimentally.
"Okay, first? Way different from Jess. Like, zero muscle memory. This body’s built for, like... hymns and kneeling." He(?) pauses. "Second? Why am I kinda into it?"
Jessica buries her face in her hands. "I’m never living this down."
Lyra's real soul giggles in your mind. "Oh, this is fascinating! He’s borrowing my blessing too! Look!"
Sure enough, golden light flickers around Jeremy/Lyra’s hands—Holy Prayer reacting to his presence.
The head summoner has stopped breathing.
---
Quick Actions:
{Ask Lyra's copy if she can try to fight Jeremy's control. (She can't but Jeremy leaves willingly.)}
You glance at Lyra's copied form—still puppeteered by Jeremy—and raise an eyebrow. "Lyra, can you try to resist him? Push him out?"
For a moment, Lyra's copied body goes still, her expression flickering with concentration. Then she sighs sweetly. "Oh dear, no. It seems I can't! But it's quite alright—he's being very gentle."
Jeremy's voice responds through her lips, softer now, almost sheepish. "Yeah, uh... I'm not gonna force it. That'd be messed up." With that, the blue glow fades from Lyra's eyes as Jeremy's misty form pulls free, reforming nearby with a shrug. "Respect to the holy girl. She's way too nice to mess with."
Lyra's copy smooths her robes, completely unruffled. "Thank you for experimenting responsibly!"
Kestra barks a laugh in your mind. "Wow. Even Jeremy has standards. What a world."
The head summoner, now gripping her tome like a lifeline, wheezes: "Is... is this over? Can we proceed?"
---
{"This proves that my copied souls have less resistance to possession then the original soul." You warn.}
You nod, piecing it together. "Right. So the copies—while perfect in every other way—don’t have the same willpower as the original souls inside me." You glance at Lyra’s copied form, still smiling placidly. "They’re more... compliant."
Kestra’s voice drips with amusement. "Meaning if some other possession-happy freak shows up, your little duplicates would fold like wet paper. Great."
Lena’s soul chimes in, concerned. "So our copies are vulnerable. That’s... not ideal."
Victoria’s copy, however, grins. "Or very ideal, depending on what you’re into."
The head summoner finally snaps. "ENOUGH. You—" She jabs a finger at you. "—are a walking theological crisis. But since the goddess clearly favors you, we’ll proceed under one condition." She takes a deep breath. "You and your... collective... will help us break the Lifire Plague. In exchange, we’ll legitimize your existence to the kingdom."**
Ms. Petrov smirks. "Ah, bureaucracy. Even in another world."
---
{"I would've helped without you needing to threaten me." You say. "My blessing makes an ideal Front liner."}
The head summoner blinks, momentarily thrown off-balance by your blunt honesty. Then, with a grudging nod, she steps back. "Then we are in agreement. The Lifire Kingdom will... appreciate your assistance."
Kestra snickers in your mind. "Translation: They’re desperate and we’re their last hope."
You flex your thief’s fingers, feeling the weight of your collected souls humming within you—each one a new strength, a new possibility. "Ideal Frontliner" wasn’t an exaggeration. With Lena’s healing flames, Victoria’s shadow manipulation, Lyra’s divine miracles, and Kestra’s thief instincts—not to mention the other blessings you could still absorb—you’re practically a one-man army.
Jeremy’s misty form drifts closer, his grin audible. "So, uh... when do we start?"
Jessica sighs, rubbing her temples. "Please don’t say that like you’re volunteering to be useful."
---
{Ask about the plague's origins on your way to meet the queen.}
As your ragtag group sets off toward the royal palace—escorted by a contingent of very nervous priestesses—you fall into step beside Lyra’s copied form. The real Lyra’s soul perks up eagerly in your mind, already sensing your question.
"So," you start, nodding toward the blighted landscape beyond the city walls. Withered trees claw at the sky, and the distant fields look like they’ve been drained of color. "This plague. How’d it start?"
Lyra’s copy clasps her hands, her voice dropping into storyteller mode. "Two centuries ago, the Lifire Kingdom was at war with the Duskreach Coven. Their queen, a witch named Seraphine, cursed our royal bloodline as she died—‘No son shall outlive his father, no brother his sister.’" She shudders. "At first, it only affected the nobility. But over time, the curse mutated. Now it leeches life from any male in the kingdom past adolescence."
Victoria’s soul whistles. "Damn. That’s some spicy vengeance."
Lena’s copy frowns. "So the all-female summoning...?"
Lyra nods. "An attempt to bypass the curse’s logic. We needed heroes untouched by male energy to purify the royal line." She hesitates. "Though... given your blessings, I suspect the goddess had other plans."
Kestra’s grin is audible. "Plans involving us becoming the kingdom’s weirdest, hottest salvation."
---
{You arrive at the the Throne room. The summoner hands the queen the book.}
The grand doors of the throne room swing open, revealing a cavernous hall lined with armored knights and robed advisors. At the far end sits Queen Isolda—a woman whose regal bearing is undercut by the dark circles under her eyes and the way her fingers grip the armrests of her throne like she’s clinging to life itself.
The head summoner steps forward, presenting the book with a deep bow. "Your Majesty, the summoning is... complete." She hesitates. "Though not as expected."
Queen Isolda flips through the pages, her brow furrowing at the chaotic entries—blessings altered, souls duplicated, two rogue males somehow involved. When she reaches your entry (Internal Empowerment: Soul Version), her gaze snaps up to you.
"You." Her voice is razor-sharp. "You absorb souls. And their powers."
A murmur ripples through the court. One knight draws his sword on instinct.Lyra’s soul squeaks in your head. "Oh no. They think you’re a villain!"
Kestra sighs. "To be fair, we kinda are."
---
{You step forward, bow slightly and explain your specific story to the Queen, (From meeting the Goddess as a slime, choosing the meant to be executed Kestra to be your body, to Lena and Victoria willing offering themselves, of finding that you use the blessings of those merged with you, how Lyra offered herself, and now standing before her.)}
After you finish your story, the oldest princess offers herself to you as a way to ensure your loyality.}
You step forward, offering the queen a measured bow—not too deep, not too casual—just enough to show respect without groveling. Then, in clear, deliberate tones, you recount your journey: the goddess’s blunder, your slime form, Kestra’s "punishment," Lena and Victoria’s willing mergers, the discovery of borrowed blessings, and Lyra’s eager devotion. The throne room hangs on every word, the court’s initial hostility giving way to stunned fascination.
When you finish, the silence is thick enough to carve.
Then, from the queen’s side, a figure rises—Princess Elara, the eldest heir. Her gown is the color of tarnished silver, her dark hair braided into a crown. She steps down from the dais, her movements deliberate, until she stands mere inches from you.
"Then let me ensure your loyalty personally," she declares, her voice low but carrying. "Merge with me. Let my soul join your collection. That way, the crown will always know your intentions."
The queen’s breath catches. "Elara, you cannot—"
"Mother," the princess interrupts, never breaking eye contact with you, "our kingdom is dying. If this is the price of salvation, I pay it gladly."
Kestra’s whistle echoes in your mind. "Damn. Royalty’s got spine."
Lyra’s soul vibrates with awe. "This is so sacred! And so illegal!"
---
{You accept but let her chose a person loyal to prove it isn't dangerous. She choses her personal knight (is female becuase of the curse) and Maid (trained assassin).}
"Very well," you say, nodding to the princess. "But let's prove it's safe first." You gesture to the crowd. "Choose someone you trust—someone loyal. Let them volunteer to merge with me, so you can see there's no danger."
Princess Elara's lips quirk in approval. Without hesitation, she turns and snaps her fingers. "Siris. Mara. Step forward."
From the shadows of the throne room, two figures emerge:
1. Siris, the princess's personal knight—a towering woman in gleaming armor, her sword strapped to her back. The curse has long since purged male knights from the kingdom, leaving only the fiercest women to guard the royalty. Her scarred face is unreadable as she kneels before you. "If my lady commands it," she rumbles.
2. Mara, the "maid"—a petite woman in a demure gown whose fingers twitch toward hidden daggers. Her smile is razor-thin. "Oh, this’ll be fun," she purrs. Assassin confirmed.
The queen grips her throne, but Elara remains serene. "Well? Show us."
---
The Merging:
- Siris goes first. The moment your slime-form touches her, she tenses—not in fear, but in focus. Her soul merges with yours, a warm, steadfast presence. Her copy blinks back into existence, saluting sharply. "No discomfort, Your Highness."
- Mara practically grins as you absorb her. Her soul coils in your mind like a satisfied cat. "Oh, hello," she murmurs. Her copy adjusts her skirts, demure once more—but her eyes gleam.
Princess Elara exhales. "Convinced?" she asks the queen.
Her mother swallows hard, then nods.
---
Quick Actions:
{Merge with Elara. You tell the Queen each of their blessings. Afterwords the Queen asks the copy of Elara a question only the two of them now. When she answers right, the queen turns back to you, "About the weaker resistance noted by the summoner."
Siris: Dog of War
Mara: Moonlight Dance
Elara: Stormcaller}
You meet Princess Elara’s gaze and nod. Without hesitation, she steps forward—chin high, arms slightly spread—as your slime-form envelops her. The merging is seamless, her soul settling into yours like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Her copy materializes beside you, smoothing her gown with regal poise.
The queen leans forward, her voice taut. "Elara. When you were six, where did you hide after your first sword lesson?"
The Elara-copy doesn’t hesitate. "The royal pantry. I ate an entire wheel of cheese and vomited on Father’s favorite hound."
A beat. Then the queen’s shoulders slump in relief. "It is her. Every memory, every detail..." She turns to you, her expression unreadable. "And their blessings?"
You recite them effortlessly, the knowledge flowing from the souls within you:
- Siris: Dog of War – Strength multiplies when defending others.
- Mara: Moonlight Dance – Moves unseen in shadows, strikes with lethal precision.
- Elara: Stormcaller – Commands wind and lightning (her copy’s fingers crackle faintly for emphasis).
The queen exhales sharply. "Then the summoner’s report was correct. The copies are perfect... but weaker against possession." Her eyes narrow. "You understand why that concerns me."
Kestra’s voice drips with amusement. "Yeah, ‘cause if Jeremy can hijack a princess, this kingdom’s screwed."
---
{"Your Majesty, my teacher Ms. Petrov might be able to help in that regard." You offer a potential solution. "Elara tells me your Blessing is Royal Decree, so if used together with her Blessing you could create a failsafe. You use Royal Decree to make it law that my copied souls can't be possessed those the crown deems enemies, and then we have Ms. Petrov reinforce that through her Discipline Authority."}
The queen’s eyes flicker with intrigue. She straightens, her fingers drumming once on the armrest of her throne before she nods. "A royal edict reinforced by divine authority... Clever." She glances at Ms. Petrov. "You can do this?"
Ms. Petrov steps forward, adjusting her glasses with a smirk. "Discipline Authority compels obedience. If Her Majesty declares a law, I can ensure it’s enforced—magically."
Princess Elara’s soul hums approvingly in your mind. "A binding contract, then. No possession of copies by unauthorized parties."
The queen rises, her voice ringing through the throne room. "Then let it be decreed: Any soul copied by the Otherworlder Dan shall be shielded from hostile possession, save by his own will or the crown’s express permission!"Golden light erupts from her fingertips, swirling into the air like living script. Ms. Petrov’s eyes flash as she raises a hand—"And so it shall be."
The words sear into the air before dissolving, and you feel the change immediately—a new weight to the copied souls around you, an invisible barrier settling over them.
Jeremy’s misty form pouts. "Well, there goes my weekend plans."
---
{Have Jeremy test it by trying to possess Elara.}
You arch a brow at Jeremy’s still-misty form. "Well? Test it."
Jeremy’s grin is audible. "Oh, hell yeah." He darts toward Elara’s copied form—only to slam into an invisible barrier inches from her skin. A burst of golden light repels him, sending him spinning backward like a kicked tumbleweed.
"OW! What the—since when do laws HURT?!" he yelps, his form flickering like a staticky hologram.
Elara’s copy smirks, folding her arms. "It appears the crown’s will is quite literal."
The queen exhales, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Good."
Kestra cackles in your mind. "Welp. Jeremy just became the kingdom’s best bug zapper test."
---
Quick Actions:
{Check on Jessica, since you allow Lyra to house Jeremy so he can tell the Queen his story.}
You glance over at Jessica, who’s been standing near the back of the group, arms crossed and expression unreadable. With a mental nudge, you allow Lyra’s soul to temporarily "host" Jeremy so he can recount his side of the story to the queen—Lyra’s copied form flickers blue for a moment as Jeremy’s consciousness takes the wheel, her usual serene smile shifting into his trademark lopsided grin.
"Alright, so—" Jeremy-as-Lyra begins, clapping her(?) hands together. "Imagine getting isekai’d as a ghost and then finding out the only way to interact with the world is by literally borrowing someone else’s body. Glorious? Yes. Ethical? Debatable."
The queen pinches the bridge of her nose. "Why are the gods like this."
Meanwhile, you slip over to Jessica, who’s staring at the floor, her fingers twisting the hem of her tunic. "Hey," you say quietly. "You okay?"
She startles, then forces a smile. "Oh! Yeah. Just... processing. A lot." Her gaze flicks to Jeremy-as-Lyra, who’s now demonstrating how he accidentally phased through a wall and got stuck in a chandelier. Jessica’s voice drops to a whisper. "It’s just... weird. Knowing he’s in people. That he has to be. And now he’s in Lyra of all people..."
Her cheeks flush. You don’t need Kestra’s thief instincts to guess why that bothers her.
---
Quick Actions:
{You joke her, "At least your stolen Blessings don't come with personalities attached to them, like mine do."
She laughs drawing attention to you both.}
Jessica snorts, her laugh breaking through the tension like sunlight. "Yeah, guess I should be thanking the gods I just got stuck with a pervert and not a whole committee in my head." Her voice carries just enough that several heads turn—including Jeremy-as-Lyra’s, who gasps in mock offense.
"Rude!" he declares, pressing Lyra’s delicate hands to her chest. "I’m a treasure."
Lyra’s real soul sighs in your mind. "He’s really leaning into this, isn’t he?"
The queen clears her throat loudly. "As adorable as this is, we have a curse to dismantle. Focus."
Kestra mutters: "Buzzkill."
---
{Ask about the royal record and say Lyra already told you about the origin. (Story rule because of the curse most characters are female or in female bodies.)}
You raise a hand, cutting through the murmurs of the court. "Lyra already told us about the curse’s origin—Seraphine’s last act. But stories lie, or omit. What do the royal archives say?"
The queen’s lips thin. "Officially? That the Duskreach Coven’s curse was unprovoked. Unofficially..." She nods to a hooded archivist, who scurries forward with a weathered scroll. "My ancestor, King Aldric, broke their pact. He swore to marry Seraphine’s heir to unite the kingdoms—then burned their coven at the altar instead."
A collective gasp ripples through the room.
Princess Elara’s soul hisses in your mind. "No wonder her curse was vicious. We earned this."
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Your family’s messy, princess."
The queen continues, weary. "The curse was meant to end our line. But over generations, it grew—infecting all men. Now, we’re out of time."
---
{"How have you survived, because I would have thought that without men, and I mean this respectfully, that your kingdom would have collapsed by now." You asked head bowed.}
The queen’s expression darkens, but not at you—at the truth of the question itself. "We have been collapsing," she admits, her voice low. "Slowly. Invisibly. Our fields yield less. Our soldiers are fewer. Births decline each year—not just of boys, but of all children. The curse gnaws at the roots of life itself."
She gestures to the court around her—all women, from the knights to the scribes to the blacksmiths. "We’ve adapted. Women took up roles once forbidden to us. We trade with neighboring kingdoms for seed and strength. But it’s a stopgap. Without breaking the curse, Lifire will wither within two generations."
Princess Elara’s soul murmurs in your mind, pained. "Mother never speaks this plainly. She must truly trust you."
Kestra’s grin is sharp. "Or she’s really desperate."
---
{"Did Seraphine potentially have any descendants?"}
The queen exhales—a slow, measured breath—before nodding to the archivist again. The hooded woman produces another scroll, this one sealed in cracked black wax.
"Seraphine had a daughter," the queen says quietly. "A child hidden before the massacre. The records suggest she fled to the Veiled Peaks—a range near the coven’s ruins. But we’ve never found proof she lived... or that her line endured."
A charged silence follows.
Then, from the back of the room, Alex pushes her glasses up her nose and mutters, "So we’re hunting a maybe-witch who might hold the key to unfucking this mess. Cool. Cool."
Kestra’s laugh is downright giddy. "Oh, this just got spicy."
---
{"You kneel in prayer, before sarcastically saying, "Alright mighty Clutz may we borrow but a moment of your time for advice."
The Goddess actually shows up, "Your lucky I find you funny."}
The air shimmers with a sound like shattering stained glass—and then the goddess tumbles into existence, tripping over her own robes before catching herself on a conveniently placed (and very startled) knight’s shoulder.
"You’re lucky I find you funny," she huffs, straightening her silver hair. A few stars fall out of it. "And lucky I’m not smiting you for the ‘clutz’ comment." She eyes the kneeling courtiers, the queen’s stunned face, and Jeremy still mid-possession of Lyra’s body. "...Wow. You’ve been busy."
Kestra’s soul cackles. "Told you she’d show up."
You gesture grandly to the chaos. "We need to find Seraphine’s descendants. Got any divine hints?" The goddess taps her chin. "Hmm. Well, I could just tell you—" She pauses, then grins. "—or we could make it fun! How about a quest? Prove your worth, and I’ll point you to the last witch-blood!"
The queen looks like she’s about to combust.
---
{"If it be your will, almighty Ditz, that we should let this kingdom suffer for your errand then we must accept it." You tease, you can hear Lyra yelling.}
The goddess gasps—clutching her chest as if mortally wounded—while Lyra’s soul screams in your mind like a scandalized nun. "DANIEL!! YOU CAN’T JUST—SHE’S A GODDESS—"
The court collectively holds its breath.
Then the deity snorts, doubling over with laughter. "Oh, wow, I like you!" She wipes a starry tear from her eye. "Fine, fine. Since you’re hilarious—and because I did kind of mess up your summoning—here’s a freebie: The witch-blood you seek is already in this room."
Silence.
Then—gasps, chairs scraping, hands flying to weapons. The queen stands so fast her throne topples backward.
"What."
The goddess winks. "Oops. Spoilers~"
---
{The Queen orders the room locked down, but then a dark laughter emerges from the summoner.}
A slow, creeping laugh cuts through the chaos—dry as crumbling parchment. The head summoner, Elder Maris, peels back her hood, revealing eyes now blazing with violet fire.
"Oh, Isolda," she croons, her voice layered with a second, older rasp. "You thought your family’s sin could be buried forever?" The air around her warps, her robes melting into tattered witch’s weeds, her staff twisting into a gnarled black thorn. "Seraphine’s blood runs in my veins. And I’ve waited centuries to watch your line choke on its own curse."
The queen pales. "Maris... you—"
"Not just Maris." The witch’s grin splits her face too wide. "She welcomed me in years ago. A fitting host for the last daughter of Duskreach."
Kestra’s soul squees. "Possession inception! I love this!"
---
{"Mother will be waiting. And now she knows the heroes powers." The witch says being slitting her throat.}
The witch’s grin turns feral as she drags a jagged nail across her own throat—black blood bubbling forth like tar. "Mother waits," she gurgles. "And now... she knows you."
Her body collapses—but the black blood liquefies, slithering across the floor like a living shadow before vanishing between the cracks in the stone.
Silence.
Then—
"Well," Jeremy-as-Lyra says brightly. "That was horrifying."
The queen sways, gripping her overturned throne for support. "Seraphine... lives?"
Princess Elara’s soul whispers in your mind, trembling: "We need to find her. Now."
---
{"Your majesty, is possible to do a smaller hero summon."}
The queen’s fingers tighten on the armrest of her throne, her knuckles whitening. "A smaller summoning?" she echoes, her voice edged with exhaustion and suspicion.
You nod. "If Seraphine is alive—or at least her consciousness lingers—then she’s clearly tied to the curse. But she also just got a full report on our abilities. We need an edge she doesn’t expect."
The queen’s gaze flicks to the remaining summoners—now huddled together, their faces pale. "It’s possible," one of them admits. "But the ritual requires immense power, and after the last one... our reserves are depleted."
The goddess, still lounging mid-air like an amused spectator, twirls a lock of silver hair. "Oh, I could help with that~"
The queen’s eyes narrow. "At what cost?"
The goddess grins. "Entertainment. Drama. Maybe a little chaos."
---
{Agree to her terms. She summons your Ex, but with full knowledge of the current situation.}
The goddess claps her hands together with a sound like a thousand bells ringing. "Perfect! Let’s make this interesting!"
The air ripples—then tears—as a familiar figure tumbles out of the rift and lands face-first on the throne room floor.
"Ow. What the hell—"
Your stomach drops.
Because standing there, brushing off her jeans and glaring at you with begrudging recognition, is Hailey—your ex-girlfriend.
Her dark hair is still in that messy ponytail she always wore, her favorite leather jacket slung over a band T-shirt. She looks exactly like she did the day she dumped you—right down to the unimpressed arch of her brow.
And then she smirks.
"Wow. So this is your messed-up isekai arc? Figures." She cracks her knuckles. "Alright. The goddess filled me in. Let’s go break a curse."
Kestra’s soul howls with laughter. "OH MY GOD. THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY AFTERLIFE."
---
{Ask Hailey about her Blessing. She pause for a moment, "Sorry but its better if I keep it to myself, incase of another hidden witch."}
Hailey’s smirk doesn’t waver as she shrugs. "Nice try. But I’m not spilling my blessing in a room full of people who might also be secret witch-spawn." She taps the side of her nose. "Gotta keep some surprises for the finale."
Kestra’s soul vibrates with glee. "Ohhh, she’s good. I like her."
Princess Elara’s copy steps forward, eyes narrowed. "You expect us to trust you without knowing your power?"
Hailey rolls her eyes. "Trust? No. Use me? Absolutely. Same difference with him, right?" She jerks a thumb at you.
The queen exhales sharply. "Enough. If the goddess vouches for her, we proceed." She turns to Hailey. "But the moment you betray us—"
"Yeah, yeah, execute me dramatically. Got it." Hailey waves her off, then leans toward you, voice dropping. "P.S.? You owe me for this."
---
{Talk to Hailey privately but not about her blessing, you can respect her reasoning.}
You wait until the queen dismisses the court (with orders to prepare for war) before grabbing Hailey’s elbow and steering her into a vaulted hallway—just out of earshot. The moment you’re alone, she smirks up at you.
"Wow. Still bossy in another world, huh?"
You ignore the jab. "I get not revealing your blessing. But are you actually here to help, or just to screw with me?"
Hailey’s grin fades. She studies you for a long moment—then sighs. "Look. The goddess literally yanked me out of my apartment mid-microwave meal for this. If I wanted to mess with you, I’d have stayed home and keyed your car." A pause. "...Okay, that was a joke. Mostly."
She folds her arms. "Point is, yeah. I’ll help. But I’m doing it my way."
Kestra’s soul whispers: "She’s totally gonna betray us in a cool way later."
---
"Look I understand if your still hate me for what happened, but how have you been since the accident." You ask.}
Hailey’s smirk vanishes. For a second, she just stares at you—like she’s trying to decide if you’re serious. Then her shoulders slump.
"You mean since you got drunk at Jake’s party and I had to drive your dumbass home, only for us to crash because you panicked and grabbed the wheel?" Her voice is low, raw. "Since my arm got crushed and I lost my scholarship because I couldn’t play volleyball anymore?"
A beat. The air between you is suddenly heavy.
Then she shakes her head, forcing a laugh. "Wow. Yeah, Dan. I’ve been great."
Kestra’s soul winces. "Yikes. And I thought my exes were messy."
---
{You quietly say, "I never forgave myself for ruining your future, I went to the hospital twice when Mom find me mid suicide, first time from cut wrists and the second from OD on my anti-depressents. Its part of the reason you were ghosted, parents moved us, they also deleted you from everything thinking it would help but it got worse when you sent the letter calling me a coward. Mom found me on the balcony. You were my best friend and first love. I'd show you the scars but Kestra's body doesn't carry them." You tell her.}
You take a slow breath, Kestra's borrowed lungs tightening as you force the words out—words you've rehearsed in a thousand sleepless nights, words that taste like rust and regret.
"I never forgave myself for ruining your future." The confession hangs between you, raw as a fresh wound. "I went to the hospital twice after the accident. First time... wrists. Second time, pills. Mom found me both times."
Hailey's smirk dies.
"Parents moved us after that. Deleted you from my phone, my socials—thought it would help." Your borrowed throat bobs. "Then your letter came. Called me a coward. Mom found me on the balcony three days later."
For a heartbeat, the only sound is the distant clatter of armored boots in the throne room.
"You were my best friend. My first love." Your voice cracks. "I'd show you the scars, but..." You gesture to Kestra's unmarked forearm.
Hailey's expression does something complicated—anger melting into horror, then settling on something too close to grief.
---
{"You might not be able to show me the scars but you can still show me." She says as she places a hand on you, your memories of the fallout flowing into her.}
The moment Hailey’s hand makes contact with your chest—Kestra’s body or not—there’s a jolt, like a live wire brushing bare skin. Then the memories surge, unbidden:
- Your hands shaking as you fumble with the razor in the bathroom, your mother’s scream when she kicks in the door.
- The numb, cotton-mouthed haze of swallowing too many pills, the ER lights stabbing your eyelids.
- The letter in Hailey’s angry, slanted handwriting: ”You don’t get to run away from this.”
- The balcony railing under your palms, wind howling in your ears, your mother’s arms dragging you back—
Hailey staggers, tearing her hand away like she’s been burned. Her face is ashen. "Jesus Christ, Dan—"
For the first time since she got here, she looks lost.
Kestra’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet in your mind. "...Well. That happened."
---
{You apologize for trauma dumping on her but you had holding on it your feelings since mom pulled you away from the railing.}
You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "Shit. I'm sorry—that was way too much to drop on you right now. I just... never got to say any of it." Kestra's fingers flex at your sides, itching for a cigarette or a knife to fiddle with—anything to ground you. "Holding that in since... yeah. Since the balcony."
Hailey stares at you for a long moment, her arms crossed tight over her chest—like she's holding herself together. Then she snorts, but there's no humor in it. "Fuck. And I thought my therapist had her work cut out for her." She rubs her face, the ghost of her old volleyball injury twinging in her shoulder. "Look. We're not doing this now. Not here."
She jabs a finger at your chest. "But after we murder this witch and her shitty curse? We're talking. Properly."
Kestra's soul whistles. "Damn. She really used to love you, huh?"
---
{"The worst part was I never stopped missing you, but after your letter I assumed you never wanted to talk again. Jeremy's a good friend but he was quite you." You say before giving her a quick hug.}
The hug is quick—just a brief press of Kestra’s body against hers, leather creaking, warmth lingering for half a second before you pull back. But Hailey freezes for a heartbeat, her breath catching like she’d forgotten what it felt like.
"Yeah, well," she mutters, rubbing her arm—the one that used to spike a volleyball before the accident. "Turns out anger’s easier than grief." She meets your eyes, and for the first time in years, there’s no smirk, no deflection. Just honesty. "I missed you too, idiot."
Then Jeremy’s voice echoes down the hall, shattering the moment: "HEY! We’ve got witch problems! Also, the queen’s crying! It’s super awkward!"
Hailey rolls her eyes, the tension broken. "Ugh. Fine. Let’s go save a kingdom or whatever."
Kestra’s soul cackles. "God, this is better than reality TV."
---
{Next day regroup with an attack plan.}
The War Council – Dawn of the Witch Hunt
The next morning, you gather in the war room—a cavernous chamber dominated by a massive table carved with a map of the kingdom. The queen stands at its head, shadows under her eyes betraying her sleepless night. Around her, your assembled forces:
- Ms. Petrov has organized the royal archives into tactical folders (Discipline Authority makes her terrifyingly efficient).
- Alex is hunched over a stolen coven relic, muttering as her Reverse Engineer blessing deciphers its magic.
- Cara is... somehow negotiating better rations for your group while pocketing a silver candlestick.
- Jeremy (back in Jessica’s body, by popular demand) is sketching attack formations with alarming enthusiasm.
- Hailey leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.
The queen stabs a dagger into the map—right atop the Duskreach Coven ruins. "Seraphine’s lair is here. Our scouts report unnatural shadows pooling in the valley. She’s preparing."
Princess Elara’s soul murmurs in your mind: "We’ll need to strike fast. Before she fully awakens."
---
{"I'll lead a frontal charge and draw her attention." You start.}
"While I lead the frontal charge and draw her attention," you declare, rolling your shoulders. The weight of the collected souls within you hums in agreement—each a fragment of power ready to be unleashed.
The queen’s gaze sharpens. "A distraction?"
You nod. "Exactly. Seraphine expects us to come in sneaky, like her assassins and shadows. So we hit her loud." You gesture to the map. "Me, Jeremy in Jessica’s body for range, and the royal knights will assault the ruins head-on. While she’s focused on us—"
"—The rest slip in behind," Mara’s copy finishes, her assassin’s grin sharp. "Moonlight Dance makes me very good at backstabbing."
Hailey pushes off the wall. "I’ll go with the stealth team."
You raise a brow.
She smirks. "What? I told you I’m doing this my way."
---
{"Your majesty, can use Royal Decree so that the war plan can not be dicscussed outside the room by anyone. Petrov use your Authority to reinforce it and I'll use Victoria's Shadowweave to attached it to attach it every heart."}
The queen's eyes gleam with grim approval. "A binding of three blessings? Ruthless. I like it."
She rises, her voice echoing with Royal Decree's weight:
"None shall speak of this battle plan beyond these walls—not in whispers, not in writing, not even in thought shared knowingly with outsiders!" Golden light sears the air, sinking into the skin of every person present.
Ms. Petrov steps forward, her Discipline Authority flaring like a whip-crack:
"And so you shall obey." The compulsion tightens around them all like a vice.
Then you summon Victoria's Shadowweave—tendrils of darkness snaking from your fingertips to coil around each chest, merging with their heartbeats.
"Any betrayal," you murmur, watching the shadows pulse in time with their breath, "and these threads will strangle the secret before it's spoken."
A stunned silence follows.
Hailey whistles. "Damn. You have gotten scarier."
Kestra’s soul preens. "Oh, we are so keeping this blessing."
---
{Spend the rest the finalizing a war plan.}
THE FINAL WAR PLAN
The table rattles as you plant your palms on the map, eyes scanning your assembled forces.
1. DISTRACTION SQUAD (FRONTAL ASSAULT)
- You – Using Shadowweave to command darkness + Stormcaller (via Elara’s soul) to summon storms.
- Jeremy (in Jessica’s body) – Utilizing Beast Tamer to call wild creatures as fodder, Skill Share to mimic archers.
- Royal Knights (led by Siris’s copy) – Dog of War boosts their defensive strength exponentially when protecting allies.
- Lyra’s copy – Holy Prayer support (barriers, healing light).
2. STEALTH TEAM (BACKSTAB SPECIAL)
- Mara – Moonlight Dance makes her untraceable in shadows. Her mission: slit throats, plant cursed explosives (stolen by Cara).
- Hailey – ??? (Still won’t reveal her blessing, but insists she can "handle the witch").
- Alex – Carrying Reverse Engineered coven relics to disarm traps mid-siege.
3. WILDCARD
- Cara – Silvertongue will impersonate a fleeing Duskreach cultist to sow chaos in Seraphine’s ranks.
- Ms. Petrov – Discipline Authority will override fleeing soldiers to make them fight harder for you.
- Victoria’s copy – Using Shadowweave to telepathically sync the teams’ movements.
---
The Plan in Motion:
- Phase 1: You and Jeremy’s team trigger the coven’s wards with a literal storm of lightning and beasts, drawing Seraphine’s attention.
- Phase 2: Mara and Hailey infiltrate during the chaos, aiming for the ritual heart of the ruins.
- Phase 3: If Seraphine emerges, You unleash everything*.
The queen seals the plan by slicing her palm and smearing blood across the map. "For Lifire."
Hailey leans in as the others disperse. "Hey. Don’t die before we have that talk."
You smirk. "Wasn’t planning on it."
---
"You start the attack at night.}
Midnight Assault – Duskreach Ruins
The night swallows the valley whole as you stand at the edge of the ruins, the skeletons of blackened towers clawing at the starless sky. The air reeks of spoiled magic and wet earth—like a storm left to rot.
"Ready?" you murmur to Jeremy (still riding Jessica’s body like a stolen bicycle).
He grins, rolling her shoulders. "Born ready."
You raise a hand. The shadows coil around your fingers—Victoria’s Shadowweave—then Elara’s Stormcaller crackles in your veins.
You strike.
---
### PHASE 1: DISTRACTION SQUAD GOES LOUD
- Your opening move: A thunderclap so violent it shatters the ruins’ outer wards. Lightning forks from your fingertips, searing glyphs into the ground as the earth itself trembles.
- Jeremy-in-Jessica cups her hands around her mouth and shrieks—Beast Tamer’s power sending a wave of howls erupting from the forest. Wolves, bears, even a very confused griffin come stampeding toward the coven.
- Lyra’s copy raises her arms, golden light flaring as Holy Prayer shields the royal knights—just as the first volley of cursed arrows rains down from the towers.
From the depths of the ruins, a laugh echoes—honeyed and horrible.
"Little heroes." Seraphine’s voice is everywhere at once, the shadows pooling into a towering figure above the broken spires. "You brought me toys!"
---
### PHASE 2: STEALTH TEAM MOVES
- Mara is already gone—just a flicker of motion in the periphery, Moonlight Dance making her a ghost among ghosts.
- Hailey cracks her knuckles, then bolts toward a side passage—not sneaking. Sprinting. Like she wants to be seen.
- Alex ducks behind a pillar, her stolen coven relic humming as she Reverse Engineers the ruin’s traps one by one.
---
### SERAPHINE STRIKES BACK
The shadow-figure descends, her form solidifying into a woman with Seraphine’s face—but wrong. Too many teeth. Eyes like pits. She flicks a wrist, and the ground erupts with skeletal hands, dragging three knights under in seconds.
"I’ve tasted your souls already," she croons, lashing a whip of violet fire toward you. "Let’s see how you burn—"
---
{Counter with a mix of Stormcaller and Hearthfire.}
You dig your heels into the cracked earth and let go.
Stormcaller erupts first—a spear of white-hot lightning lancing from the sky straight toward Seraphine’s whip of violet fire. The collision shatters the darkness, the concussion wave sending cultists flying like ragdolls.
But lightning alone won’t be enough.
So you reach deeper—to Lena’s Hearthfire, warm and steady in your chest. The flames that spill from your palms aren’t destructive; they’re living. They coil around the lightning like a lover’s embrace, turning the raw fury of the storm into something worse for Seraphine—purification.
Her whip screams as the flames crawl up its length, a sound like glass breaking in reverse. The shadow-figure recoils, her form flickering—
"You ignorant child—" she snarls, but the Hearthfire doesn’t stop. It spreads, clinging to her essence like holy kerosene.
---
### HAILEY’S GAMBIT
While Seraphine’s distracted, Hailey leaps onto the central ritual altar—where a pulsing, blackened heart throbs with cursed energy. She doesn’t hesitate.
She stabs it.
Not with a blade.
With her bare hand.
For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then—
Hailey’s body convulses, her spine arching as black veins explode across her skin.
"Huh," she grits out, grinning through the pain. "Guess Corruption Eater works on god-tier curses too."
---
{Unleash a fully mixed version of the Blessings inside of you.}
You don’t hesitate.
"Everyone back!" you roar—then let go of every limit.
The souls inside you scream in unison as you force their blessings to merge:
- Stormcaller’s lightning twists with Hearthfire’s purity, becoming a storm that burns but does not consume.
- Holy Prayer’s golden light fuses with Shadowweave’s darkness, creating a paradox—shadows that heal, light that blinds.
- Moonlight Dance’s agility melds with Dog of War’s endurance, turning your body into a weapon of impossible precision.
The power ruptures out of you in a tidal wave of contradiction, a kaleidoscope of magic that should not exist.
It hits Seraphine like a fist of god.
Her shadow-form shatters, her scream fracturing into a thousand echoes as the merged blessings unmake her. The ruins quake, the sky splits, and for a single, blinding moment—
The curse breaks.
A pulse of golden light washes over the land, the withered trees groaning as life floods back into their roots. The knights gasp as old wounds close; the air itself sings.
And then—
Hailey collapses, the black veins receding from her skin as the last of the curse dissipates from her body.
---
{You pass out, the last you hear is someone calling you, "Dumbass."}
Darkness swallows you whole—but not before you hear Hailey’s voice, fond and exasperated, cutting through the fog:
"Dumbass."
Then—nothing.
---
### AWAKENING
You come to in a sunlit room, the scent of herbs and fresh linen thick in the air. Your body aches like you’ve been trampled by a cavalry, but you’re alive.
"Took you long enough," Hailey mutters from the chair beside your bed. There’s a bandage peeking under her sleeve, her old injury freshly stitched—but she’s smirking. "You’ve been out for three days. The queen’s been freaking out."
Kestra’s soul stirs in your mind, groggy but smug. "Oh good. We’re not dead."
Through the window, you see a kingdom healing—men and women working side by side in the fields, children laughing in streets no longer shadowed by plague.
---
{Check your soul. "Everyone okay. (Each merged soul answers back in an uniquely them way.)}
You close your eyes and reach inward, listening to the choir of souls housed within you—each responding in turn:
- Kestra purrs like a satisfied cat: "Oh honey, I’m fantastic. Especially now that we’re local heroes."
- Lena’s voice is warm as ever: "We’re all here. And… it’s kind of nice, honestly. Like a really weird sleepover."
- Victoria cackles: "Ugh. Do not make it sound wholesome. But yeah, I’m good."
- Lyra chimes in, bright as a hymn: "Divine blessings intact! Though, ah… please never do that again?"
- Siris grunts: "Still standing. And pissed I missed the final fight."
- Mara sighs dreamily: "Watching you annihilate a centuries-old curse? Best job I ever had."
- Elara hums, regal but amused: "Mother sends her regards. Also, she might adopt you."
Hailey raises a brow as you smirk. "What?"
"Just taking roll call," you say.
She snorts. "Freak."
---
{"So about that talk." You say. And the two of talk about every for the rest of the day}
The two of you talk—really talk—for the first time in years.
Hailey sits on the edge of your bed, sunlight streaming through the window as she unpacks it all: the anger, the grief, the way she hated you for leaving but missed you anyway. You tell her about the guilt, the therapy, the way your parents’ "fixes" only made it worse. There are tears. There’s yelling. There’s a very awkward moment when Jeremy tries to barge in with a tray of "emotional support snacks" and gets a pillow thrown at his head.
But by the time the sun sets, something unclenches in your chest.
"So," Hailey says, kicking her feet up on your mattress. "What now? You’re basically a demigod here. I’m stuck in Fantasyland with zero marketable skills. Do we, like… rebuild?"
Kestra’s soul pipes up: "Or we conquer. Just saying."
Hailey rolls her eyes. "I heard that."
---
{"Even if a way home is found I think I will stay here. My plan is to travel the world, helping those that need it. Your welcome to join me." You tell her.
She shakes her head, "I have people who need me, but you need someone to keep you alive, so let this me join your little collection and the copy can go home in my place. My copy can even say she met you in passing and she learned the truth and made up with you." She replies.
(Scene ends with you on a pier about to start your travels. Everyone is there to see you off.)}
### FINAL SCENE: THE PIER
The morning sun glitters on the harbor as you stand at the edge of the dock, sea breeze tugging at your cloak. The entire crew—your crew—has gathered to see you off:
- Jeremy is in (reluctant) possession of a seagull, flapping wildly as he squawks about "optimal wind currents."
- Jessica rolls her eyes but hands you a carefully wrapped bundle of supplies. "Try not to drown."
- Lena’s copy hugs you tight, whispering, "She likes you, you know." (You pretend not to hear.)
- Ms. Petrov gives you a rare smile. "Try not to destroy any more kingdoms."
- Alex shoves a sketchy-looking homemade compass into your hands. "It might lead to other cursed artifacts. Or explode. 50/50."
- Cara winks. "If you find any shiny cursed artifacts, I get first dibs."
- The queen clasps your shoulder. "Lifire will always shelter you."
Then there’s Hailey—or rather, the copy of Hailey, who gives you a cheeky salute before turning back toward the palace. The real Hailey is already inside you, her soul settling alongside the others with a contented sigh.
"Alright, loser," she murmurs in your mind. "Where to first?"
You grin, adjusting your bag.
"Wherever the wind takes us."
And as the ship pulls away from the dock, Kestra’s voice—ever the opportunist—chirps:
"I call dibs on the first treasure hoard we find."
---
{You return from your travels a couple of years later, (with a pirate captain named Elizabeth and a Blind Shrine Maiden named Sakura added into your collection), to ask the Queen for help. "Seraphina and her curse were a pawn and worse than that, we found another pawn with an equally deadly curse. Its located in the Icey Kingdom in the North, contained for now. If that was already bad enough, I suspect that there are others. One for each of the seven kindoms."
(Elizabeth's copy was executed a week after you added her, Sakura's copy was killed in a robbery after you added her.
Elizabeth's Blessing: Tiderider
Sakura's Blessing: Seer)}
RETURN TO LIFIRE – TWO YEARS LATER
The palace guards stiffen as you stride through the gilded gates—older, wearier, and flanked by two new souls whispering in your mind:
- Elizabeth, the tempest-eyed pirate captain, whose Tiderider blessing lets her command waves like a vengeful siren. "Ugh. Royalty. Hope the queen’s got decent booze this time."
- Sakura, the blind shrine maiden, her Seer blessing humming with eerie prescience. "The northern ice is already cracking… We’re not fast enough."
Queen Isolda rises from her throne, her gaze sharpening at your grim expression. "You look like death walking."
You toss a frost-rimed journal onto the marble floor—pages splayed to reveal sketches of a glacier prison, its dark core pulsing with the same cursed energy as Seraphine’s ruins.
"Seraphine was a pawn," you say. "And we found another. The Ice Kingdom’s barely containing theirs. I’d bet my soul there’s five more."
Princess Elara’s soul recoils. "A network of curses?"
Hailey’s voice is taut. "This just became a global problem."
---
{"Petrov, do you remember the seven sins?" You ask.}
Ms. Petrov's eyes narrow, her fingers tightening around her ledger. "Pride, Greed, Wrath, Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth," she recites, her voice sharp. "You think Seraphine's curse was just one piece of a larger system?"
You nod. "And not just any system—an engineered one." You flip the frost-crusted journal open to a page where Sakura's meticulous notes map out the seven kingdoms—each with a curse manifesting differently, but all carrying the same taint.
"Seraphine was Wrath," you say, tapping the sketch of her ruins. "The Ice Kingdom's curse? Gluttony. It doesn't just kill—it consumes, leaving frozen husks."
Kestra's soul hisses. "So some psycho built a world-ending machine out of sins?"
Hailey, restless in your mind, adds, "And we’ve got front-row seats to the collapse."
---
{"You majesty, to the best of your knowledge which sin would fit each kingdom, given what we currently know." You ask.}
The queen hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of her throne as she consults centuries of kingdom lore. "If we follow the pattern..."
She lists them, one by one:
1. Lifire (Wrath) – "An all-consuming vengeance. Seraphine’s curse burned inward, killing men first, then the land itself."
2. The Ice Reaches (Gluttony) – "The northern reports speak of villages vanishing overnight—swallowed by the snow, as if hungry."
3. The Verdant Expanse (Envy) – "Their crops grow unnaturally abundant, but those who eat them wither, coveting the health of their neighbors."
4. The Ashwind Dominion (Pride) – "Their rulers never age, never fall ill… but their people crumble to dust at their feet. A supreme arrogance."5. The Chainbreaker Isles (Greed) – "Pirate lords hoard cursed gold, drowning in it. Ships vanish into their coves, never to return."
6. The Hollow Delta (Lust) – "Bewitchments so potent they dissolve minds. Victims waste away chasing phantoms."
7. The Bastion of Stone (Sloth) – "A kingdom where time itself crawls. Citizens lie down one day… and never rise."
A chilling silence follows.
Sakura’s soul trembles. "Seven curses. Seven thrones. A perfect circle of ruin."
---
{"I plan to return to the Ice Reaches because I promised to help them, Hailey's Corruption Eater combined with Lena's Hearthfire gave a fighting chance. If you could spare a summoner so they can preform a summoning ritual, it would be apreciated. Also Petrov, you might be the best suited to aid the Hollow Delta, I would take a summoner as well. What I have learned is the summoning ritual does respond to intent."}
The queen exhales sharply, her fingers tightening around the arms of her throne before she gives a single, decisive nod. "You’ll have your summoners. And you’re right—intent shapes the ritual." She glances at Ms. Petrov. "Discipline Authority will be vital in the Delta. If their curse seduces minds, then command may be the only counterbalance."
Ms. Petrov adjusts her glasses with a faint smirk. "Finally, a civilization that needs a stern lecture."
One of the younger summoners—Lyra’s former apprentice—steps forward, clutching a grimoire to her chest. "I’ll go to the Ice Reaches with you," she says, trying (and failing) to hide the tremor in her voice. "I-it’s not like we’ve got better options."
"And I, Dyena" rumbles a grizzled summoner with a scar over one eye, "will endure the Delta’s charms." He nods to Ms. Petrov. "Try not to discipline me by accident."
Hailey’s soul stirs, restless. "So we’re splitting the party. Classic horror-movie rules. What could go wrong?"
Kestra’s laugh is all teeth. "Ohhh, this’ll be fun."
---
{Before you leave you ask about the rest of your class.}
"And my classmates?" You ask, chest tightening at the thought. "How are they?"
The queen's expression softens—just slightly—as she gestures for an attendant to hand you a scroll of reports.
### STATUS OF YOUR CLASS:
- Jeremy: Now the royal "Isekai Consultant" (a job he definitely invented). Uses Skill Share to train knights and avoid actual work. (Still flirts with Jessica daily.)
- Jessica: Runs the kingdom’s fledgling Beast Tamer Corps. Her direwolf pups are almost as terrifying as her glare when Jeremy’s being an idiot.
- Lena (Copy): Oversees Lifire’s restored farmlands with Hearthfire, coaxing life from once-blighted soil. (Still blushes when your name comes up.)
- Victoria (Copy): Leads the "Nightweavers"—elite spies using Shadowweave to infiltrate rival courts. (Very invested in blackmail.)
- Cara: Now the queen’s "diplomat" (read: professional swindler). Uses Silvertongue to negotiate outrageously favorable trade deals.
- Alex: Head of the Arcane Research Division. Currently devising a way to "weaponize" Reverse Engineer. (The queen is concerned.)
- Ms. Petrov: Promoted to Grand Inquisitor. Her Discipline Authority keeps the royal court in line. (No one dares skip meetings now.)
"Alive," the queen summarizes. "Thriving, even. And your stunt with the goddess made them all... louder."
Kestra’s soul preens. "Good. They’re all our legacy now."
---
{Send a letter, telling of the situation. You and your assigned summoner leave later that same day.}
Your pen moves swiftly across parchment, detailing the discovery of the seven curses—Wrath already felled, Gluttony looming in the north, five more lurking like coiled serpents. You leave out the worst of your suspicions (the architect, the scale of the doom) but make it clear: this is far from over. The letters are sealed with a drop of Hearthfire, ensuring only their intended recipients can break the wax.
As the sun dips below the palace walls, you shoulder your pack—now laden with frost-warding charms and the young summoner’s grimoire. Your assigned summoner, Ryn, clutches her staff with white-knuckled determination. "...Do you really think we can stop this?"
Elizabeth’s soul laughs darkly. "We’ll drown the curse in salt and blood if we have to."
Sakura whispers: "The ice is already sighing. We must hurry."
With a final glance at Lifire’s glittering towers, you step onto the northern road.
---
{As Elizabeth's crew tske you back North, Ryn comes up beside you. "Would be alright if I join Big Sis Lyra "}
The moment the words leave Ryn's mouth, Lyra's soul practically vibrates with joy inside you, her divine warmth pulsing like an overexcited heartbeat.
"YES! Oh, please say yes—! Wait, no, don’t pressure her—but also yes—"
You smirk. "Lyra’s already drafting the adoption papers in my head."
Ryn blinks, then grins—bold for the first time since the palace. "Then it’s settled." She presses her palm to your chest, eyes fluttering shut as she murmurs the binding words of the merging ritual.
The moment her soul slips into yours, Lyra tackles her with a psychic hug.
"Welcome to the chaos, little sister!"
Kestra sighs. "We’re running a soul orphanage now? Fine. But I get to teach her to pick locks."
Elizabeth’s voice cuts through the chatter, sharp as a cutlass: "Enough squawking. Ice ahead."
Sure enough, the horizon bleeds into a wall of impossible glaciers, their jagged peaks biting the sky—and deep within, something gnaws at its chains.
---
{"Hey Lucy, can I borrow a smite." You say invoking Lyra's blessing, The Goddess (Lucina, she told you one day during your travels) humors you.}
You raise your hands toward the sky, channeling Lyra’s Holy Prayer, and call out with a grin:
"Hey Lucy—can I borrow a smite?"
For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then—
A titanic, glowing foot crushes a nearby iceberg into powder as the goddess Lucina materializes mid-air—though "materializes" might be generous, given that she immediately trips on her own robe and faceplants into the deck.
"Ow," she grumbles, rubbing her nose as she floats upright. "You’re lucky I was already watching. Also, since when do mortals nickname me?!"
Ryn (the newest soul in your collection) squeaks. "We’re casual with a deity?!"
Kestra smirks. "Oh, just wait till you see what’s next."
Lucina rolls her eyes—then freezes as she senses the wrongness bleeding from the glacier ahead. Her usual air of divine whimsy evaporates.
"...Oh. That’s Gluttony?" She shudders. "It reeksss of old magic. Not mine. Older."
---
{"There's five others." You tell her.}
Lucina’s glowing eyes widen, her usual clumsiness momentarily forgotten as the weight of your words settles over her. The air around her shimmers with agitated divine energy, like disturbed water.
"Five more?" Her voice drops to a whisper—something you’ve never heard from her before. "That’s not just a curse. That’s a weapon. A scalpel." She floats closer, her fingers twitching toward the glacier. "Someone shaped this. And they had to be…" She hesitates, then looks truly unsettled. "Stronger than me."
A cold that has nothing to do with the ice slithers down your spine.
Kestra’s soul is uncharacteristically quiet. "...Shit."
Hailey’s voice is grim. "Yeah. Shit."
---
{"Doesn't change the plan, we still have to end the curses. But at least we have scale of the problem now." You grunt.}
Lucina stares at you for a long moment—then bursts into laughter, the sound like silver bells and shattering ice. "Mortals. Truly my favorite kind of disaster." She flicks a hand, and a ripple of golden light punches a hole straight through the glacier ahead, exposing its pulsing, blackened core.
"There. A door." She grins. "Now go stab the problem until it stops moving."
Before you can react, she boops your forehead—her blessing flaring in your veins like liquid sunlight—and vanishes, leaving behind only the echo of her voice:
"P.S. If you die, I’ll bring you back just to yell at you."
Hailey’s soul cracks her knuckles. "Alright. Let’s eat a curse."
---
{"ANYONE NOT NECESSARY FOR NAVIGATION, GUARD RYN UNTIL THE HERO IS SUMMONED." You shout out the order as frozen undead creatures begin to board.}
### BATTLE FOR THE RITUAL
Your voice booms across the deck, cutting through the howling winds. Instantly, the crew snaps into action.
- Elizabeth’s pirates form a steel ring around Ryn, cutlasses and pistols glinting under the shifting auroras.
- Sakura’s soul flares inside you—her Seer blessing casting ghostly premonitions that let the crew strike where the undead will be, not where they are.
- Hailey braces beside you, crackling with Corruption Eater’s volatile energy. "I’ll bite anything that gets too close."
Then the ice-walkers come.
Shambling corpses with frosted, hollowed-out ribs and eyes like frozen voids swarm the ship’s railings. Their jaws unhinge with a sound like splintering glaciers, and the very air around them sags—as if reality itself is being consumed.
Ryn’s voice shakes as she chants, the summoning circle at her feet flaring brighter. "I—I need two more minutes—"
A towering undead lurches past the defenders, its claw swiping for her—
---
{You intercept letting Hailey's Blessing flow through you. The hero summoned is Eric (now allowed to be summoned), who because of your intent has knowledge of the situation at hand}
### FROSTBITE AND FURY
You hurl yourself in front of Ryn, Kestra’s body twisting mid-air to take the undead’s full strike—raking claws bury into your torso, an immediate, gnawing cold seeping into your core. The curse burns like swallowed knives, but—
Hailey’s power erupts through you.
Black veins spiderweb across your skin as Corruption Eater locks onto Gluttony’s curse—devouring the decay before it can consume you. The undead’s hollow eyes widen as its stolen energy is ripped backward, surging into you instead. Its body shatters into brittle frost.
Ryn’s scream cuts through the chaos: "IT’S DONE!"
The summoning circle implodes with blinding light—and Eric tumbles onto the deck.
---
### HERO SUMMONED: ERIC
He looks exactly like he did in class—muscled, cocky, already scowling. But his glare snaps to the undead horde, his body instinctively shifting into a fighter’s stance. "Oh, hell no."
His blessing flares to life above his palm—a swirling sigil of Brute’s Will (passive: grows stronger the longer he’s in combat). "So. We punch the cursed snow zombies?"
Ryn pants, grinning wildly. "YES."
---
{After the fight, as your docking.
You ask about Earth.
Eric explains that 15 years have gone by since the class was intially summoned, leaving only him behind. "The class was declared dead, since no one came back. But thanks to Haliey's copy, who returned a year after with letters from you all, the fate of the class was finally reveal. I was angry at first, that despite the summoning being meant only for the girls, you and the idiot still got sucked up but then I heard you both lost your bodies so the summon could work I became glad I wasn't included."}
### AFTERMATH – THE HARBOR OF FROZEN TEARS
The ship groans as it scrapes against the glacial dock, the remnants of the undead horde now shattered across the ice like discarded glass. The air still hums with residual curse-energy, but the immediate threat is over—for now. Eric leans against the railing beside you, his breath fogging in the subzero air, his Brute’s Will blessing still pulsing faintly under his skin.
The revelation about Earth sits heavy between you.
"Fifteen years..." You exhale, watching the mist curl and vanish. "We’ve only been here for three."**
Eric’s jaw tightens. "Time’s fucked. No one knows why, but the portal screwed with it. Everyone back home thought you were gone—until Hailey’s copy showed up with your letters." He scoffs, but there’s no real heat in it. "At least the families got closure. Well. Most of ‘em."
A pause.
"Jessica’s parents cried when they read hers."
You don’t ask about your own.
Kestra’s soul whispers, "...Damn."
---
THE NEW REALITY:
- Earth moved on. You were mourned. Now? You’re legends in two worlds.
- Eric’s here for good. His blessing makes him stronger the longer he fights—perfect for Gluttony’s endless siege.
- Hailey’s copy lied smoothly. She spun a tale of "heroic sacrifices" and "otherworldly duties," ensuring no one searched for you.
---
{"Alright there's a local that helped me get out that I'm gonna regroup with. He and sister should help you get to the curse bearer." You say steering the conversation back to the curse.}
Eric shrugs, his breath puffing in the frigid air. "Yeah, sure. But just so we're clear—I'm not calling you 'Oh Mighty Slime King' just because you're technically older than me now."
You snort, leading the way down the icy dock toward the ramshackle outpost clinging to the glacier's edge. "His name's Jorvik. Runs supplies between the frozen hellholes up here. His sister, Ylva, is a Berzerker—blessing lets her weaponize cold damage."
Hailey’s soul perks up. "Wait. You befriended a berserker and a smuggler in the two weeks you were here before?"
Kestra cackles. "Duh. We’re likable."
As you approach the moss-chinked wooden doors of the Froststead Inn, a hulking figure draped in frost-laced furs throws them open—Jorvik. His beard is half-frozen, his grin sharp as a wolf's.
"Back already, slippery one?" he booms. "And you brought more doomed heroes! Wonderful!" Behind him, a woman with twin ice-axes glares—Ylva, her breath steaming like a kettle.
"The curse is waking up," she snaps. "You’re just in time to die."
---
{"Eric here was summoned and giving a blessing that makes him ideal to fight Lich King Dravagoth." You tell the pair.}
Ylva's frost-crusted eyelashes narrow as she studies Eric, sizing him up like a cut of meat. "Brute’s Will. Tch. Fine. He’ll last longer than the others."
Jorvik slaps Eric’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him—which, given Eric’s build, is impressive. "Hah! A man who grows stronger the more he’s beaten? Dravagoth will hate you."
Eric scowls, rubbing his arm. "Yeah, great. Love being the bait."
"Not bait," Ylva corrects, hefting her axes. "The distraction." She points to a jagged fissure in the glacier’s face, pulsing with an eerie violet glow. "Dravagoth’s lair is there. Every time we’ve gotten close, his hunger-magic drains us before we land a hit. But you?" She nods to Eric. "The more he takes, the harder you’ll hit back."
Kestra’s soul hums. "Ohhh, so we’re angry-sandwiching him. Classic."
---
{You ask about the failed heroes, "Maybe they didn't have die in vain. Their deaths can tell us about how the curse bearer fights."}
Jorvik and Ylva exchange a glance before the burly supply-runner wipes the frozen snot from his beard with a sigh.
"Four parties tried before you," Jorvik rumbles. "They all made the same mistake—they thought strength alone could break him."
Ylva strides to a battered chest in the corner and kicks it open, revealing four bloodstained weapons, each warped by grotesque frost patterns:
1. A shattered greatsword – "Thurgen. Got three swings in before his muscles withered to rags."
2. A snapped spear – "Liss. Dravagoth ate her mid-lunge. Left the wood."
3. Melted gauntlets – "Torbin. His fire blessing turned inward. Burned his own ribs out."
4. A hollowed-out shield – "Jora. Lasted longest—her defense became his feast."
Eric pales slightly. "So he... consumes strength?"
"Not just strength," Ylva growls. "Effort. Will. Hope. The harder you fight, the richer his meal."
Kestra’s soul goes unnaturally still. "...That’s not just Gluttony. That’s Despair masquerading as hunger."
---
{You watch as Eric picks up each relic, you can see the echoes of others forming behind him. You realize something, "Eric, your just like Jeremy and I, you collect rage. You were still touched by the portal before you were denied."}
Eric freezes—literally, ice crackling along his knuckles where he grips Thurgen’s greatsword. The air around him wavers with spectral heat, and for a fleeting moment, the shadows of the fallen heroes seem to solidify behind him—their postures tense, their faces contorted in battle cries.
Then it’s gone.
"...The fuck?" Eric’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet.
You step closer, watching the residual energy coil around him like a second skin. "The summoning marked you, same as me and Jeremy. You didn’t cross over, but the portal licked you on the way past. That’s not just Brute’s Will—it’s Wrath’s Legacy."
Jorvik whistles. "A collector of fallen fury. Now that’s a king-killer’s blessing."
Ylva’s axes gleam as she steps into Eric’s space. "Can you use them? The echoes?"
A slow, vicious grin spreads across Eric’s face as the greatsword’s hilt creaks in his grip. "Oh, I’m real motivated to try."
---
"Eric tests his collection, and Thurgen appears to explains to Eric the nature of his collection."
Eric clenches the shattered greatsword tighter—and suddenly, the air ripples like disturbed water. A ghostly figure materializes beside him, clad in the same battered armor as the weapon’s owner once wore.
Thurgen’s Echo stands solid despite his translucent form, his voice gruff but clear. "Boy. You’re holding my rage now." He flexes spectral fingers. "Dravagoth didn’t just kill me—he savored it. Left me alive long enough to taste my despair as my muscles wasted." The echo's eyes burn with cold fire. "But rage outlasts flesh."
He slams a fist against Eric’s chest—not to harm, but to ignite.
Eric gasps as Thurgen’s fury floods into him, his Brute’s Will flaring crimson. His muscles swell with borrowed strength, veins bulging with the echo’s vengeance.
"Holy shit," Eric breathes.
Thurgen’s grin is lethal. "Now imagine all four of us."
One by one, the other fallen heroes step forward—their phantom hands reaching to lend their wrath.
---
{"This changes things." You say.}
The room seems to hum with the weight of revelation—Eric standing there, crackling with borrowed fury, the fallen warriors’ echoes flickering around him like vengeful ghosts. Hailey’s voice in your mind is uncharacteristically subdued.
"So we’re not just breaking the curse. We’re giving the dead their vengeance too."
Jorvik lets out a booming laugh. "Hah! Now I see why the gods spat you lot into our world." He claps Eric’s shoulder—harder this time—knocking loose a few snowflakes of lingering frost. "You’re not just fighting the Lich King. You’re his reckoning."
Ylva, who’d been silently gripping her axes, finally smirks. "Fine. New plan. Eric lures Dravagoth into the open by pissing him off—"
"How is that different from my usual routine?" Eric mutters.
"—while you," she continues, ignoring him and pointing at you, "slip inside his defenses when he’s distracted. His hunger will be a weapon against him this time."
Kestra’s soul practically vibrates with excitement. "Oh, this is delicious. A lich getting outplayed by his own curse."
---
{You realize something, "Hey Lucy, are Eric, Jeremy and I gonna ascend?" She appears and considers your question. "Jeremy could qualify as a god of thieves, Eric would qualify as a god of rage or battle, and you would qualify as a god of souls or bonds."}
Lucina materializes mid-air—only this time, she doesn’t trip. Instead, she hovers there, silver hair drifting as if underwater, her gaze suddenly older than the glaciers outside.
"Oh. You noticed."
She spins lazily, tapping her chin. "Jeremy, absolutely. The little gremlin’s already halfway to godhood just by how annoyingly he exploits his powers. God of Thieves? Trickier? Either works."
Her eyes flick to Eric. "And you—" She gestures at the lingering echoes around him. "—Rage and Retribution fit like a glove. Maybe even War, if you survive the next century."
Then she grins at you. "As for you, Soul-Hoarding Wonder... yeah. You’re already Ascended in all but title. Bonds, Souls, maybe even Legacy."
A beat.
"But." She holds up a finger. "You don’t want it yet. Gods don’t get to play like mortals do. Rules and all that."
Kestra’s soul sighs. "Ugh. Divine paperwork."
---
{"As long as these curses still exist, I'm not interested in ascention. It just seemed like we are meant to with only us three getting collections."}
Lucina's lips quirk into a knowing smile, her divine presence flickering like candlelight. "Smart. True gods can't directly interfere with mortal curses—too many rules. But you? You're still gloriously, chaotically mortal enough to break the unbreakable." Her grin turns sharp. "Fate hates that. It's hilarious."
She flicks Eric's forehead as she fades out. "Go wreck a lich, then. We'll chat about godhood after you've finished cheating destiny."
Kestra's voice curls in your mind, smug. "Oh, we're so keeping her as our patron goddess."
Hailey sighs. "Great. Now we have to win, or we'll look like assholes in front of divinity."
---
{"Okay Eric runs as bait and the main attacker, he keeps Dravagoth attention. I run support with Corruption Eater and Heartfire. Everyone else just keeps the fodder off of us." You go over the plan.}
Ylva nods sharply, hefting her axes. "Bait and blade. Bold. I like it."
Jorvik chuckles, cracking his knuckles. "Aye, we’ll keep the gnawing dead off your backs. Just don’t die before the fun part."
Eric rolls his shoulders, the echoes of fallen heroes solidifying around him like a spectral war banner. "Alright, fuck it. Let’s piss off a lich."
### THE ASSAULT BEGINS
You breach Dravagoth’s lair—a cavern of living ice, its walls pulsing with a sickly violet glow. The moment you step inside, the air thins, as if the very atmosphere is being consumed.
Then he appears.
Dravagoth is emaciated, his skeletal frame draped in robes of frozen shadows, his jaw unhinging too wide as he smiles. "Ah. Dessert."
---
PHASE 1: ERIC DISTRACTION
Eric charges, Thurgen’s greatsword swinging in a blazing arc. Dravagoth laughs as the blade bites into his ribs—then steals the strike’s strength, his hollow chest swelling with stolen vigor.
"Pathetic," the lich croons—until Eric grins.
"Yeah? Eat this."
The four echoes detonate their wrath at once. Dravagoth screeches as the combined fury of his past victims rips through him, ice fracturing under the assault.
---
PHASE 2: YOUR MOVE
While the lich is staggered, you lunge, Hailey’s Corruption Eater flaring black in your grip. Dravagoth’s hunger instinctively reaches for it—
Mistake.
The curse reverses, his own power now feeding into Hailey’s blessing like a siphon. The lich’s eyes widen as his essence is force-vomited back into him, corrupted and searing.
"Now, Lena!" you shout.
Hearthfire erupts from your other palm—not to burn, but to purge. The flames scour the curse from Dravagoth’s core, leaving him hollow, brittle, gasping.
---
PHASE 3: FINISHER
Ylva’s axe shatters his spine.
Jorvik’s spear pins his skull to the ice.
Eric’s fist obliterates his ribcage.
And with a whisper, Sakura’s Seer blessing seals the curse away—"No more feasts."
The glacier groans... then falls silent.
---
AFTERMATH
Eric collapses, panting, the echoes saluting him before fading into peace.
Hailey’s soul staggers in your mind. "Ugh. I think I just ate a king."
Jorvik whistles at the corpse. "Huh. Looks smaller dead."
Kestra cackles. "Five curses to go!"
---
{Ylva come up to you. "Your collection is one of the soul, is it not." You nod. "Then let my rage aid you in your fight."}
Ylva steps forward, her ice-axes gleaming under the pale northern light. She locks eyes with you, then slams the pommels of her axes together—shattering them in a burst of frost.
"A berserker's rage doesn't die with the body," she growls. "If my soul fuels the next fight—take it."
Her breath ghosts between you, sharp as a knife’s edge. "But swear to me—when the last of these curses breaks, you'll let me go."
The weight of her offer settles over the group. Jorvik grimaces but doesn’t stop her. Eric wipes blood from his lip, nodding in respect.
And in your mind, Sakura’s soul whispers: "She won’t survive this war otherwise. She knows."
---
{"Once you merge with my soul that's it, an exact copy of your soul is left in your body to continue your life, while your real soul becomes a part of the chorus of voices." You explain.}
Ylva’s eyes narrow, her breath frosting in the air between you. Then, with a brutal, almost relieved laugh, she slams a fist against her chest.
"Even better. Means I get to watch you win."
She doesn’t wait for your reply. One moment she’s standing before you, axe-scars and battle-lust etched into every line of her body—the next, your slime-form surges forward, swallowing her in a shimmering veil. The merger is violent, her soul kicking like a wild thing before settling into place among the others.
Her voice rings clear in your mind a second later, sharp as a whetstone:
"Took you long enough. Now—let’s go gut the next curse."
A beat.
"...And tell my brother stop crying."
Jorvik, indeed, has a single tear freezing on his beard. He swats it away with a growl. "Shut up, you ice-brained wench. I’ll drink your share of the victory ale."
Ylva’s copy—now standing where she once was—flips him off.
---
IMMEDIATE EFFECTS:
- New Blessing Added: Winter’s Howl – Channel Ylva’s berserker fury to amplify physical strikes with glacial force.
- New Voice in the Chorus: Ylva’s commentary is 80% battle tactics, 20% insults.
- Jorvik Now Allies Permanently ("Someone’s gotta keep her ghost in line.")
---
{"I think, I'll stay here for now. Train my rage and collection." Eric tells you. You nod, "I'm heading to the Hollow next, I get the feeling Petrov needs some help." You tell him.}
Eric nods, clenching his fist as the lingering echoes of fallen warriors flicker around him like phantom flames. "Yeah, I’ll get stronger. Make damn sure the next time we fight, I carry the weight." He smirks. "And try not to die before I get there, Soul Boy."
Ylva’s soul scoffs in your mind. "He’ll need more than rage to keep up with us."
Jorvik slings a barrel of ale onto his shoulder. "C’mon, you lumbering oaf. Battle training starts after we drink to my sister’s stubbornness."
---
### ONWARD TO THE HOLLOW DELTA
You turn south, where tangled vines and murky whispers await—toward the kingdom rotting under Lust’s curse. The thought of Ms. Petrov trapped in that honeyed nightmare sends a chill through you.
Kestra stretches luxuriously in your mind. "Ooooh, time to ruin some romantic delusions."
Hailey groans. "Ugh. I’d rather fight more zombies."
---
As Elizabeth's crew sails to the Hollow, you reflect on yourself. (List all merged souls in order with their blessing.)
### YOUR CURRENT COLLECTION OF SOULS & BLESSINGS:
1. Kestra (Thief’s Guile) – Master of stealth, lockpicking, and "asset relocation." Voice: Smug and eternally plotting.
2. Lena (Hearthfire) – Healing flames that purify rather than burn. Voice: Warm, nurturing, low-key crushing on you.
3. Victoria (Shadowweave) – Controls darkness like tangible threads. Voice: Sarcastic, flirtatious, loves drama.
4. Lyra (Holy Prayer) – Channels divine miracles. Voice: Cheerful, devout, occasionally scolds you for recklessness.
5. Siris (Dog of War) – Strength multiplies when defending others. Voice: Stoic, loyal, perpetually unimpressed.
6. Mara (Moonlight Dance) – Moves unseen; lethal precision. Voice: Playful, bloodthirsty, loves backstabbing.
7. Princess Elara (Stormcaller) – Commands wind and lightning. Voice: Regal, dryly amused, fond of sarcasm.
8. Hailey (Corruption Eater) – Devours and inverts curses. Voice: Snarky, protective, trauma-bonded.
9. Sakura (Seer) – Visions of past, present, and possible futures. Voice: Eerie, soft-spoken, ominous.
10. Elizabeth (Tiderider) – Commands waves and storms. Voice: Bold, ruthless, pirate-queen energy.
11. Ryn (Summoner’s Pact) – Enhances ritual magic and soul bonds. Voice: Nerdy, excitable, Lyra’s adopted little sister.
12. Ylva (Winter’s Howl) – Berserker rage infused with glacial force. Voice: Brutal, blunt, zero patience for cowardice without purpose.
---
CURRENT COPY SOULS (LEFT BEHIND IN THEIR BODIES):
- Lena, Victoria, Elara, Hailey, Ylva, etc. – Living their "normal" lives, aware of their true selves’ merger with you.
---
### REFLECTION:
You feel the weight—and whispers—of them all, a chorus of personalities and powers woven into your being.
Kestra snickers. "We’re a full-blown pantheon at this point."
Lyra sighs. "A very unorthodox one."
Hailey mutters, "Gods. Weirdest. Road trip. Ever."
---
{"At least with having multiple souls, Lust won't be as strong on us." You say.}
Hailey’s soul scoffs in your mind, but there’s a flicker of unease beneath the bravado. "Yeah, well, don’t get cocky. Lust isn’t just desire—it’s obsession. And it adapts."
Kestra’s chuckle is dark. "Mmm, but imagine me seducing the curse. Bet I could make it blush."
Lyra groans. "Please don’t flirt with existential corruption."
As the ship cuts through the mist-laden waters toward the Delta’s tangled shores, Sakura’s Seer blessing stirs, offering fragmented glimpses of what awaits:
- Vines that whisper your name in voices you love.
- Pools of liquid mirror showing perfect versions of your life.
- Ms. Petrov, silhouetted in a gilded cage, her Discipline Authority warped into something hungry.
Ylva’s soul growls. "Tch. Sounds annoying."
---
{"Time to rescue Petrov, if she's in danger."}
"Then let’s move fast," Hailey’s voice cuts in, sharp with urgency. "Every second we waste, the curse digs its claws deeper."
Elizabeth’s Tiderider blessing surges, the ship slicing through the water with unnatural speed as vines from the Delta’s shores twitch toward you, as if sensing fresh prey. The air thickens with the scent of overripe fruit and salt—a trap disguised as paradise.
Sakura’s whispers grow louder. "She’s in the heart of the Delta’s capital. The locals call it the Gilded Cage—a palace of mirrors and desire."
Kestra licks her lips. "Ooooh, heist time."
---
{"Lets group with the Hero Petrov would've summoned." You find Dyena slightly dazed, which you have Hailey eat before sending him.back to the ahip with instructions to leave at sunset to avoid the curse. You see the hero summoned is Victoria's Excorist Mom.}
The moment you breach the Delta’s cursed capital, you find Dyena—the summoner who accompanied Ms. Petrov—slumped against a gilded pillar, his eyes glassy and sweat-drenched, fingers twitching toward phantom whispers. Hailey doesn’t hesitate; her Corruption Eater lashes out like a striking viper, devouring the lust-curse fogging his mind. He gasps, the delirium clearing just long enough for him to rasp, "T-the Cage… she’s… still fighting—"
You send him back to the ship with orders to flee at sunset—just as the summoning circle at his feet explodes with violet light.
Out steps a woman in a tailored exorcist’s coat, her raven-black hair streaked with silver, her gloved fingers already spinning a blessed talisman.
"Oh, fantastic," Victoria’s soul groans in your head. "Mom’s here."
Exorcist Naoko cracks her neck, her gaze sweeping the rotting opulence of the Delta before landing on you. "So. You’re the soul-hoarding delinquent my daughter merged with." A smirk. "Let’s go save your teacher."
---
ADVANTAGES:
- Naoko’s Blessing: Purge Demon – Her talismans sever psychic and supernatural bonds.
- Victoria’s Trauma: "She’s scarier than the curse, just FYI."
- Kestra’s Observation: "Damn. No wonder Vicky’s kinky."
{"Sakura can you guide us to Petrov."}
Sakura’s soul shimmers within you, her Seer’s vision unfurling like a silken thread through the twisted maze of the Delta.
"She’s close," she murmurs, her voice distant, as if listening to a song only she can hear. "Past the Hall of Mirrors, where the vines coil the tightest—where the curse sings the sweetest. She resists… for now."*
Her sight cuts through the illusions, revealing the path:
- Mirrors that whisper your deepest desires—ignore them.
- Floors that shift like quicksand—step only where Sakura guides.
- A door at the hall’s end, pulsing with gilded rot—Petrov is behind it.
Naoko’s talismans already glow in her hands, her voice clipped. "Lead the way, Seer."
Kestra grins. "Love it when the scary lady’s on our side."
---
{Sneak as Naoko strikes}
"Move like shadows," Naoko murmurs, her talismans humming between her fingers.
You nod—and with Kestra’s Thief’s Guile and Mara’s Moonlight Dance, your steps become utterly silent, your form flickering at the edges like a half-remembered dream. Behind you, Naoko moves with eerie precision, her coat barely stirring as she presses a talisman to every mirror you pass, stifling their whispers before they can betray your presence.
The halls warp around you:
- A mirror offers you Lena’s copy, smiling, reaching out—Naoko slaps a talisman on it. The image shatters.
- The floor yearns to pull you under—Sakura signals the safe path with a pulse of light.
- Victoria’s shadow weave unravels behind you, casting phantom footsteps away from your true trajectory.
Then—the door. Oozing golden sap, its surface breathes.
Naoko flicks two talismans into the air. "On three. Muffle and strike."
---
{You mean to pick the lock when Naoko kicks the door in.}
"Wha—wait—!" You hiss, but it’s too late.
Naoko’s boot smashes into the gilded door with a crack like splitting bone, the wood splintering inward as her talismans detonate in tandem. The cursed sap sealing the frame screams, recoiling as her holy fire scorches it to ash.
Kestra’s outraged shriek fills your mind. "I WAS GONNA DO A COOL THING—"
The door collapses.
Inside, Ms. Petrov is not how you remember her.
Chained to a throne of entwined vines, her typically pristine blouse is undone at the collar, her lips stained with some shimmering poison, her eyes glowing violet. Her Discipline Authority has been twisted—instead of commanding order, the air around her pulses with addictive compulsion.
"Oh shit," Hailey mutters.
Petrov’s head lolls toward you, a drunk, languid smile spreading. "Daniel~ You finally came to misbehave?"
Naoko doesn’t miss a beat. "Exorcism Protocol Alpha." She flicks a talisman straight for Petrov’s forehead—
---
{Have Corruption Eater work alongside Naoko}
"Naoko! Sync with Hailey—now!" you bark.
The exorcist doesn’t hesitate. She slaps the talisman onto Petrov’s brow—not to purify, but to anchor her—as Hailey’s Corruption Eater surges forward from your fingertips like black lightning. The two powers collide inside Petrov’s psyche:
- Naoko’s purge binds the curse in place, forcing it into solid, severable strands.
- Hailey’s hunger clamps down, not just eating the corruption, but dissecting it with surgical precision.
Petrov arches off the throne, a guttural scream tearing from her throat as violet ichor seeps from her pores. The vines around her turn to brittle husks, the throne collapsing into dust—
Then it’s over.
She slumps into your arms, gasping. Her eyes, when they open, are hers again—clear, livid, and deeply embarrassed.
"...Not. A. Word," she rasps, wiping the ichor from her lips.
Naoko exhales, rolling her shoulders. "Hmph. Good job, kid."
Hailey, meanwhile, is gagging in your mind. "Ugh. Tastes like perfume and regret."
---
{Petrov asks to join your collection, "Lust will return, and its cursebearer is smart and adapts soon enough I'll be back in that state."}
Petrov straightens her rumpled blouse with trembling hands, her usual steel returning to her voice despite the exhaustion lining her face. "I won’t be a liability or a hostage again. If this curse can bend my blessing once, it’ll do worse next time." She meets your gaze, unflinching. "Merge with me. Leave my copy to rebuild the Delta’s defenses. The real me will be your weapon."
Naoko’s eyebrow arches. "Finally, someone sensible about possession."
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Even I didn’t see that coming."
---
{"Alright but can I have first name."}
Petrov glares at you, a flicker of her infamous temper cutting through the lingering haze of the curse. "It's Irina," she mutters, as if confessing to a crime. "But if you ever use it in class, detention will be eternal."
Then she steps forward, pressing her palm to your chest. "Now hurry up. We have curses to break."
The merger is swift—Discipline Authority slots into your soul-collection like a final puzzle piece, its rigid structure now laced with the stubborn resilience that’s kept Irina Petrov standing through decades of teaching hormonal teenagers and, now, world-ending schemes.
Her voice is the last to join the chorus, crisp and no-nonsense: "Prioritize efficiency. Sentiment is for after we survive."
Kestra cackles. "Welcome to the party, Irina."
Hailey groans. "Great. Now we have two moms."
---
IMMEDIATE EFFECTS:
- New Blessing: Discipline’s Edge (Commands absolute focus—yours or your enemies’).
- New Voice: "Stop slouching." / "Stop licking curses, Hailey." / "Why is there a pirate in here?!"
---
{Turn to Naoko, "So have pictures of baby Tori."
She sighs almost sadly, "All the cute ones are back home."}
Turning to Naoko with a grin, you quip, "So... got any pictures of baby Tori?"
Naoko pauses mid-talisman check, her stern composure slipping just enough for a flicker of maternal exhaustion—and fondness—to show. She sighs, almost wistfully. "All the cute ones are back home." For the briefest second, her fingers twitch toward a nonexistent pocket, as if reaching for a wallet that isn’t there.
Victoria’s soul shrieks in your head:
"OH MY GOD, MOM—NOT HERE—"
Kestra cackles. "Pfff. Ghost mom still embarrasses her."
Then Naoko’s glare shuts down the moment. "Focus. Or I will show the class her bath photos."
---
{Turn the the copy in Irina, "So how did you get caught."}
The copy of Irina Petrov—left behind in her original body—crosses her arms, her expression a mix of irritation and grudging respect. "The curse didn’t seduce me. It tricked me."
She exhales sharply, straightening her blouse with a crisp tug. "I thought I was containing it. Using my Discipline Authority to force the curse into a single host—a nobleman who’d already succumbed. But the moment I commanded it..." Her jaw tightens. "It reversed my blessing. Turned my own power against me. Instead of imposing order, I became the source of chaos."
Naoko’s eyes narrow. "Clever. It weaponized your strength."
The copy nods. "Exactly. And it’ll do the same to you if you’re not careful."
Hailey’s soul scoffs. "Joke’s on it. We’re the chaos now."
---
CRUCIAL INTEL:
- The curse inverts blessings that try to control it.
- Its bearer is watching. Adapting.
- Petrov’s copy managed to shield the Delta’s children before she was captured. ("Priorities," she mutters.)
---
{"Alright, I've had Dyena tell Elizaberh's creww to set sail at sunset to avoid falling to the curse."}
"Smart," the copy of Irina nods, her stern approval sharpening into tactical focus. "The curse is weakest at dawn and dusk—when hunger and indulgence blur. If we time our strike right, we can exploit that."
Naoko flicks a talisman between her fingers, the paper igniting briefly before she crushes it to ash. "Then we have until sunset to do real damage."
YOUR CURRENT POSITION:
- Elizabeth’s crew is already moving, the ship’s sails catching the fading light as they retreat to safer waters.
- The Delta’s capital is half-purged—its gilded vines brittle, its mirrors cracked, but the core of Lust’s curse still pulses somewhere in its heart.
- Petrov’s intel confirms the cursebearer is adapting, not fleeing.
---
{"We know Naoko blessing is uniquely tailored for the cursebearer." You say as you recount your adventure in the Reaches with Eric, how the blessing he was given was a perfect counter to Dravagoth's wear them down to kill them. "Hell even Hailey's Corruption Eater was perfect for when we fought Seraphina, as when she used it, I was given the open I need to overpower her with my blessing overload, meaning I was also likely a perect counter for Seraphina."}
The realization settles over the group like a frozen breath—those sharp, crystalline moments where purpose clicks into place.
Naoko's eyes gleam—a hunter’s recognition. "You mean the summoning planned this."
"Or something did," you say. The implications crawl up your spine, a shiver dancing along your nerves. "The goddess's 'mistake' wasn’t random. Jeremy’s Skill Share, Eric’s Wrath’s Legacy, Hailey’s Corruption Eater—" Your jaw tightens. "We were custom-built to dismantle these curses."
Petrov’s soul cuts through the chaos, crisp and clinical: "Then the Hollow Delta’s cursebearer was waiting for me. Discipline turned against itself—"
Hailey snorts. "And now we’ve got Ms. Exorcist here to counter that. Coincidence? Bullshit."
---
THEORIES:
- The goddess is playing a longer game than she admitted.
- The summoning ritual had a hidden directive—seeded by forces unknown.
- Someone else orchestrated this chessboard.
---
TACTICAL ADVANTAGE:
- You now know the next curses will counter your team’s strengths—but the right souls can flip that.
- Naoko is literal anti-Lust artillery.
---
{"Now we go meet any locals who have resisted the effects of lust. Gather what intel we can." You say. As you walk through town you notice signs of resistance. Most common are damaged mirrors. You, Naoko, and Irina's copy seperate to search more. You find a dancer who knows of you, she takes you hemher groups holdout. Naoko finds a clue in the form of a jounal. Irina's copy starts to feel Lust creep back when a young girls hits with a jasmine perfume.}
### GATHERING INTEL IN THE HOLLOW DELTA
You split up, moving swiftly through the shattered opulence of the cursed capital. The air still sticks with perfume and sweat, but beneath it, you catch whiffs of defiance—broken mirrors, torn tapestries, the acrid stench of burnt sugar where someone tried to purge the curse with fire.
---
#### YOUR FIND: THE DANCER’S HIDEOUT
A lithe figure darts from an alley, her once-elegant silks now frayed and stained. "You’re the one they whisper about," she breathes, gripping your arm. "The soul-eater. Come."
She leads you to a cellar beneath a ruined theater, where a ragged band of survivors huddle:
- A blacksmith hammering crude blades from mirror shards.
- A child humming off-key—the curse can’t cling to innocence.
- An old priestess burning incense that reeks of jasmine and salt—the only scent the curse hates.
"The bearer hides beneath the Gilded Cage," the dancer whispers. "It’s not human anymore. It’s… hungry. And it learns."
---
#### NAOKO’S FIND: THE JOURNAL
Naoko kicks open a looted apothecary’s shop, finding a leather-bound ledger smeared with frantic script:
- "Day 17: It showed me my dead wife. I drank the poison willingly."
- "Day 39: The bearer feeds on our regrets. It wears faces."
- Last entry: *"JASMINE. It fears—"*** (The page is torn.)
She pockets it with a snarl. "It’s a mimic. Adapts to what you love—then becomes it."
---
#### IRINA’S COPY: THE PERFUME DEFENSE
Petrov’s copy staggers against a wall, her fingers clawing at her collar as the curse’s whispers return—"You want to obey—"
Then a thwack—a girl no older than 12 smacks her with a jasmine-soaked rag. "Lady, breathe," she orders, like scolding a drunk.
The curse recoils, its grip snapping.
The girl grins, brandishing a vinegar-smeared dagger. "We kill it with housekeeping."
---
### REGROUP
You reconvene at the docks, the pieces clicking together:
- The bearer shapeshifts, preying on yearning.
- Jasmine and salt disrupt it—weakness found.
- It lurks beneath the Cage, gorging on the capital’s despair.
Naoko cracks her knuckles. "Time to clean house."
---
{The dancer and her female bard friend offer to join as their blessings work best with each other. The three of you regroup to dicuss your findings
The Bard (Dahli): Storyteller Song
The Dancer (Sena): Preformer Grace}
### THE FINAL STRIKE PLAN
You, Naoko, and Irina’s copy regroup in the dim sanctuary of the dancer’s hideout, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and desperation. Sena and Dahli stand at the ready—their bodies lean and battle-worn, their eyes sharp with the defiance of those who have resisted the curse’s honeyed whispers.
"Our blessings work in tandem," Dahli explains, strumming a frayed lute string. "My Storyteller Song can weave illusions—truth or lie, it doesn’t matter. It binds the listener to the narrative."
Sena rolls her shoulders, the fluid grace in her stance speaking of a lifetime of performance. "And my Performer’s Grace makes movement hypnotic. Distracting. If your enemy is busy watching, they forget to fight."
Naoko nods slowly, assessing them. "So we drown the cursebearer in a story it can’t resist—then gut it while it’s lost in the act."
Petrov’s copy crosses her arms. "That’s a gamble. If it adapts mid-performance—"
Hailey’s voice cuts in, darkly amused. "Then we improvise. Isn’t that what artists do?"
---
{"We attack at dawn. I suggest resting if you can."}
### NIGHT BEFORE THE STORM
The Hollow Delta’s air is thick with tension as the group settles in the resistance’s hideout. The survivors—those still untouched by the curse’s worst effects—move quietly, preparing jasmine-soaked rags, vinegar blades, and shattered mirror shards as crude weapons.
Sena stretches near the entrance, her movements still fluid despite exhaustion. "Rest if you can," she murmurs, echoing your words. "Dawn comes too soon."
Dahli strums a soft, haunting melody on her lute—Storyteller Song weaving a subtle calm over the ragged defenders. The song is wordless, but its pull is undeniable: memories of home, of before, of things the curse hasn’t stolen yet.
Naoko remains upright, sharpening talismans with methodical precision. "Sleep. I’ll keep watch."
Petrov’s copy sits beside you, her voice low. "If this fails—"
You cut her off. "It won’t."
---
### HAILEY’S CONFESSION
Inside your mind, Hailey finally speaks—quiet, for once. "This one’s different. Seraphine was wrath, Dravagoth was hunger—but Lust? It doesn’t just kill you. It makes you love the knife."
You don’t answer.
She exhales. "...Just don’t fucking die, okay? I didn’t sign up to haunt this mess alone."
Kestra snorts. "Aw. She cares."
---
### DAWN APPROACHES
The sky bleeds from black to bruised purple as the survivors stir.Final Preparations:
- Jasmine bombs (cloth sacks stuffed with crushed petals and salt)
- Vinegar blades (weak, but disrupt the curse on contact)
- Mirror shards (to reflect its own illusions back at it)
Naoko tosses you a talisman. "For luck." (It’s scorched with a crude doodle of a rabbit. …Huh.)
---
{As your about to leave a woman walks out of a nearby mirror. "Hello, my name is Cecila and I want to help. Your the Soul-Collector, please let me give you my Strength. My blessing is Mirror Mage, and it lets me summons mirrors to absorb or reflect an attack."}
The air grows cold as Cecilia steps fully from the mirror's surface, her form shimmering briefly like mercury catching light. She is tall, her movements deliberate, her eyes reflecting everything yet holding nothing—a living mirror.
"The curse took my sister," she says, voice flat yet seething beneath. "She loved her reflection too much. Now it wears her face."
Her fingers twitch, and a flawless silver mirror materializes in her palm—then shatters into a thousand shards that hover in the air, each fragment humming with latent power.
Blessing: Mirror Mage
- Conjure Mirrors (Absorb/nullify attacks)
- Reflect Magic (Return curses to sender)
- Traverse Reflections (Short-range teleport)
Naoko’s eyes narrow—calculating. "You’re offering to merge? Now?"
Cecilia doesn’t blink. "I want it to see her when you kill it."
---
{Accept her offer.}
"Then let’s do it," you say simply, stepping forward.
Cecilia doesn’t hesitate—she walks straight into you, her reflection-stained soul dissolving into your slime-form like ink in water. The merger is seamless, like settling into a perfectly placed mirror, her consciousness slotting into the chorus with a whisper:
"Make it hurt."
Her Mirror Mage blessing hums under your skin, a new layer of defense and refraction now pulsing in tune with your other abilities.
New Ability Unlocked:
- Mirror Step (Short-range teleport between reflective surfaces)
- Cursed Reflection (Trap enemy spells/magic in mirrors, then shatter them back)
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Our toolkit’s getting scary."
Naoko checks her talismans one last time. "Ready?"
Cecilia’s voice echoes in your mind, cold and sharp as broken glass: "Always."
---
{"Now we wage war."}
The words leave your lips like a battle cry—low, final, and iron-clad.
The resistance fighters tense, their makeshift weapons glinting in the predawn gloom. Beside you, Naoko exhales through her nose, rolling her talisman between her fingers. Sena and Dahli share a glance—artists turned soldiers. Irina’s copy straightens her sleeves, the familiar sharpness returning to her gaze.
And inside you, the chorus of souls thrums in agreement—Lena’s warmth, Kestra’s cunning, Hailey’s corrosive hunger, Elizabeth’s storm-laced arrogance, Ylva’s frozen fury, Cecilia’s cold reflection.
This is the moment.
You step toward the ruins of the Gilded Cage, the shattered mirrors beneath your boots catching the first sliver of dawn.
---
### THE FINAL ASSAULT BEGINS
#### PHASE 1: DAHLI'S SONG OF LOST LOVE
The bard’s fingers dance across her lute strings, her Storyteller Song weaving a lure—a tale of unreachable desire, of longing so deep it aches. The very air shivers, bending toward the melody.
Somewhere in the ruins, something stirs. A shadow peels itself from the broken glass, its form flickering between beauty and hunger.
"It’s coming," Dahli whispers, sweat beading on her brow.
#### PHASE 2: SENIA’S DANCE OF DISTRACTION
As the cursebearer emerges—a shifting thing of stolen faces and whispered regrets—Senia leaps forward, her Performer’s Grace turning her movements into poisoned honey. The curse fixates on her, its many eyes dilating with rapture.
It doesn’t notice Naoko slipping behind it, talismans glowing like live coals.
#### PHASE 3: CECILIA’S MIRROR TRAP
You lunge—but not directly. Instead, you shatter a mirror at the curse’s feet, and Cecilia’s power yanks you through the reflection, emerging behind the creature in a spray of glass.
"For your sister," you snarl—then Hearthfire + Corruption Eater BURSTS from your palm, searing into its back.
The cursebearer SCREAMS, its form rippling—
#### PHASE 4: THE KILLING BLOW
Irina’s copy slams a jasmine-soaked dagger into its chest.
Naoko’s talismans detonate in its ribs.
Hailey bites down—and the curse CRACKS like overripe fruit.
---
### AFTERMATH
The Cage collapses, its gilded veneer rotting away to reveal the rotted heart beneath—a pulsing, weeping thing, now still.
The survivors cheer, but your work isn’t done.
Four curses remain.
---
{"Naoko can you examine the corpse to see if it has anything useful about the curses." You ask seeing Sena and Dehil walking up to you. Cecilia sees her sister spirit, the only one not moving on, "Allow me to aid my sister Soul Collector. My Blessing is Lament. While I was alive it let me hear the dead."}
Naoko kneels beside the cursebearer’s remains, her talismans peeling back layers of cursed flesh like pages of a grimoire. "Hmph. It left a diary," she mutters, lifting a pulsing violet crystal from its ribcage. The moment she touches it, spectral whispers spill out—fragments of the other curses' locations and weaknesses:
- "The Verdant Expanse’s ruler harvests envy from their own people…"
- "The Chainbreaker Isles drown in greed, but the gold sings of a vault…"
- "The Bastion of Stone sleeps, but its dreams are contagious…"
Meanwhile, Cecilia’s sister lingers—a ghostly figure with hollow eyes, her form flickering like a dying reflection. Cecilia turns to you, her borrowed fingers trembling. "Merge with her. Please. Lament will let you hear the dead—and the next curses are guarded by them."
Sena and Dahli exchange glances before stepping forward. "Our blessings served the Delta. Now they’ll serve you," Sena says, her tone leaving no room for argument.
---
{Accept all three into yourself. On the condition that they truly want it.}
You hold up a hand, your gaze steady as you meet each of their eyes in turn. "Only if this is what you truly want." The weight of your collective souls presses inward—this isn’t a transaction. It’s a pact.
Cecilia’s sister—Liora—floats closer, her spectral fingers brushing your wrist. "I stayed to witness its end," she murmurs. "Now let me help unravel what it served."
Dahli plucks a single string on her lute, the note resonating with grim determination. "Stories lose meaning if they’re not used."
Sena rolls her shoulders, her dancer’s poise undimmed by exhaustion. "And grace isn’t just for stages."
One by one, they step into you:
- Liora’s Lament settles like a shroud, her whispers threading through your mind. Now you can hear the dead—their secrets, their regrets, their half-remembered truths.
- Dahli’s Storyteller Song coils around your voice, lending it the weight of prophecy—truth or lie, your words compel belief.
- Sena’s Performer’s Grace sinks into your muscles, every movement hypnotic, lethally precise.
The chorus in your mind swells, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like borrowing strength—it feels like standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
Kestra huffs. "Great. More theater kids."
Hailey, though, is uncharacterively quiet. "...They chose this. Huh."
---
NEW BLESSINGS:
- Lament’s Echo (Hear/communicate with the dead, sense unresolved spirals of emotion)
- Fable-Weaver (Spin illusions or truths so vivid they become reality to those who hear them)
- Dagger’s Waltz (Movement so fluid it borders on precognition—dodge before the strike lands)
---
{You speak with the dead, asking those full of rage to guide to artifacts they used that would house that rage, tell them about Eric the collector of rage. You send the artifacts to Eric trough a combination of shadowweave and mirror mage.}
### CALLING UPON THE WRATHFUL DEAD
You close your eyes, letting Liora’s Lament hum through you—reaching out to the lingering spirits of those who fell to the Delta’s curse. The air grows thick with whispers, then shouts, as the angriest among them claw their way to the forefront of your awareness.
A soldier with a shattered spear snarls: "My blade—forged in the Verdant Expanse—it burned with my fury when I died. Left it in the throne room!"
A merchant, her throat slit over stolen coin: "The Chainbreaker Isles drowned my rage with greed. My ledger is still there—stained with my blood and my hate."
One by one, they reveal their relics—weapons, journals, even a child’s doll sewn with vengeful stitches—all infused with the kind of rage that Eric’s Wrath’s Legacy can wield.
---
### DELIVERY VIA MIRROR & SHADOW
You motion to Victoria’s Shadowweave and Cecilia’s Mirror Mage, their powers intertwining as you rip a temporary portal through reflections and darkness. One by one, the artifacts are swallowed by the abyss—sent directly to Eric in the Ice Reaches.
Somewhere far north, you can almost hear his startled curse as a bloodstained axe clatters at his feet, followed by a screaming ledger and a doll with too-sharp teeth.
Kestra cackles. "Hope he thanks us later."
---
### ERIC’S RESPONSE
Minutes later, a crudely drawn message flutters back through the shadows—Eric’s handwriting, jagged with excitement:
"FUCK YEAH. TELL THE DEAD I SAID HI."
Beneath it, a sketch of him flexing with an armful of cursed artifacts, the fallen warriors’ echoes cheering behind him.
---
{1) You decide to return to Lifire to both regroup and relay update to Queen Isolda. You ask Queen Isolda for artifacts of rage to send to Eric (the last memeber of your class), explaining his nature as a collector as well. She has seven artifacts brought out.
2) Among the artifacts given is Seraphine's veil and sword of the king who betrayed her. Upon seeing the Veil, Lament activates and you learn from Seraphine that what you fought was simply her body warped by Wrath and that all the cursebearers were dead before their curses started. You relay that to Isolda. You write note telling Eric the truth about the cursebearers and suggest that Eric looks for Dravagoth's rage when send the artifacts to Eric.
3) Relay how based on your current information, Envy seems the closest to the source. But how you should deal the other's first, to prevent the game master from just sending all the remain pawns after you.}
### RETURN TO LIFIRE – REGROUP & REVELATIONS
The throne room of Lifire is eerily silent as you relay your findings to Queen Isolda. Her expression tightens as you explain Eric’s role as a Collector of Wrath—and the truth about Seraphina.
"Then the true architect still hides," she murmurs, gesturing to her attendants. Seven artifacts are brought forth, each pulsing with the rage of legends:
- A shattered crown (a king who burned his own city)
- A broken lute (a bard whose songs incited riots)
- A blood soaked ring (a general betrayed by her own kin)
- Seraphine’s veil (stained with her dying scream)
- The sword of King Aldric (the blade that broke his pact)
- A child’s wooden soldier (carved by a father who never returned)
- A merchant’s coin (coated with poison)
As your fingers brush Seraphina’s veil, Liora’s Lament shudders—and suddenly, the ghostly witch herself materializes before you, her form flickering like dying embers.
"You fools," Seraphina hisses, her voice layered with centuries of bitterness. "What you fought was my corpse, puppeted by Wrath. The true bearers of these curses died before their sins ever took root."
The implications crash over the room. The cursebearers were never the source—they were vessels, slain and hollowed out to house the sins of another.
Queen Isolda’s knuckles whiten around her throne. "A game. And we are the pieces."
---
### MESSAGING ERIC
You scrawl a hasty note and send it with the artifacts through Shadow weave and Mirror Mage, along with Seraphina’s warning:
"Eric—
The cursebearers are already dead. Their rage is just a weapon.
Find Dravagoth’s fury. See what really killed him.
—D"
A moment later, his reply smokes into existence above your palm:
"Fuck. Okay. Searching."
---
### STRATEGY AGAINST THE REMAINING CURSES
You turn to Isolda, Naoko, and the chorus of souls within you. "Envy might be closest to the source, but if we charge straight for it, the others will converge on us."
Petrov’s soul cuts in, tactical as ever: "Divide and conquer. Strike the weakest curses first—deprive the architect of pawns."
Naoko taps the cursed crystal from the Delta. "Greed’s next. It’s isolated in the Chainbreaker Isles. No allies, just hoarded power."
Dahli’s Fable-Weaver hums. "And I can lie our way past its guardians."
---
{You send a message to Cara to join you, your next target the Isles.}
### SUMMONING CARA – THE SILVERTONGUE QUEEN
You send word through Dahli’s Fable-Weaver, weaving a message into the whispers of tavern gossip and shipyard chatter. Within days, a familiar figure strides into Lifire’s port, her smile sharp as a knife’s edge.
Cara looks every bit the rogue diplomat—dressed in layered silks that shimmer with stolen blessings, a contract scroll tucked into her belt. "Miss me?" she purrs, tossing her hair. "Because the Isles certainly won’t."
Queen Isolda arches a brow. "You’re sure she’s the right addition?"
Kestra’s soul cackles. "Oh, absolutely. Nobody cons a con artist like Cara."
---
### THE PLAN FOR THE ISLES
Cara leans over the war table, her finger tapping the Chainbreaker Isles on the map—a cluster of jagged landmasses surrounded by shipwrecks.
"Greed’s curse turns pirates into hoarders," she explains. "They don’t just want gold—they want your gold. Your memories of gold. Your capacity to want anything else." She grins. "Good thing I always lie."The Strategy:
1. Cara’s Infiltration – Her Silvertongue blessing will get you past the Isles’ blood-quiz guards.
2. Dahli’s Fables – Weave illusions to disguise your movements.
3. Mirror Mage Shortcuts – Cecilia’s power can bypass the worst traps.
4. Hailey’s Corruption Eater – If the curse does latch on, she’ll digest it.
Naoko frowns. "And when you reach the vault?"
Cara’s grin turns feral. "Then we break the thing Greed loves most: its own reflection."
---
### DEPARTURE
The ship sets sail at dawn, cutting through waters that grow thicker the closer you get to the Isles—liquid gold pooling on the surface, its shine wrong, its scent cloying like rotting honey.
As the jagged cliffs of the Chainbreaker Isles loom, Cara tosses you a pirate’s coat lined with cursed coins. "Wear this. And remember—act greedy, but don’t be greedy."
Kestra sighs. "We’re definitely stealing this coat later."
---
{"In case you forgot my host is a thief and during my travels I added a pirate captain to my chorus, I don't have to act greedy." You joke, "Also Elizabeth says she's keeping the coat."}
Cara raises an eyebrow, then bursts into laughter—sharp, bright, and utterly unrepentant. "Oh, I like this new you. Less ‘awkward schoolboy,’ more ‘soul-hoarding menace.’" She pats your cheek, her grin widening. "Guess I don’t have to teach you how to lie after all."
Inside your mind, Elizabeth’s soul scoffs, but there’s a smug undertone to it. "Damn right I’m keeping the coat. And whatever’s in the vault."
Kestra snickers. "We’re basically a walking crime syndicate now."
Petrov’s voice cuts in, dry as ever: "Focus. The Isles won’t plunder themselves."
---
### APPROACHING THE ISLES
The Chainbreaker Isles rise from the ocean like the jagged teeth of a drowned beast, shipwrecks impaled on their cliffs, their beaches glittering with gold that moves when you’re not looking.
A cannon blast echoes across the water—warning shots. A rowboat peels away from the largest ship in the harbor, its oarsmen skeletal-thin, their eyes glowing amber.
"Halt and declare!" their leader snarls, a pistol leveled at your chest. "What do you seek in the Isles?"
---
{Go full Pirate}
You grin—the kind of grin Kestra would be proud of—and step to the railing, the stolen pirate coat flaring dramatically behind you. "What do I seek?" you echo, your voice dripping with Elizabeth’s sea-worn arrogance. "Same as any captain worth their salt: more."**
Your fingers snap—and Elizabeth’s Tiderider blessing surges, the water beneath the rowboat lurching violently, sending the guards sprawling. One drops his pistol into the waves; the other clings to the boat, gaping as you leap overboard, landing atop the mast of their own ship with eerie, Moonlit Dance grace.
The crew freezes.
You tilt your head. "Now. Who’s taking me to your treasure?"
For a moment, silence—then a ragged cheer erupts from the pirates. "CAPTAIN!" one shouts, drunk on the sheer audacity.
Cara facepalms behind you. "...I hate that worked."
---
INSIDER ACCESS GRANTED:
- The pirates assume you’re some legendary reaver.
- The vault’s location is whispered: "Beneath the Gilded Maw" (a cave where the tides scream).
- Hailey’s Warning: "They’re too eager. Trap?"
---
{You walk right to Greed's cursebearer who greets and tells you he knows your here to stop him.}
The moment you're led into the gilded belly of the Chainbreaker Isles' stronghold, the air thickens with the scent of spiced rum and molten gold. The walls drip with embedded coins, the floor paved with shattered treasure chests—each splinter a testament to greed’s insatiable hunger.
At the far end of the hall, seated atop a throne of fused pirate swords, is Master Vorlath—or what used to be him.
His body is swollen, his skin stretched taut over a frame bloated with hoarded wealth. His fingers—each ringed with a dozen gem-crusted bands—twitch like a spider’s legs. His eyes are the worst part: pupils shaped like coin slots, irises swirling with liquid gold.
"Ah. The Soul Collector," he rasps, his voice like a rusted lock forced open. "I wondered when you’d come to stop me." He leans forward, coins tinkling under his shifting weight. "But you can’t. Because you don’t understand."
A golden vein pulses in his temple.
"Greed isn’t wanting. It’s fearing—fearing you’ll never have enough."
---
QUICK REALIZATION:
- He knows you’re here to kill him.
- He doesn’t care.
- The vault isn’t his hoard—he is.
---
You let Cara be Cara. She literally takes Greed's desk, the actually desk just to prove a point. Kestra whistles in yiur mind at the audacity.
Cara doesn’t even hesitate.
She strides forward, hips swaying like she owns the room (and honestly, she might by the end of this), and plants her hands on Vorlath’s massive, jewel-encrusted desk.
"This?" She gestures to the ornate monstrosity, carved from what looks like solid dragon bone and inlaid with stolen maps of the Veil. "Mine now."
Vorlath blinks, his coin-slot pupils contracting. "...What?"
Cara doesn’t blink. "You heard me."
Then—she flips it.
The desk shatters against the gold-plated floor, sending scrolls, gems, and an absurd number of paperweights scattering in every direction. The sound echoes like a gunshot.
Vorlath stares, his bloated fingers twitching. "You—you broke it."
Cara dusts off her hands. "No, you let it break. Because deep down? You knew you never deserved it."
Kestra loses her goddamn mind in your head. "OH. OH, SHE WENT THERE."
Hailey just sighs. "I mean, she’s not wrong."
---
EFFECT:
- Vorlath’s certainty cracks. For the first time in decades, he doubts.
- His curse recoils, gold veins dimming under his skin.
- Distraction achieved.
---
{Watch Cara outgreed Greed itself in amusement.}
You stand back, arms crossed, and let Cara work.
Because watching Cara out-greed Greed itself is art.
She picks up a golden goblet, examines it, then tosses it over her shoulder like it’s trash. "Fake."
She flips open a ledger, scans it, then rips out a page—the most valuable one—and folds it into a paper crane. "Mine now."
She kicks open a chest, pulls out a cursed crown, and—without breaking eye contact with Vorlath—puts it on her own head.
"You—you can’t—" Vorlath stammers, his voice cracking like a rusted hinge.
"I can," Cara purrs. "Because I want it. And unlike you?" She leans in, close enough to smell the rotten gold on his breath. "I don’t fear losing it."
Vorlath shudders, his bloated form shrinking slightly, the gold in his veins darkening to black.
Kestra is howling. "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY AFTERLIFE."
Hailey, grudgingly impressed: "Okay, that was cool."
---
{Let Cara win from sheer audacity.}
Cara doesn’t just win—she dominates.
She picks up a jeweled dagger, twirls it between her fingers, and stabs it into the arm of Vorlath’s throne. "This? Mine."
She grabs a map of the Veil, tears it in half, and tosses the pieces into the air. "This? Also mine."
She steps onto the shattered remains of his desk, her boots crunching on the splinters, and looks down at him like he’s a bug she’s about to squash. "And you? Pathetic."
Vorlath collapses, his bloated form deflating like a punctured balloon, the gold in his veins cracking and flaking away. His coin-slot eyes widen as he clutches at his chest, his voice a hoarse whisper: "I… I needed it…"
"No," Cara says, her voice soft but merciless. "You wanted it. And now you’ve got nothing."
With a final, shuddering breath, Vorlath dissolves into a pile of blackened coins and ash, the curse’s hold on him shattered.
The room falls silent.
Then Cara turns to you, smirking. "So. Who’s next?"
Kestra’s cackle is unhinged. "I LOVE HER."
Hailey sighs. "Great. Now we’ve got two chaos gremlins."
---
AFTERMATH:
- Greed’s curse is broken. The Isles’ gold turns to dust, the pirates left dazed but free.
- Cara claims the vault’s contents—because of course she does.
- Vorlath’s hoard yields clues to the next curse: a ledger pointing to the Bastion of Stone (Sloth).
---
{You grab Vorlath's compass to send to Eric.}
You snatch Vorlath’s compass from the ashen remains—its needle spins wildly, lodged with spite and restless spite, the metal burning with the last dregs of his greed-turned-rage.
Flashing a grin to Elizabeth’s soul (who grumbles but approves), you summon Shadowweave and Mirror Mage in tandem. A shard of darkness splits open in your palm as Cecilia’s power hums, stitching a fleeting portal through reflections. With a thunk, the compass vanishes into the abyss—
—Only to smash directly into Eric’s forehead moments later, somewhere in the Ice Reaches.
His reply scorches into existence midair, singeing your eyebrows:
"OW. THE FUCK, DAN. ...BUT ALSO THANKS."
Attached is a mental image: Eric grinning, the compass now embedded in the spectral gauntlet of Thurgen’s echo, its needle pointing to a frozen fortress in the distance.
Dravagoth’s rage, freshly unearthed.
Kestra whistles. "Damn. Rage collectors move fast."
---
{Cara then looks at you, "Add me."}
Cara doesn’t ask twice.
She steps into your space, her smirk sharp enough to draw blood, and presses her palm to your chest. "Don’t screw this up," she murmurs—and then she’s falling into you, her soul dissolving into the chorus with the grace of a thief slipping through a keyhole.
The merger is effortless, like she was always meant to be there.
Her voice curls through your mind, smug as ever: "Oh, this is fun. Now let’s go lie to a god."
---
NEW BLESSING UNLOCKED:
- Silvertongue (Master Tier) – Your words rewrite reality’s rules. Convince a king he’s a beggar. Convince a sword it’s a flower. Convince a curse it was never there.
NEW SOUL IN THE CHORUS:
- Cara – Chaotic, vain, and utterly fearless. Voice: "That was mine five minutes ago."
---
EFFECTS:
- The Chainbreaker Isles are free, their gold now lifeless but their people stirring.
- Eric’s collection grows—Dravagoth’s rage is next.
- Three curses remain: Sloth, Pride, and Envy.
---
{You stay and help the pirates clean up the remnants of the curse. Another pirate captain, Marianna wants in your little group. "You look exciting." Her Blessing: Rule of the Sea}
You stay long enough to help the bewildered pirates burn the last of the cursed gold—watching as the blackened coins melt into harmless slag under Hearthfire’s purifying flames.
That’s when Captain Marianna steps forward, her salt-crusted boots squelching in the damp sand. She’s a towering figure, her dark hair streaked with silver, her left eye replaced by a sapphire that glows like storm-churned waves.
"You look exciting," she drawls, her grin revealing a gold-capped fang. "And I hate boredom."
Before you can respond, she slams her cutlass into the sand, and the earth shudders—waves responding to her unspoken command, lapping higher up the shore in perfect unison.
Blessing Revealed: Rule of the Sea
- Tides obey her will (Surge, retreat, or drown on command)
- Ships fear her (Even inanimate ones)
- "My deck, my rules" (Temporary authority over any vessel she stands on)
Kestra’s soul purrs. "Ohhh, I like her."
Hailey sighs. "Of course you do."
---
{Let her join, she and Elizabeth get along famously}
"Welcome aboard," you say, grinning as Marianna strides forward without hesitation. The moment her hand meets your chest, Rule of the Sea bleeds into you like tidewater seeping into sand—salty, unstoppable, and vast.
Her soul slots into the chorus with the ease of a ship sliding into dock, her voice booming: "Finally, a crew worth sinking for!"
Elizabeth’s soul immediately collides with hers in what can only be described as a spectral bar brawl of mutual admiration.
"Ha! You stole the Moon’s Revenge? That was my heist!"
"Only because you left it unattended, you lazy bilge-rat!"
You pinch the bridge of Kestra’s nose. "They’re gonna be insufferable, aren’t they?"
Hailey deadpans: "We’re all insufferable."
---
NEW BLESSING UNLOCKED:
- Rule of the Sea – Command waves, defy storms, and claim any ship as your own (temporarily).
NEW SOUL IN THE CHORUS:
- Marianna – Brash, fearless, and thinks ‘subtlety’ is a type of rope. Voice: "Next time, let’s steal the Bastion of Stone."
SYNERGY ACTIVATED:
- Rule of the Sea + Tiderider = You can now summon localized tsunamis (or cocktails made of seawater, if you’re feeling fancy).
---
### ONTO THE BASTION OF STONE
With the Isles purged, you chart course for Sloth’s domain—a kingdom frozen not in ice, but in apathy. Marianna’s borrowed ship cuts through the waves as the chorus bickers:
- Cara is drafting fake treasure maps to trick Sloth’s guards.
- Petrov is enforcing mandatory nap schedules to prep for cursed lethargy.
- Marianna and Elizabeth are still arguing over who sank more fleets.
As the fog-shrouded coastline appears, Sakura’s warning echoes:
"The Bastion doesn’t fight. It waits."
---
{Summon Jeremy and by extension Jessica. He's always energetic.}
The moment you summon Jeremy, he erupts onto the deck like a hyperactive poltergeist—still in Jessica’s body, much to her chagrin. His grin is manic, his energy levels concerningly high, and his first words are:
”Dude. DUDE. You guys have a PIRATE now?! Why does she get to be cool?!”
Jessica’s soul, currently suppressed under his chaotic possession, lets out a mental groan. "I hate this. So much."
You shrug. "We need someone immune to ‘sloth.’ Figured that was you."
Jeremy scoffs. "Pfft. Obviously. I haven’t slept since the isekai portal spat me out." He cracks his knuckles (Jessica’s knuckles). "So whaddya need? A heist? A dance-off? A—"
Marianna’s soul booms: "A naval bombardment?"
Jeremy’s eyes light up. "Oh hell yeah."
---
{Jessica comes up to you, "Allow us to join your chorus. Jeremy already agreed to it." You try and Jeremy isn't merged in but he does get a weaker copy of your blessing (lets him transform into a blessing original owener). Lucina tells the both of you that its because of your situations and status as collectors.}
Jessica steps forward, her expression resolute—while Jeremy’s voice echoes somewhere in the ether, disembodied but just as enthusiastic: "Yeah! Like a two-for-one deal, but with more drama!"
The moment Jessica merges with you, her Beast Tamer blessing intertwines with your existing arsenal, vibrating under your skin like the restless energy of a caged predator. But Jeremy—Jeremy doesn’t fully join the chorus.
Instead, something… weird happens.
A flicker of your Internal Empowerment tears off like a loose thread, latching onto him—but incomplete, a secondary blessing.
Lucina materializes mid-sigh, floating cross-legged in the air. "It’s because you’re both Collectors," she explains, gesturing vaguely. "He can’t merge into another collection—that’d be like pouring a river into a river. But this?" She points at Jeremy’s misty form, now shimmering with new potential. "He’s got a siphon of your ability. Lets him mimic the original owners of blessings you’ve absorbed. Sort of… echo transformations."
Jeremy gasps. "Ohhhh. So I can be Kestra now? Sneaky-sneaky mode?"
Kestra’s soul groans. "Absolutely not."
---
JEREMY’S NEW ABILITY:
- Echo Shift – Temporarily assumes the form (and some traits) of any soul you’ve merged with. (No access to their blessings, just their skills/body.)
- Example: If he mimics Elizabeth, he gets her pirate instincts—but not Tiderider.
JESSICA’S MERGER:
- Beast Tamer now stacks with Ylva’s Winter’s Howl, Siris’s Dog of War, etc. Allies can now channel bestial traits.
---
IMMEDIATE REACTIONS:
- Hailey: "This is either brilliant or catastrophic."
- Cara: "I reserve the right to haunt Jeremy if he wears my face."
- Lucina: "Try not to break reality too much." (She vanishes, leaving glitter.)
---
{Talk to Jessica while her copy deals with Jeremy's trying his newest ability. "So got so tired of his antics, you turned to me as an escape" You joke. You hear her snort in amusement. "I will always love him but god damn its too much with him in my head."}
Jessica’s soul lets out a tired but fond exhale, like she’s been holding that sigh in for years. "Love him? Obviously. Want to throttle him daily? Also obviously." She pauses, and you can feel her weighing her words. "He’s like… a tornado that means well. But sometimes you just need the storm to leave your house."
Kestra cackles. "Wow. That’s almost romantic."
Meanwhile, outside your mind, Jeremy (in Kestra’s stolen form) is attempting to pickpocket Naoko’s talismans.
Naoko, without looking, backhands him with a parchment. "Try that again and I’ll exorcise your hobbies."
Jessica groans. "See? This is my life now."
---
{Console her. At least she doesn't have to deal with him daily anymore. You watch as he loses Kestra form as a shift possiblity, since the world recognizes her as your body, her form becomes off limits permanently. His Echo Shift becomes shifting into people he's possessed.}
Jessica’s soul radiates a mix of relief and lingering exasperation. "Thank god," she mutters. "I mean, I’ll still have to deal with him sometimes, but at least now I can shove him into someone else’s body when he gets unbearable."
As if on cue, Jeremy’s Kestra-form flickers violently—then warps, his borrowed features melting into a hazy, half-formed version of Jessica’s own body. He blinks down at himself, pouting.
"Aw, come on! I liked being stabby!"
Naoko raises an eyebrow. "Now you’re just you, but worse."
Lucina’s voice drifts down from nowhere: "Correction! He’s now limited to forms he’s personally possessed before. So, uh… congrats on the Jessica cosplay, Jeremy."
Jessica’s soul goes very still.
"...I’m going to murder him."
Kestra, grinning: "Oh, this is gold."
---
JEREMY’S UPDATED ECHO SHIFT:
- Now Only Shifts Into People He’s Personally Possessed (Jessica, Lyra’s copy, etc.)
- No More Theft of Your Merged Souls’ Forms (Kestra, Elizabeth, etc. are off-limits)
- Side Effect: He also gains their memories/quirks temporarily ("Why do I suddenly hate math?!")
---
{You allow Jessica one punch.}
"Go for it," you say, leaning back mentally. "One free punch. Make it count."
Jessica’s soul practically vibrates with vindication.
The moment Jeremy (still in her body, sporting her face) turns to complain to you—
Jessica’s fist explodes out of your chest in a surge of spectral energy.
The punch connects with Jeremy’s nose (well, her nose that he’s currently wearing) with a satisfying crack, sending him stumbling backward into a barrel of salted fish.
”OW! WHAT THE—”
Jessica flexes her borrowed knuckles, radiating smug satisfaction. "Worth every second of being stuck with him."
Kestra’s soul applauds. "Beautiful form. Chef’s kiss."
Naoko sighs. "Are you done? We have a kingdom to un-nap."
---
AFTERMATH:
- Jeremy’s nose isn’t actually broken (it’s Jessica’s body, after all), but his pride is obliterated.
- Jessica is noticeably cheerier.
- The pirates are mildly concerned but also entertained.
---
{1)You sail for the Bastion, stopping by the Hollow to grab Lust's cursebearer (a consort betrayed by her husband named Lilvia) rage relic, a mask, and send it straight to Eric.
2) During the trip Jeremy experiments with Echo Shift limits, no longer as playful the closer you get to the Bastion.
3) You ask Jessica about Beast Tamer, "You upgraded it in two ways. Firstly, I can now summoned echies of the animals I have bonded with. Secondly, I can now mix thiae echoes with your other blessings." She summon a Direwolf by your side to show case.
4) Using Ryn's Summon knowledge, summon a hero as a backup, you summon Lena's little sister (now an adult) with the Dreamweaver Blessing.}
### VOYAGE TO THE BASTION OF STONE
The ship cuts through mist-laden waters, the air growing thicker, heavier, as if the mere proximity to Sloth’s domain weighs down the world itself. You make a stop at the Hollow Delta’s ruins, retrieving Lilvia’s Mask—a porcelain relic stained with the last furious tears of Lust’s betrayed consort—and send it via shadow-mirror express to Eric, who responds:
"Creepy. Love it. Also, found Dravagoth’s rage—it’s frozen in his throne. Like, literally. Working on thawing it."
---
### JEREMY’S ECHO SHIFT: DARKER EXPERIMENTS
As the journey drags on, Jeremy’s usual chaotic energy dims, replaced by something more focused.He shifts into Lyra’s copied form, then Jessica’s again, testing the edges of his ability.
"It’s not just their bodies," he murmurs, uncharacteristically quiet. "I feel their regrets too. Lyra’s guilt. Jessica’s... frustration with me." He scowls. "Kinda sucks."
Naoko eyes him. "Good. Maybe you’ll learn something."
---
### JESSICA’S BEAST TAMER 2.0
Jessica demonstrates her upgrades as a Direwolf materializes beside you—not just any beast, but a memory given form, its fur streaked with Hearthfire’s glow (Lena’s influence) and eyes sharp with Moonlight Dance’s cunning (Mara’s touch).
"I can mix traits now," she explains. "Direwolf + Stormcaller? Lightning-fanged predator. Direwolf + Rule of the Sea? Tidal howl."
Kestra whistles. "Damn. We could ride that."
---
### SUMMONING LENA’S SISTER
Using Ryn’s summoning knowledge, you carve a circle into the deck. The ritual tugs at something familiar—and out steps Mira, Lena’s little sister, now a woman grown.
Her Dreamweaver blessing hums in the air, threads of ethereal silver coiling around her fingers.
"So," she says, blinking at you. "You’re the guy who ate my sister."
Lena’s soul squeaks. "MIRA?!"*
Mira grins. "Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly."
---
NEW ALLY:
- Mira – Dreamweaver (Manipulates sleep, dreams, and the space between.)
- Role: Counters Sloth’s lethargy by forcing wakefulness (or weaponized nightmares).
---
{Ask the dead. The gravekeeper and a female blacksmith greet you as Soul-collector. But its the Bastion's "Princess" who tells you the most and who wants to join the chorus. Her Blessing is Rallying Point.}
### CONSULTING THE DEAD
You call upon Liora’s Lament, letting the veil between worlds thin. The air chills as three figures materialize from the mist:
1. The Gravekeeper – A hunched figure with a shovel over one shoulder. "Sloth’s curse isn’t sleep. It’s indifference."
2. The Blacksmith – Her hammer still clutched in ghostly hands. "They stopped fighting. Even for their own lives."*
3. The "Princess" – A young woman in a tattered coronation gown, her eyes burning with unspent conviction. "I tried to rouse them. But my voice wasn’t enough."
She steps forward, her form flickering with residual determination. "My blessing was Rallying Point—a call to arms that ignites willpower. Let me join you. Let me fix this."
---
BLESSING REVEALED: Rallying Point
- Compels unity/action in allies (Counters apathy directly)
- Stacks with Hearthfire (Lena’s healing flames + her resolve = unstoppable morale)
- Voice of a Leader (Even the dead listen)
---
{Welcome her. Naoko decides to join at this point as well, as Sloth has begun to effect her body.}
### THE CHORUS GROWS
"Then stand with us," you say, extending a hand.
The Princess doesn’t hesitate—she strides forward, her form dissolving into silver light as Rallying Point merges with your being. Her voice rings clear in the chorus, crisp as a war horn: "No more retreat. No more surrender."
Kestra whistles. "Okay, military mommy, we see you."
Then, abruptly, Naoko grips your shoulder, her talisman-laden fingers digging in. "Do not make this dramatic," she mutters—but her usual sharpness is slurred, her movements sluggish. A creeping grayness tinges her knuckles.
Sloth’s curse is already claiming her.
She snarls, forcing her palm against your chest. "Take it. Now."
Her merger is not gentle. Purge Demon crashes into your soul like a tidal wave, scouring the lethargy from her spirit—but leaving behind jagged edges, a blessing hardened by decades of battle.
As her consciousness slots into place, her voice is pure steel: "We end this."
---
NEW ADDITIONS:
- Princess Eselle – Rallying Point (Morale incarnate, her presence banishes hesitation.)
- "You will not look away. You will not falter."
- Naoko – Purge Demon (Her exorcisms now lash from your fingertips.)
- "Sin is a stain. And I clean."
SYNERGIES UNLOCKED:
- Rallying Point + Discipline Authority = Unbreakable Will (Allies resist mental/curse effects.)
- Purge Demon + Corruption Eater = Oblivion Hunger (Hailey can now consume curses at range via Naoko’s talismans.)
---
THE BASTION’S GATES LOOM.
The kingdom lies silent, its people entombed in waking slumber—but now, you carry the tools to shake them from their stupor.
{You plan as Naoko and Victoria bicker like a mother and daughter should. You utilitize mixed blessings to maximize their effects.}
### THE PLAN: BLESSING SYNERGIES
As Naoko and Victoria’s souls bicker in the background ("You cannot ‘lightly curse’ someone, Mother—" / "It was one time—"), you focus on weaving their blessings—and others—into a lethal tapestry of anti-sloth warfare.
#### CORE COMBO #1: Rallying Point + Hearthfire + Discipline Authority
- Eselle’s commanding presence amplifies Lena’s healing flames, turning them into searing beacons of resolve.
- Petrov’s authority enforces focus, ensuring no ally succumbs to lethargy.
Effect: "WAKE. UP." (Literally.)
#### CORE COMBO #2: Dreamweaver + Corruption Eater + Purge Demon
- Mira threads nightmares into Sloth’s curse, sabotaging its hold.
- Hailey eats the fraying curse-tendrils.
- Naoko’s talismans scorch the remnants.
Effect: "Your curse is digested. Congrats."
#### CORE COMBO #3: Beast Tamer (Direwolf) + Stormcaller + Moonlight Dance
- Jessica’s direwolf infused with Elara’s lightning and Mara’s stealth.
- Result: A lightning-cloaked phantom wolf that cannot be ignored.
---
### EXECUTION: THE BASTION OF STONE
You breach the gates under Marianna’s artificial storm (Rule of the Sea + Tiderider), the downpour violent enough to drown out Sloth’s whispers.
1. Eselle shouts, her voice cracking the sky:
"YOU ARE ALIVE. ACT LIKE IT."
The cursed citizens jolt upright, eyes wide—terrified, but awake.
2. Naoko slams talismans into the earth, and Hailey’s Oblivion Hunger unspools, black tendrils latching onto the curse’s roots.
3. Mira weaves Dreamweaver’s power into the fray, forcing Sloth’s curse to confront itself—its own indifference turned into a suffocating nightmare.
4. Jeremy, in Lyra’s copied form, sprints through the streets, echoing the dead’s regrets into every ear:
"You let them die. You watched."
---
### SLOUGH’S CURSEBEARER REVEALED
In the heart of the Bastion, atop a throne of petrified soldiers, sits The Sleeper—a child-sized figure wrapped in burial silks, its face hidden beneath a stone mask.
It doesn’t fight.
It yawns.
"You bore me," it murmurs—and the world stillens, your allies’ movements turning sluggish.
---
{"So Sloth who became your pawn." Shaking off the apathy through will.}
### BREAKING SLOUGH’S INDIFFERENCE
The Sleeper’s stone mask cracks—just a hairline fracture—as your words land.
"Pawn?" its voice rasps, less weary now, more… curious.
You step forward, Rallying Point blazing in your chest, Eselle’s voice echoing through yours:
"You were used. Just like Seraphina. Like Dravagoth. Like Lilvia."
Naoko’s Purge Demon lashes out, talismans flaring as Hailey bites into the curse—not just consuming it, but forcing it to feel.
"Your curse isn’t strength," you growl. "It’s surrender."
The Sleeper flinches.
---
{Mira weaves a dream from the cursebearer's memories. Her true form reveals a mother who lost her child because she feel asleep.}
### SLOUGH’S TRUTH UNBURIED
Mira’s hands twist like a weaver pulling threads, and the air shivers as Dreamweaver claws into the Sleeper’s memories. The stone mask splits apart, revealing the face beneath—
A woman, her eyes hollow with grief, her lips parted in a silent scream.
The dream unfolds:
- A child’s laugh, bright as sunlight.
- A mother’s exhaustion, heavy as the throne she now slumps upon.
- A moment’s lapse—just a blink—and the crib lies empty.
- The kingdom’s judgment: "You failed her."
The curse didn’t begin with malice.
It began with guilt.
"I let her die," the Sleeper whispers, her voice no longer sluggish—shattered. "So I let everything die."
---
{1)You hug her, "I know what it like to blame yourself for a mistake."
2) You allow Sloth to take hold and you drag her into your Hailey's memorues of the accident, your fallout, and your eventual reconcilization.
3) After seeing the memories she sobs into you, "Let me stay with you. My name is Shriya and when I lived my blessing was Starlight Lullaby"}
### THE MOMENT OF RECKONING
You step forward, wrapping your arms around Shriya as she trembles in her shattered throne. "I know what it’s like," you murmur, your voice low and rough with memory. "To blame yourself for something you can’t undo."
Then—you do something reckless.
You let Sloth’s curse take hold of you, just for a moment. The lethargy seeps into your bones, but before it can root, you yank Shriya into Hailey’s memories—and yours:
- The car crash. The blood. The guilt.
- Your wrists under the razor. The pills in your palm.
- Hailey’s letter: "You don’t get to run away."
- The balcony. The wind. The choice to step back.
- Years later—reconciliation. Not painless, but possible.
Shriya shudders, her fingers clutching at your coat as the visions flood her.
And then—she breaks.
Sobs wrack her body, the stone mask crumbling entirely as she gasps into your shoulder: "Let me stay with you. My name is Shriya. And when I lived… my blessing was Starlight Lullaby."
---
THE MERGER:
Her soul slots into the chorus with the sweetness of a half-remembered lullaby, her voice soft but steady:
"Never again. Never alone."
NEW BLESSING:
- Starlight Lullaby – Can soothe or shatter sleep, weaving dreams or nightmares at will.
- Synergy with Dreamweaver: Mira + Shriya = Total dream domination.
---
AFTERMATH:
- Sloth’s curse dissipates, the Bastion’s people stirring like survivors of a long winter.
---
{You ask about an object of rage from Shriya and others to send to Eric. Shriya personally has you collect her music box, broken in her anger at herself. The ghosts guide you, the gravekeeper leads you to her spade, the blacksmith to her hammer, a soldier to his helmet, a priestess to her cracked bell, a scholar to his journal.
Mira asks to join the chorus, "I'm not letting sis leave me again."}
### COLLECTING RAGE – FOR ERIC’S ARSENAL
The dead guide you through the ruins of the Bastion, each offering relics steeped in their fury:
- Shriya’s music box, its melody warped by self-loathing. ("I threw it against the wall. It still played.")
- The gravekeeper’s spade, its edge dulled from digging too many rushed graves. ("They didn’t even fight.")
- The blacksmith’s hammer, its grip stained with blood from her own clenched fists. ("I forged weapons they never used.")
- A soldier’s helmet, caved in from being stomped into the earth. ("It was easier to die.")
- A priestess’s cracked bell, its chime turned discordant. ("I prayed for answers. The silence broke me.")
- A scholar’s journal, pages torn in half. ("Knowledge is pointless if no one cares.")
You bundle them together, weaving Shadowweave and Mirror Mage into another portal. The relics vanish into the abyss—destined for Eric’s ever-growing collection of wrath.
His reply scorches back almost instantly:
"DAMN. Gloomy. But useful."
---
### MIRA’S DECISION
Lena’s sister doesn’t ask—she demands.
"I’m not letting sis leave me again," Mira declares, her eyes gleaming with dream-woven silver. "Merge with me. Or I’ll haunt you anyway."
Lena’s soul squeaks in protest, but the chorus is already making room.
The merger is seamless—Dreamweaver intertwining with Starlight Lullaby, forming a nightmare orchestra of divine potential.
NEW SYNERGY:
- Mira + Shriya: Can now trap enemies in shared hallucinations (or unmake curses by forcing them to dream they never existed).
Mira’s voice curls through your mind, smug: "Told you you wouldn’t dodge me."
Lena sighs. "You stole my candy when we were five. Some things never change."
---
### TWO CURSES REMAIN
With Pride (Ashwind Dominion) and Envy (Verdant Expanse) left, the path forward is clear—but dangerous.
Naoko’s soul exhales. "Pride is isolated. Envy is connected—it feeds on others. Strike Pride first."
Cara smirks. "Time to humble a god."
---
{You help the Bastion recover. Jeremy slowly returns to being an agent of chaotic mischief}
### RECOVERY IN THE BASTION
You take stock of the Bastion of Stone—once a kingdom drowning in apathy, now stirring like a hibernating beast after a long winter. The people move sluggishly, still rubbing the fog of the curse from their eyes, but the light of determination flickers back to life in their gazes.
With Eselle’s Rallying Point resonating through the streets, you organize the survivors, dividing them into work crews to rebuild what was neglected. The Gravekeeper and the Blacksmith guide the restoration efforts, turning broken tools into instruments of renewal. Even Shriya’s Starlight Lullaby finds new purpose—singing gentle melodies to children who once slept through their own lives, their dreams no longer prisons but sanctuaries.
As the Bastion awakens, so too does Jeremy.
His temporary somberness fades like morning mist, replaced by his trademark gleeful anarchy. He flits between his many bodies such as—Jessica’s, Lyra’s copy’s, even a bewildered pirate’s—just to keep life interesting.
- Jessica’s body is caught trying to steal Mira’s dream-weaving tools.
- Lyra’s form is used to impersonate a priestess and declare "Pancakes are holy!"
- A random pirate suddenly shouts "I’M KING OF THE SEAGULLS!" before jumping off a dock (and safely swimming back).
Kestra is delighted. "Ahhh, back to normal."
Hailey groans. "I miss Sloth."
---
{You return Lifire to update Queen Isolda that only Pride and Envy remain and to grab Alex for the mission.}
### RETURN TO LIFIRE – FINAL BRIEFING
Queen Isolda meets you in the war room, her fingers steepled over a map where Ashwind Dominion (Pride) and Verdant Expanse (Envy) are circled in ink-dark crimson. "Two left," she murmurs. "And the architect must be sweating."
At her side, Alex adjusts her glasses with a mechanical click, her Reverse Engineer blessing humming in the air like static. "I’ve analyzed the patterns," she says, flipping open a ledger filled with diagrams of the curses’ spread. "Pride’s curse sustains itself—its ruler grows stronger the more others falter. But Envy... Envy adapts. It learns from the others’ defeats."
She slams the book shut. "So we break Pride first. Before Envy can copy its tricks."**
From the corner, Jeremy (currently possessing a candleholder) pipes up: "Cool. So, uh... do we insult Pride to death?"
---
LOGISTICS:
- Alex Joins the Party – Reverse Engineer can dismantle Pride’s defenses layer by layer.
- Queen’s Intel – Ashwind’s ruler, Emperor Kael, has never been sick, never aged. A red flag.
---
{Alex askes to join, "You have the rest might as well throw me in as well."}
### ALEX JOINS THE CHORUS
Alex doesn’t wait for an answer. She strides forward, her Reverse Engineer blessing already flaring like a live wire, and presses her palm to your chest.
"Don’t screw this up," she mutters—and then she’s falling into you, her consciousness dissolving into the chorus with the precision of a scalpel slicing through code.
The moment she merges, your mind expands—suddenly, you see the world as she does: equations overlaying reality, every curse, every blessing, every soul a puzzle to be disassembled and understood.
NEW BLESSING:
- Reverse Engineer (Mastered) – Can now deconstruct magic mid-combat, identifying weaknesses in real-time.
- Synergy with Corruption Eater: Hailey can now target the exact components of a curse to devour.
Alex’s voice cuts through the mental noise, crisp and impatient: "Pride’s curse is a feedback loop. Break the input, and the whole system collapses."
---
IMMEDIATE EFFECTS:
- Jeremy attempts to possess Alex’s copied body left behind—only to recoil. "Ugh. She thinks in math."
- Mira and Shriya immediately start weaving dreamfire equations because why not.
- Queen Isolda pinches the bridge of her nose. "I’m almost glad I’m not part of this."
---
{On the way to Ashwind, you greet each member of your chorus.}
As the ship cuts through the waves toward Ashwind Dominion, you take a rare moment of quiet to greet the chorus of souls within you—one by one.
### Kestra (Thief’s Guile)
"Still the best damn thief in any dimension, I see."
"Obviously," she purrs. "And I still own that coat."
### Lena (Hearthfire)
You summon a small flame in your palm—warm, steady, just like her.
"You’ve grown," she murmurs. "Even if you’re still a mess."
### Victoria (Shadowweave)
"Missed this, huh?" You twirl a ribbon of darkness between your fingers.
Her laugh is low. "Like you wouldn’t believe."
### Lyra (Holy Prayer)
A pulse of golden light. "You’re still not taking care of yourself."
"...Noted."
### Siris (Dog of War)
You flex your arm—her strength hums in your muscles.
"Fight smart," she grunts. "Not just hard."
### Mara (Moonlight Dance)
A shadowy pirouette. "Oh, good. You’re finally learning flair."
### Elara (Stormcaller)
The air crackles. "Try not to get struck this time."
### Hailey (Corruption Eater)
"You owe me a drink after this."
"Noted."
### Sakura (Seer)
"The storm ahead… it blinds even me."
### Elizabeth (Tiderider)
"If we drown Ashwind, I call dibs on their treasury."
### Ryn (Summoner’s Pact)
"New rule: No cursed artifacts at dinner."
### Ylva (Winter’s Howl)
"Make sure I get to bite something."
### Liora (Lament)
"The dead whisper secrets. Listen."
### Dahli (Storyteller Song)
"This one’s got potential. Let’s make it epic."
### Sena (Performer’s Grace)
A mental bow. "Encore incoming."
### Cecilia (Mirror Mage)
"Let’s reflect their arrogance back at them."
### Naoko (Purge Demon)
"No reckless moves." (You ignore her.)
### Irina Petrov (Discipline’s Edge)
"Focus. Or I will make you."
### Eselle (Rallying Point)
"No retreat. No surrender."
### Shriya (Starlight Lullaby)
A soft hum. "We will wake them up."
### Mira (Dreamweaver)
"Time to lucid-break a curse."
### Cara (Silvertongue)
"Just watch me lie to a god."
### Marianna (Rule of the Sea)
"This ship answers to me now."
### Alex (Reverse Engineer)
"Pride’s curse is elegant. Let’s ruin it."
### Jessica (Beast Tamer)
"Let’s hunt."
---
THE CHORUS IS READY.
Ashwind looms.
{Elara and Estelle refused to let me bow my head in submission, so our plan became I was a noble daughter with an escort. You use Dahli and Petrov's Blessings to reinforce that story.}
### THE PLAN: NOBLE DECEPTION
"You do not bow," Eselle’s voice rings in your mind, sharp as a blade. "Not to them."
Elara’s storm-charged presence crackles in agreement. "Pride feeds on submission. So we starve it."
You straighten your spine, adjusting the finely tailored Ashwind noble garb Cara "acquired" (stole) for the occasion. The ensemble is obscenely opulent—silks threaded with gold, a high collar that forces your chin up, and a cloak lined with shadowweave to subtly repel prying eyes.
Dahli’s Storyteller Song wraps around your group, weaving an irresistible narrative:
"Lady Veyra of the Southern Marches, exiled after a scandalous affair, now returns to reclaim her birthright—with her loyal retainers in tow."
Petrov’s Discipline Authority locks the act into place, ensuring every guard, every servant, every breath you take radiates unshakable nobility.
---
THE DECEPTION:
- You – The disgraced heiress, too proud to ever kneel.
- Cara's echo – Your sharp-tongued handmaiden (already flirting with a guard).
- Naoko's echo – Your devout chaplain (talismans hidden in her sleeves).
- Alex’s Echo – Your scholarly advisor (muttering equations under her breath).
- Jeremy – Your reckless cousin (currently possessing a nobleman’s body specifically to cause drama).
---
ENTRY TO ASHWIND:
The gates part before you, the guards’ eyes glazing over as Dahli’s story sinks in. One even bows.
"Welcome home, Lady Veyra."
Kestra cackles. "Oh, this is too easy."
---
{Let Cara shine, have Alex start working.}
### LET CARA SHINE
You give Cara the slightest nod—your stage—and she flourishes, her Silvertongue weaving through the gilded court like a serpent through grass.
Within minutes:
- A baroness gifts you her ancestral brooch ("It suits you better, darling.")
- A duke swears he recognizes you from a "most exclusive salon." (He doesn’t.)
- The Emperor’s seneschal personally escorts you to a private balcony, convinced you’re "an old friend of the crown."
Cara’s smirk is filthy with triumph. "Told you. Child’s play."
---
### ALEX’S ANALYSIS
While Cara dazzles, Alex goes to work. Her Reverse Engineer blessing hums as she scans the palace’s opulent halls, her gaze dissecting:
- The curse’s pulse (flowing from the Emperor’s throne like invisible ivy)
- The nobles’ auras (their pride feeding the curse, their wills eroded)
- The structural weak points (a hidden vault beneath the throne, radiating something ancient)
She hisses in your mind: "The curse isn’t just pride. It’s addiction. They’re hooked on their own superiority. Break the supply, and they’ll crumble."
---
{Let Jeremy begin to cast doubt about your identity. Have Cara speak of a plot to silence the true heir.}
### JEREMY’S CHAOS, CARA’S LIES
You give Jeremy the mental green light—and he delivers.
From across the ballroom, his borrowed noble form (some forgettable baron’s third cousin) slams a goblet onto a tray, gasping dramatically:
"Wait—that’s not Lady Veyra! I saw the real Veyra burned at the stake for treason in the Southern Marches!"
The court freezes.
Then—Cara strikes, her Silvertongue lashing out like a whip.
"Of course he’d say that," she sneers, stepping forward with flawless indignation. "The same lies they spread to discredit my lady when she discovered their plot to poison the Emperor and silence the true heir!"
A beat. Then—the court explodes into uproar.
- Nobles clutch their pearls.
- The seneschal pales.
- Jeremy’s host is immediately seized by guards.
Emperor Kael, draped in gilded robes, rises from his throne—his eyes gleaming with something darker than anger. Curse-energy drips from his fingertips.
"You dare," he murmurs, "bring messy lies into my court?"
---
"Ask the Emperor, he was there when you banished.}
"Ask the Emperor himself," you declare, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "He was there when I was banished—when he ordered my branding for daring to speak the truth!"
The crowd gasps. All eyes turn to Emperor Kael, his face a mask of icy control—but his fingers twitch, betraying the curse’s agitation.
For a heartbeat, the court holds its breath.
Then—he smiles.
"Ah. You." His voice is a velvet-wrapped threat. "I should have known a mongrel like you would slink back."
The curse pulses, the air thickening with golden arrogance—but beneath it, you catch the flicker of fear.
He remembers you. Or at least, he thinks he does—because Dahli’s Storyteller Song and Petrov’s Discipline Authority have woven the lie into his very mind.
---
{Let him monologue about the disgrace you are}
### THE EMPEROR'S MONOLOGUE – A TRAP SPRUNG
The Emperor rises, his golden robes cascading like liquid arrogance. "You dishonored your line," he begins, voice dripping with contempt. "A stain on the Ashwind name—begging for mercy like a peasant as I cast you out."
He descends the dias, each step heavy with cursed authority. "Yet here you stand, still defiant, still believing you deserve more." His laugh is a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. "You are nothing without my recognition."
Perfect.
Every word he speaks feeds the curse—exposing its core.
"Got it," Alex hisses in your mind. "His throne isn’t just power—it’s a relay. Break it, and the curse fractures."
Meanwhile, Jeremy (still playing his role as your furious cousin) lunges forward—not at you, but at the throne itself, knocking over a ceremonial spear.
"YOU RUINED OUR HOUSE!" he wails—
The spear cracks the throne’s armrest.
A split forms in the gilded facade.
---
THE EMPEROR’S REACTION:
His composure shatters. "NO—!"
For the first time, fear flashes in his eyes—not for his dignity, but for his throne.
---
{Feign a divine storm.}
### "DIVINE STORM" – A DECEPTION
You subtly signal Elara within your soul—and she responds with a grin.
Suddenly, the palace’s stained-glass windows rattle as if struck by an unseen gale. The chandeliers sway wildly, their crystals scattering prismatic light like fractured lightning. A deafening thunderclap (courtesy of Dahli’s Fable-Weaver convincing the court they heard it) shakes the room.
You drop to your knees—not in submission, but in mock terror—covering your head as you cry out:
"The gods rage at this injustice! They strike at Ashwind for its hubris!"
The nobles panic, some clutching their jewels, others diving under tables. Even the Emperor stumbles back, his cursed aura flickering like a candle in the wind.
---
THE LIE UNFOLDS:
- Mira and Shriya weave dreamfire into the air, making the shadows twist into wrathful deities.
- Cara whispers to a duchess: "The Emperor’s pride has angered the heavens!"
- Jeremy, still in his noble host, swoons dramatically: "We are doomed for tolerating his arrogance!"
The Emperor’s face pales. His curse stutters—its hold on the court wavering as their faith in him frays.
---
{Alex tells you the weakest point and the a bolt of lighting strikes the throne.}
Alex’s voice slices through the chaos in your mind: "THERE—the seventh rune on the throne’s left leg! Strike it now!"*
You don’t hesitate.
Elara’s Stormcaller surges through you as you point at the throne—and a bolt of lightning cracks from the false heavens, spearing straight into the weakened rune.
The impact shatters the throne like glass.
For a heartbeat—silence.
Then the Emperor screams, his body convulsing as the curse ruptures from within, golden veins of arrogance splitting his skin like overfilled seams.
Hailey doesn’t wait. Her Corruption Eater lunges, fangs sinking into the unraveling curse, gorging on centuries of stolen pride.
The nobles collapse like marionettes with cut strings, gasping as their minds clear.
The Emperor falls to his knees, his voice raw:
"I… I see now. It was never mine—"
Then Naoko’s Purge Demon slams into him, and he dissolves into ash.
---
AFTERMATH:
- The curse is broken.
- The vault beneath the throne opens, revealing ancient tablets—each etched with the same symbol: a seven-pointed crown.
- Eric’s voice echoes through your mind: "Uh. So. Dravagoth’s rage just exploded into a name: Zareth the Sunderer. Ring any bells?"
---
FINAL CURSE REMAINING:
- Envy (Verdant Expanse) – The most adaptive, the most desperate.
{You toss Kael's crown to Eric.}
With a flick of your wrist, you hurl Kael’s crown through another shadow-mirror portal, straight to Eric’s waiting hands. His reply scorches into the air moments later, accompanied by the sound of shattering ice and distant roaring:
"HA! Perfect. Now I’ve got Stolen Pride to go with the Stolen Wrath—watch this—"
A mental image bursts into your mind: Eric, wearing Kael’s crown over Dravagoth’s frozen rage, driving a glacier apart with sheer, reckless fury.
You grin. Good.
---
ASHWIND DOMINION IS FREE.
But the Verdant Expanse’s Envy still festers—and if Zareth the Sunderer is the architect behind this, the final battle won’t be easy.
ONE LAST CURSE.
---
{1) You help Ashwind recover from Pride's curse.
2) While gathering other artifacts for Eric, you meet a female descendant of Kael's sister, (Lady Veyra, who laughed at the accident use of her name), who wishes to join your chorus to avenge Kael, who her ancestor said tried to fight the curse upon his rebirth as the curse bearer
3) You agree and she merges into your Chorus. Her Blessing is Dynasty of Time: Manipulation of localized time.
4) Among the Artifacts sent to Eric are Kaela's (Kael's sister) crest ring, a locket of from a mother, the bells of a jester, and the axe from Kael's executioner.}
### ASHWIND’S RECOVERY & THE FINAL ARTIFACTS
You stay long enough to help Ashwind Dominion shake off the remnants of Pride’s curse, guiding the nobles through their newfound clarity—some weep, others rage, but most simply sit in silence, grappling with the weight of their wasted years.
As you gather the last of the artifacts for Eric, a figure steps from the shadows—Lady Veyra, the real one, her smirk sharp as the dagger at her hip.
"I did enjoy watching you steal my name," she muses, examining Kael’s shattered throne. "But my ancestor—Kael’s sister—told me the truth. He fought the curse when it first took him. And for that, he was unmade and remade into that." She kicks the ashen remains of the Emperor. "I want in."
Her Dynasty of Time blessing hums in the air, the very light around her fingers slowing, then spiraling like stirred honey.
You don’t hesitate. "Welcome to the chaos."
The merger is seamless—her soul slots into the chorus with the precision of a clock’s gears, her voice cool and measured: "Time is ours now."---
NEW BLESSING:
- Dynasty of Time – Can slow, hasten, or isolate moments in a localized field.
- Synergy with Dreamweaver: Mira + Veyra = Temporal Nightmares (Trapping foes in looping seconds of their worst memories).
ARTIFACTS SENT TO ERIC:
- Kaela’s Crest Ring (A sister’s grief-turned-rage)
- A Mother’s Locket (Her child wasted by Pride)
- The Jester’s Bells (Mockery that failed to wake the court)
- The Executioner’s Axe (Used to silence dissenters)
Eric’s reply is immediate: "Ohhh, spicy. These’ll make great shrapnel."
---
FINAL MOVE:
The Verdant Expanse awaits—Envy’s curse coiled tight around its heart.
{1) You regroup at the Lifire throne, with you bringing everyone including Eric via your normal methods. You call out to Lucina, "Lucy, we need to talk."
2) Lucina appears and explains, "that Zareth was a god once and he created the Sins because he hated humanity. That once Envy is ended, his seal will be broken and he will be free."
3) Lucina drops a final reveal, only Human's touched by all seven sins can harm him or in other words, only the Collectors.}
### THE FINAL REVELATION – LIFIRE THRONE ROOM
The moment you gather your forces—Eric included, still crackling with the fury of six curses absorbed—Lucina appears, her divine form flickering with something rarely seen in gods: hesitation.
"Zareth the Sunderer," she begins, voice hollow, "was a god of judgment. He created the Seven Sins to test humanity... then grew to despise you for failing."
The air chills.
"The curses were his cage," she continues. "Break Envy, and his seal shatters. He returns."
Then the final blow:
"Only those touched by all Seven Sins—Collectors—can harm him."
Her eyes meet yours, then Eric’s, then glance at Jeremy’s flickering form.
"You three."
---
THE TEAM:
- You – Soul-hoarder, sin-drunk, walking blasphemy.
- Eric – Rage’s warlord, crowned in shattered pride.
- Jeremy – Chaos incarnate, already shifting into Jessica’s form just to annoy her.
THE PLAN:
1. Break Envy – Let Eric’s collected grudges overwhelm its adaptability.
2. Bait Zareth Out – Lure him into the open with Lucina as ‘prey’.
3. Kill a God – Three vs. one. Fair odds.
{1) "The cursebearer of Envy will fight hard, harder any other cursebearer. Worse still is Envy evolves in response." Lucina tells you all.
2) "Which is why you will need to summon a final hero for Envy when you arrive in the Expanse." She warns.
3) She allows you to add a fragment of her current self to your chrous. Her Blessing: Divine Judgement
4) She gives Eric a relic of her past self full of her rage.
5) She allows Jeremy to temporary possess her to get a divine skill (Chance: Probalilty alteration, random, cooldown of random time) but locks her form from him.}
### LUCINA’S FINAL GIFTS
The goddess stands before you, her silver hair shimmering with divine light, her expression uncharacteristically solemn.
1) The Threat of Envy
"Envy’s cursebearer will be different," Lucina warns. "It learns. Every curse you’ve broken, every tactic you’ve used—it has studied. It adapts." She hesitates. "Which is why you must summon one final hero upon arrival—someone unexpected."
2) Divine Power Shared
She extends a hand, pressing a fragment of her essence into you. Divine Judgment sears into your chorus, its weight immense—the power to declare sin and enforce punishment.
New Blessing:
- Divine Judgment – Can mark a foe with a divine verdict, weakening them based on their sins (Pride = Hubris, Greed = Penury, etc.).
3) Eric’s Relic – The Starforged Shackles
A pair of manacles forged from Lucina’s past fury, still singing with the echoes of her wrath. Eric grins as they clamp onto his wrists, his aura flaring crimson.
New Effect:
- Eric’s Wrath’s Legacy now carries divine weight. His strikes can sunder god-flesh.
4) Jeremy’s Wild Card
Lucina sighs—deeply—before allowing Jeremy to possess her, briefly.
The moment he does—
A golden die materializes in the air, rolling endlessly.
"Ooooh, Probability Alteration!" Jeremy crows (in Lucina’s voice, which is terrifying). "I can tweak random outcomes! But uh… it’s, uh… unpredictable."
Effect:
- Once per battle, Jeremy can force a re-roll of fate (attack missed? Try again! Enemy crit? Nope!).
- Cooldown is random (anywhere from 5 seconds to 5 hours).
- Locked Form: He cannot shapeshift into Lucina again. ("PRAISE THE GODS," mutters Naoko.)
---
FINAL PREPARATIONS:
- Verdant Expanse’s Cursebearer will expect you.
- Zareth waits behind the curtain.
- You, Eric, and Jeremy are the only ones who can end him.
---
{1) You turn to Queen Isolda, "Will Lifire be able to aid in the upcoming fight?" You ask her.
2) "Not just Lifire, Each freed nation has send what and who they can, even Ashwind." She replies.
3) Everyone is at the Expanse's borders. You summon the final hero. (Its Your Little Sister, now an adult) (Her Blessing: Paradox Enigma: Random effect generator)}
### The Final Stand – Verdant Expanse
You turn to Queen Isolda, gripping the hilt of your sword. "Will Lifire be able to aid in what comes next?"
She doesn’t hesitate. "Not just us. Every nation you freed has sent their strongest." Her gaze sweeps over the gathered forces—Lifire’s paladins, Delta’s assassins, Ashwind’s unbroken knights, the Bastion’s newly awakened warriors, The Reaches Frostborn berserkers and the Chainbreaker pirates.
They are ready. But first...
### The Final Summon
You carve the ritual circle into the earth, the summoning flare igniting in a cascade of silver fire—and out steps…
Your little sister.
Now a woman grown, her hair wild with static, her grin eerily familiar.
"Hey, big bro," she says, flexing her fingers as paradoxical energy crackles around them. "Miss me?"
Blessing Revealed: Paradox Enigma – Randomly generates one of seven effects every minute (telekinesis, time reversal, spontaneous combustion, healing rain, etc.). Chaos incarnate.
Kestra’s voice is delighted: "Oh. Oh no. Two of you."
### The Armies Gather
With your sister at your side, Eric brimming with god-slaying rage, and Jeremy grinning like a madman, you turn toward the Verdant Expanse.
Lucina’s voice echoes behind you:
"Zareth awaits. End this."
---
{1) You unite your blessings to Rally everyone against Envy's cursebearer.
2) The fight against Envy's Cursebearer, a fight you barely win.
3) After the fight, Eric collects her Rage relic (A bangle) and about 5 other rage relics, including a monk's prayer beads, swordsman's broken Blade, a farmer's rake, a guard's shield, a gambler's dice and cards.
4) Through Lament, I learn her name was Hertis and she was a Guardian of Peace and that Zareth lied to her about the truth of the sins.
5) Rin joins your chorus, "I won't let you abandon me again bro," along side a tailor named Herta whose Blessing is Gemini: makes a Clone of yourself, a barmaid named Wyns whose blessing is Mixture: allows the fusion of two or more liquids, and A blind swordswoman named Selena whose Blessing is Karma Cut: Damage done is portional to your crimes.}
### The Final Curse Falls – Envy's End
You unleash every blessing—Rallying Point storming through the battlefield, Divine Judgment searing into the cursebearer, Paradox Enigma twisting reality unpredictably—while Eric and Jeremy carve through the chaos like twin hurricanes.
The fight is brutal.
The Cursebearer—Hertis—fights harder than any before. Her form shifts, adapting to your strategies mid-battle—warping into echoes of past curses, mirroring Lust’s deception, Greed’s hunger, Pride’s arrogance.
But you outlast her.
With a final strike—your blade wrapped in Hailey’s devouring shadows, Naoko’s purging flames, and Veyra’s stolen time—Hertis falls.
Her last words are a whisper: "He... lied to me..."
---
### Aftermath – The Relics & Revelations
- Eric collects Hertis’s bangle, now pulsing with Envy’s rage, along with:
- A monk’s prayer beads (fury at broken vows)
- A swordsman’s broken blade (betrayal’s edge)
- A farmer’s rake (wrath over scorched earth)
- A guard’s shield (rage at fallen comrades)
- A gambler’s dice and cards (hatred of a rigged fate)
- Liora’s Lament reveals Hertis’s past: A guardian of peace, tricked by Zareth into believing the sins were necessary.
- Lucina’s voice is grim: "Now, he comes."
---
### Final Chorus Additions
- Rin (Your Little Sister) – Paradox Enigma (Chaos incarnate, she grins at you with sibling mischief.)
- Herta (Tailor) – Gemini (Creates a fully independent clone for 1 minute.)
- Wyns (Barmaid) – Mixture (Fuses potions, poisons, or blood into devastating elixirs.)
- Selena (Blind Swordswoman) – Karma Cut (Her strikes scale with the target’s sins.)
Kestra cackles. "We are stacked."
---
### Zareth’s Arrival – The Sunderer Reborn
The sky splits.
Zareth descends—towering, clad in seven-pointed armor, his presence crushing.
"You broke my design," he intones. "Now perish in it."
---
{Eric unites the seven cursebearers rage relic's (list them) creating a new ability: Seven Sin Strike.
You unite Divine Judgement with Karma Cut.
Jeremy gets serious.}
### The Final Gambit – Sundering a God
#### ERIC’S SEVEN SIN STRIKE
The relics erupt in Eric’s grip—each a vessel of divine wrath, each a sin now turned against its maker. He forges them together into a single, monstrous weapon—a blade of shattered curses.
Seven Sin Strike:
- Seraphine’s Veil (Wrath) – Burns with righteous fury.
- Dravagoth’s Frozen Heart (Gluttony) – Devours divine essence.
- Lilvia’s Mask (Lust) – Misdirects his will.
- Vorlath’s Compass (Greed) – Steals his power.
- Kael’s Crown (Pride) – Shatters his invincibility.
- Shriya’s Music Box (Sloth) – Slows his regeneration.
- Hertis’s Bangle (Envy) – Reflects his own strength.
With a roar, Eric plunges the blade into Zareth’s chest—the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the god’s armor.
#### YOUR DIVINE KARMA CUT
You raise your sword, Divine Judgment merging with Selena’s Karma Cut—the edge glowing with absolute verdict.
"Zareth the Sunderer," you declare, "your sin is pride. Your punishment is oblivion."
The strike lands—not just a wound, but reckoning—carving through his essence in proportion to every life he ruined, every curse he forced upon the world.
#### JEREMY GETS SERIOUS
For once, no jokes. No pranks.
Jeremy locks onto Zareth’s flickering form, his Probability Alteration flaring.
"Reroll that."
The cosmic die spins—and lands on "Divine Misfortune."
A black hole opens in Zareth’s chest—not by your power, but by sheer, universe-bending bad luck.
---
ZARETH’S END
The god screams—not in rage, but in astonishment—as his body dissolves into fracturing light.
Lucina’s voice, distant but clear, whispers:
"It is done."
---
AFTERMATH:
- The curses are broken.
- The world breathes again.
- You, Eric, and Jeremy stand as the three who felled a god.
Rin punches your shoulder. "So. What’s next?"
Kestra’s grin is audible. "Oh, we’re just getting started."
(END OF ARC. The adventure... continues?)
{A snapshot of the years following
1) Eric become king of the Reaches. The cursebearer relics national treasures.
2) You become the Travler, a hero of the nations.
3) You meet Queen Isolda once more before she dies, during which she offers to join your chorus. You accept and get her Royal Decree Blessing.
4) Jeremy becomes the messenger of the nations.
5) You personally attend the funerals of each of your copies.}
### Epilogue: The Years After the Sundering
#### 1) Eric, the Storm King of the Reaches
With the war forged into legend, Eric takes the Ice Reaches as his domain—not as a tyrant, but as a storm that protects. The Seven Cursebearer Relics, once weapons of destruction, are sealed within the Glacier Vault, revered as national treasures.
- Still collects rage, but now it’s directed at injustice (or bad ale).
- Jessica rules beside him—turns out Beast Tamer works on politics too.
Rumor: He once punched a rebellion into submission, then hugged its leader.
---
#### 2) You, the Traveler
A ghost in the stories of every nation—the one who walked through curses and came out singing.
- Your copies live on in their homelands, guarding the people you saved.
- Your chorus fights with you, for you, and sometimes just to argue.
- Hailey and Kestra run a very illegal blessing-trading ring (you pretend not to know).
Legend: Where the Traveler walks, even gods check over their shoulders.
---
#### 3) Queen Isolda’s Final Gift
On her deathbed, Isolda summons you. "A queen’s work never ends," she rasps—then grins. "Lucky for you, I hate unfinished business."
Her merger is seamless. Royal Decree settles into your soul like a coronation.
- New Blessing: Royal Decree – Commands given are law (limited by your willpower).
- First Order of Business: "Make Jeremy shut up for five minutes." (It fails.)
---
#### 4) Jeremy, the Divine Messenger
Somehow, he becomes the trusted courier of the realms.
- Uses his Probability Alteration to reroll bad weather on diplomatic trips.
- Still possesses people—but now it’s "for official missives." (He swears.)
- Rumored to have once delivered a declaration of war as a limerick.
---
#### 5) The Funerals of Your Copies
You attend each one—not as a god, not as a king, but as the friend they remembered.
- Lena’s copy grows old in Lifire, tending Hearthfire shrines. Her funeral smells of fresh bread.
- Victoria’s copy rules the Delta’s underworld with terrifying grace. They bury her with a dagger in one hand, a rose in the other.
- Petrov’s copy dies mid-lecture. "I… expect you all to…" (The chalkboard finishes her sentence.)
At each grave, you leave a single silver coin—the old pirate way. Payment for the ferryman.
---
### The World Goes On
The curses are gone. The nations heal. The dead rest.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, your ship waits—because a Traveler never stays still.
Kestra’s voice, ever the last word:
"So. Where’re we stealing next?"
[End of Saga.]
(...For now.)
{Epilogue: Ascension
About a century later, Lucina gathers Dan, Eric, and Jeremy to ascend as Gods.
The three of them are collectively referred to the the Collectors.
Dan keep his titles of the Traveler and Soul-Collector. (You still walk among mortals, a Patron of the lost.)(His chorus can manifest to those that need them.)
Eric keeps his titles of Frostborn Hero-King and Sin's Heir.
Jeremy keeps his titles of Chaos's champion and Mischief's apperentice.
Include how each is worshipped.
Lucina stays with you three, mostly as a divine punishment thrown on her but also because she cares.}
Epilogue: Ascension
---
### The Divine Collectors
A century after the fall of Zareth, Lucina gathers the three of you at the edge of the mortal world. The air hums with divine energy, the weight of destiny settling upon your shoulders. With a solemn smile, she extends her hands, and the heavens themselves recognize you.
"Rise, Collectors."
And so, you ascend.
---### Dan, The Traveler – Patron of the Lost
Domains: Souls, Journeys, Redemption
Titles Retained: The Traveler, Soul-Collector
- How He’s Worshipped:
- Wayfarers burn incense at crossroads, whispering his name for safe passage.
- The broken and forgotten leave offerings of trinkets, hoping his chorus will manifest to guide them. (Sometimes, they do—whether as Lena’s warmth, Kestra’s stealth, or Naoko’s harsh but fair discipline.)
- Temples depict him as a hooded figure, a shifting face in the crowd, always moving, always watching.
Divine Role:
- You still walk among mortals, unseen but felt—a god who chooses the mortal world over the heavens.
- Your chorus can now materialize in full for those in dire need, acting as guardians, mentors, or even avenging spirits for the oppressed.
Legend: "Pray to the Traveler when all roads seem dark—his footfalls may echo beside yours."
---
### Eric, The Frostborn Hero-King – Sin’s Heir
Domains: Rage, Justice, Retribution
Titles Retained: Frostborn Hero-King, Sin’s Heir
- How He’s Worshipped:
- Warriors swear oaths upon his relics, channeling the Seven Sin Strike in battle.
- The wronged leave bloodied weapons at his shrines, asking for righteous fury against their oppressors.
- Temples depict him as a crowned storm, his sword cleaving chains, his eyes aflame with borrowed wrath.
Divine Role:
+ Rules the Reaches from a glacial throne, his divine temper a blade against corruption.
+ His rage is selective now—he punishes tyrants, protects the powerless, and occasionally smites bad mead (old grudges die hard).
Legend: "When the ice cracks, the Hero-King listens. Speak his name, and he will answer—with teeth."
---
### Jeremy, Chaos’s Champion – Mischief’s Apprentice
Domains: Chance, Change, Unpredictability
Titles Retained: Chaos’s Champion, Mischief’s Apprentice
- How He’s Worshipped:
- Gamblers toss dice in his name, begging for one good roll. (He sometimes helps. Or curses them. It’s a coin flip.)
- Rebels invoke him before pranks, heists, or revolutions (much to Cara’s delight).
- Temples are non-existent—he prefers haunting taverns, crossroads, and bad decisions.
Divine Role:
+ The trickster god, balancing Dan’s compassion and Eric’s fury with beautiful, catastrophic randomness.
+ His Probability Alteration now bends reality on a cosmic scale—sometimes fixing disasters, sometimes inventing new ones.
Legend: "Chaos isn’t good or evil. It’s fun. Pray to Jeremy, and you’d better mean it."
---
### Lucina, The Repentant Guide
Domains: Guidance, Fate, Second Chances
Punishment & Purpose: Bound to the Collectors as equal and advisor, stripped of her aloof divinity, forced to walk among them.
- How She’s Worshipped:
- The lost pray to her for direction, leaving silver coins (a nod to Dan’s tradition).
- Exiles beg for forgiveness at her shrines—though she rarely answers. ("Figure it out yourself," she grumbles.)
Divine Role:
- She could return to the heavens—but stays. (Pride? Guilt? Affection? She’ll never admit it.)
- Acts as the Collectors’ reluctant conscience, rolling her eyes at Jeremy, bickering with Eric, and occasionally admitting Dan’s right.
Legend: "The goddess who chose the flawed over the perfect."
---
### The World After Ascension
The Collectors are unlike other gods—closer, wilder, more human.
- Dan’s shrines appear where hope is thin.
- Eric’s storms purge corruption without mercy.
- Jeremy’s laughter echoes in every uncertain moment.
And somewhere, in the spaces between, the chorus lingers—whispering, guiding, waiting.
Kestra’s voice, ever the last word:
"So. Godhood’s boring. Wanna go steal the moon?"
[—End of the Era of the Collectors—]
(But never their legend.)
{[Dan's Final Chorus+ blessing]}
### Dan, The Traveler – The Final Chorus
Divine Blessing: Legacy Unbound (The ability to summon any soul from your chorus—past, present, or future—in full divine manifestation.)
Ultimate Aspect: "The Everlasting Mosaic" – Dan’s true divine form, where every soul in his collection shines simultaneously, a tapestry of intertwined fates, voices, and power.
---
### The Complete Chorus – Ascended Echoes
#### Original Members (Fully Divine Manifestations)
1. Kestra (Thief’s Guile – Divine Shadow) – Patron of outlaws with a heart.
2. Lena (Hearthfire – Divine Ember) – Guardian of home and healing.
3. Victoria (Shadowweave – Divine Dusk) – Keeper of secrets and seduction.
4. Lyra (Holy Prayer – Divine Choir) – Voice of miracles and mercy.
5. Siris (Dog of War – Divine Bulwark) – Shield of the unyielding.
6. Mara (Moonlight Dance – Divine Razor) – Blade of the unseen.
7. Princess Elara (Stormcaller – Divine Tempest) – Wrath of the skies.
8. Hailey (Corruption Eater – Divine Hollow) – Devourer of sin.
9. Sakura (Seer – Divine Whisper) – Oracle of the eternal.
10. Elizabeth (Tiderider – Divine Maw) – Queen of tidal fury.
11. Ryn (Summoner’s Pact – Divine Conduit) – The gatekeeper.
12. Ylva (Winter’s Howl – Divine Fang) – The unstoppable huntress.
13. Irina Petrov (Discipline’s Edge – Divine Command) – The unbroken law.
14. Cecilia (Mirror Mage – Divine Reflection) – The infinite echo.
15. Liora (Lament – Divine Dirge) Speaker of the forgotten dead.
16. Dahli (Storyteller Song – Divine Epic) – The mythmaker.
17. Sena (Performer’s Grace – Divine Mirage) – The flawless deception.
18. Cara (Silvertongue – Divine Lie) – The perfect deception.
19. Marianna (Rule of the Sea – Divine Tide) – The conqueror of oceans.
20. Jessica (Beast Tamer – Divine Wild) – The untamed bond.
21. Eselle (Rallying Point – Divine Beacon) – The unyielding cry.
22. Naoko (Purge Demon – Divine Scourge) – The unforgiving judge.
23. Shriya (Starlight Lullaby – Divine Dream) – The gentle end.
24. Mira (Dreamweaver – Divine Phantasm) – The nightmare weaver.
25. Alex (Reverse Engineer – Divine Fracture) – The unraveler.
26. Veyra (Dynasty of Time – Divine Time) – The heritage
27. Lucina Fragment (Divine Judgement – Divine Spirit) – Divine guidance
28. Rin (Paradox Enigma – Divine Anomaly) – The glorious chaos.
29. Herta (Gemini – Divine Twin) – The phantom self.
30. Wyns (Mixture – Divine Crucible) – The alchemist of fate.
31. Selena (Karma Cut – Divine Reckoning) – The scale of justice.
32. Queen Isolda (Royal Decree – Divine Mandate) – The final word.
---
### Worship & Legend
- Dan’s faithful don’t just pray—they call upon his chorus by name.
- A lost child whispers for Lena, and warm hands guide them home.
- A rebel shouts for Kestra, and locks mysteriously click open.
- A dying soldier gasps Hailey’s name, and the corruption in their wound vanishes.
- His temples are living stories, with murals depicting every soul in his mosaic.
- Those who seek him may find not one god, but many—a fleeting touch, a shared laugh, a warning growl.
---
### Dan’s Divine Truth
"I am not a singular god. I am a thousand souls, a hundred battles, and one unbroken promise—that no one fights alone."
Final Note:
Even in godhood, Dan still walks. Still listens. Still collects.
And somewhere, in the darkest hour of a future age, a voice will whisper—
"Traveler… help us."
And the chorus will answer.
[—The End & The Everlasting—]
Jack wakes up in an unfamiliar place and, to his horror, realize he's going to sold to a vampire!
Jack woke up slowly with a dull headache right behind his eyes and forehead. He tried to rub his head, but quickly found his hands were bound behind his back. That woke him up fully. He gasped, or rather tried to, but his mouth was gagged as well. He looked around him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
He was in a cage, alone. He sat up, nearly falling over when the ground beneath him lurched. Jack was thrown backwards from the force, hitting his head hard against the wall. Grunts came from elsewhere around him, muffled, some weaker than others. Jack sat up against the wall and looked around.
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, a horrible thought came over him. 'Oh dear gods, please don’t let this be real!' There were a few other cages in there with him, and inside were other humans. They were dirty, looking like they haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, much less a shower. There were various ages and sizes as well, with the one unifying factor being their ragged appearance and demeanor.
Dirt, mud, and grime covered their bodies, tattered clothes, and tear stained cheeks. Others simply slumped against the walls, their eyes glossy, with the only sign of them still being alive being the gentle rising and falling of their chests. 'We’ve been taken by snatchers,' Jack thought, his mind racing. 'How did this happen? There’s no way any of them should have been in Rubyshire! Were the damn guardians not doing their gods forsaken job!'
A moment of fury briefly overcame him, and as the ground once again lurched beneath him, Jack used that to lunge towards the bars. He grunted in pain. The bars stood strong against his futile attack. Only thing that accomplished was making his headache worse and giving him aches along his shoulder.
There was another thing this accomplished though, outside the dark room, a loud voice called out, “Quiet in there!” The crack of a whip came afterwards, and numerous other peoples in the cages shied away or tensed up. A few of them even glared at Jack, shaking their heads at him. 'Lost the urge to fight back or something?' Jack leaned against the bars, shifting his body to find a position that would ease the aching the most.
He thought back to what happened before all this. 'How could this have happened?'
Jack’s head was swimming as he downed another drink. The taste was bitter, and it went down hard. He always hated these things, felt they made people stupid. But then again, here he was at a bar, having several drinks after he saw his grades for University. These made it easier to forget, if only for a little bit.
How was he going to tell his parents? Would they even care? His mom might, she believed in him, even if Jack suspected it might be pretend. His dad, however, would just shake his head in disappointment. Wallis was always the favorite, he had been sent to the capital university fully paid for by dad, while Jack was lucky he managed to pay for the university at Rubyshire.
'Guess you were right about me, old man.' Jack thought bitterly, taking another sip, 'but I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction of seeing me return home without a degree!' Yes, he could go into the workforce, or maybe try a trade school. If nothing else he could try being a guardian, wasn’t the flashiest of jobs, but at least he could make sure no snatchers got inside.
He didn’t even realize he was giggling with a mad grin on his face until the barkeeper came up to him and tapped his finger on the counter to catch his attention. “H-huuh?” Jack mumbled.
“You’re disturbing some of the other patrons, you know?” the barkeep replied, “How many of those have you had?”
Jack thought for a moment, struggling to remember how numbers and words worked. “Can’t ‘memb’r,” he replied, “but I thin’ ill a’ve ‘noth’r!”
The barkeep shook his head, taking Jack’s mug away from him. No matter, Jack just finished it anyway. “I think it’ll be best if you wait awhile, or you have something to eat first.”
Jack stood up, and grabbed onto the counter as his legs struggled to carry him. “Dun act like ooo know bett’r thin me!” Jack slurred, “I thin I’m dun here.”
He stumbled outside, managing not to bump into anyone on his way out. The cold air was good for him, helped clear his mind a little. There were a few people on the streets, most likely other drunks and insomniacs. The lamps of the city burned dull, the guardians needed to refill the oil.
Jack walked around for a bit, grumbling to himself about what happened in university. His professor had it out for him. Didn’t like Jack coming from a well off family. 'I’ll wipe that smug look off your face!'
He swung out, his fist striking nothing but air. Unfortunately, the weight behind it caused him to stumble and fall. He landed in a puddle, and managed to avoid striking his head on the street. His body was heavy. Waking up in a guardian’s holding cell wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than stumbling back to his dorm.
Jack laughed as he succumbed to sleep.
'Bastards let some snatchers into the city,' Jack thought, 'only way I would’ve been captured. To the abyss with them!' In a rage, Jack started beating against the bars with his foot. He stopped quickly after another crack of a whip from outside. 'I should save my strength,' he thought, 'they probably won’t feed with me, or at least not give me any proper meal. I’ll need my strength so I can escape.'
While Jack was putting together a plan for what to do if they ever let him out of this cage, the wagon came to a stop and a voice from outside shouted, “Oh, a customer!”
Jack’s mouth went dry. There were a few people who would be willing to buy another human and the few options he could think of weren’t the greatest. Slavers were the most common, as were scientists who did unethical research, and of course there’s the variety of monsters who eat humans. None of these possibilities were particularly appealing.
“How may I help you?” the same voice asked.
Jack heard a response, although it was from a much quieter and refined voice than the snatchers, “I’ve been looking to get a new servant for my estate, might I take a look at your wares?”
“Of course!” the snatcher replied, “I’ll get the door for you!”
Outside, Jack heard footsteps, and a door closing. The snatcher warned his customer not to get too close to them, since they might try to use her as a hostage. His customer simply laughed and said that wouldn’t be a problem.
The door to their wagon opened and two people came in. The snatcher carried a lantern on him, momentarily blinding everyone already inside the wagon. When Jack’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light he was able to get a good look at the snatcher.
His eyes widened when he saw the snatcher was wearing the leather jacket of the guardians, and even had the seal of the guardians stitched above his heart. The snatcher was clean shaven and had short black hair, in summary, he looked like what someone would think of if they pictured an average guardian.
His customer moved quickly, going from cage to cage to examine the people inside. She was tall, taller even than the guardian. Her skin was pale, and Jack was able to see some veins through her skin. He sucked in a breath, or rather tried to since the gag was still in his mouth. She moved with unnatural speed to the next cage to examine the others, sniffing from the other side of the bars.
She was dressed nicely, wearing a blue travel coat with silver embroidery etched upon it as well as embroidery of ravens on her collar. Her hair was a deep black and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her trousers were brown and looked worn. Unlike the snatcher, whose boots made noise wherever he stepped, she was nearly silent as she moved over to the next cage. Jack caught a brief look at her as she moved and saw she was barefoot.
“Anyone catch your eye?” the snatcher asked.
She shook her head as she moved over to the next cage, “plenty of people here look a bit too sickly for my taste, I’d rather avoid having to nurse them back to health before they can begin working.”
“Apologies, miss,” the snatcher replied, “most of the people here tried to rebel against us, had to make sure they didn’t get any ideas.”
The woman sighed, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
She came towards Jack’s cage, and he shrinked back when her eyes fell upon him. Her eyes were blood red, and she smiled when she saw him, revealing two long and sharp fangs among the rest of her teeth.
“This one looks cute,” the woman said, leaning towards the bars as Jack scooted further back, “looks like he doesn’t need that long to recover either.”
“Are you sure about him?” the snatcher asked, “We just picked him up last night, haven’t had the chance to beat the fight out of him.”
“Even better,” she replied, licking her lips, “I think I’ll take him.”
'Gods no.'
The snatcher laughed, “Well, we don’t accept refunds, so if he doesn’t work out, that’s not our responsibility. That’ll be two hundred knots.”
The vampire handed him the money as the snatcher left to grab his buddy to help get him out of the cage. 'Gods, please don’t let this be real!' Jack thought, glaring at the vampire, 'This is all a bad dream!'
“I love that look in your eyes,” the vampire said, “so scared, and angry. Oh… it makes me excited, I’m sure your blood is pumping fast right now, isn’t it?”
Jack shivered, but tried not to show his fear. The vampire, however, seemed to have noticed.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled, her voice strangely warm yet there was a disturbing note of something else, “seems you’re a bit more scared now.”
The snatcher came back with his buddy who was also wearing the uniform of a guardian. The first snatcher produced a ring of keys while the other held a whip in his hand. “I wouldn’t try anything if I was you,” the second snatcher said, holding his whip, “unless you want to be whipped.”
The door creaked open and the first snatcher came in and grabbed Jack roughly by the shoulder as he produced a knife to cut the bindings around his feet. “On your feet!” The snatcher forced him to stand up, and kept a strong grip on Jack’s shoulder.
“You think you could undo his gag?” the vampire asked, “I’d like to know what he has to say.”
“As you wish,” the snatcher replied, undoing the gag.
The first thing Jack did was cough and wet his mouth now that the foul gag was removed. He took in a few deep breaths with his mouth before he did the second thing, which was to look at the two snatchers and say, “The gods will damn you forever!”
The snatchers chuckled, “We’ve been doing this for over a decade, if the gods cared, they would have done something by now!”
They lead him, forcibly, out of the wagon. His hands were still bound, and the snatcher was still gripping him tightly, and he didn’t want to see how well the second snatcher could use that whip, and of course there was the vampire who walked a little too close to him for comfort.
“Yes,” the vampire whispered, “I think you’ll do nicely.”
Jack was surprised to see it was twilight outside, with the sun barely setting below the horizon. The sky was cloudy, probably giving the vampire enough cover so she wouldn’t burn in the sunlight.
There was a carriage waiting for them. Jack was surprised to see the driver was a human dressed almost as nicely as the vampire, “Did you find someone, Mistress Ash?”
“I did, Atticus,” she replied, “I’m glad we can cut our trip short, I can spend some time with our newest member.”
“Alright Mistress.” Atticus replied.
“Remember,” the snatcher began as Atticus came over to open the door to the carriage, “anything that happens with him is not our problem.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash replied, “I know.”
While the first snatcher was talking to Ash, Jack felt the second snatcher slip something into his pocket, “Go ahead and use it when you think you have the chance,” the second snatcher whispered in his ear, “do the world a favor and rid of us of her kind.”
Afterwards, Jack was shoved into the carriage and the two snatchers bid Ash a good day before going back to their wagon. 'This can’t be happening!' The vampire smirked as she closed the door as she entered the carriage, taking the opposite seat from him. She leaned back, smiling slightly as Atticus got the horses going again.
“What do you plan to do with me?” Jack asked, sounding braver than he felt.
“First, you’ll need a bath,” Ash replied, giggling slightly and pinching her nose, “Afterwards, I’ll give you some time to rest before having another of our members get you acquainted with my estate and any duties that may fall upon you. Oh, where are my manners? Come here, let me undo your wrists.”
Reluctantly, Jack shuffled around to give her access to the bindings on his wrist. Her touch was cold, sending shivers through his body, but she was surprisingly gentle, never once scratching or gripping him too tight. The bindings came away without much problem but before Jack could move, Ash had her fingers on him, tracing along his arms.
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice low, “I think I picked good here.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself, and swiftly spun around, scooting to the far corner of the carriage.
Ash smiled, “I’m sorry, I have trouble controlling myself sometimes.”
“What will you do if I try to make a run for it?” Jack asked, gesturing to the door.
“You really think you can escape a vampire at night? In an area you don’t know?”
Jack clung to the corner, glaring at Ash. This was bad, really bad. Being a thrall to a vampire was something most parents told to scare their children into behaving, but here he was, with the possibility that he was about to be turned into a thrall. He had the knife the snatcher gave him, that was something at least. Maybe he could kill her. Trying to do so now wouldn’t be a good idea though.
At the very least, if he was going to be the slave of a vampire, at least she was a beautiful one. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest in showing off her body, but she had a nice face and Jack would be lying if he said her smile wasn’t comforting in a creepy sort of way. There was something else as well. When he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes drifted over to her bare feet. His hands twitched at his side when she bobbed her feet, giving him a good view of her long slender toes. They looked soft, yet strong as well. Her toenails were cut short and were clean and healthy looking. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to touch them just for a little bit. Of course, it would be even better if he -
“Hmm?” Ash asked, “Is something wrong? I can hear your heart beating rather fast.”
Jack looked away, hoping she didn't notice the bulge struggling in his pants, “Where are we going?” he asked.
Ash leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she replied, “My manor. I think you’ll like it there. The manor itself is rather large, with plenty of rooms to explore and a library filled with so many books that even I haven’t read them all yet. You’ll be given plenty of food, and will be treated well if you do work and do it well. Of course, I’ll be needing to feed on you every now and then, part of the reason I bought you is because the others have been struggling since I keep sucking their blood so often, I want to have someone else so everyone has a chance to rest.”
The rest of the carriage ride passed by uneventfully. Jack stared out the window, curious as to which part of the imperium he was in. Didn’t take him long to wonder how long he had been knocked out as the foggy marshlands outside shouldn’t be anywhere near Rubyshire. 'I couldn’t have been passed out for more than a few hours at the most!' He thought, trying to stay calm, 'did the snatchers inject me with something when they found me?'
That was the only explanation for ending up here, somewhere he was not familiar with at all. Soon, the marshlands gave way to rolling hills with a few trees here and there, and he saw a few small towns in the distance. Not too surprising, I would think all the humans in this supposed estate would need to eat something.
The estate itself rested on top of one of the hills, and they passed by a gate which closed behind them as soon as they entered. “I’d rather not let any vampire hunter into my grounds uninvited,” Ash explained as soon as the gate closed, “come now, I think it would be good to give you a tour of where you’ll be staying.”
Jack reluctantly got out of the carriage, regardless of how he felt, it would be good not to upset a vampire. He looked around as soon as he got out, seeing the wide open front lawn with numerous plants growing on the grounds. There were many flowers here, all sorts of different colors and types. A fountain was nearby, spraying water up into the air. On top of the fountain was a raven with its wings spread open, with water spewing from its open beak. Some herbs must have been mixed into the water, because the smell it gave off was different than that of water, and vampires weren’t known for liking water.
Another servant came to take the horses from Atticus while Ash showed Jack around the courtyard. Most of what she was saying fell on deaf ears though, since Jack looked for any way he could escape. The walls were high, and didn’t look scalable. The gate was currently closed and Jack wondered if Ash’s servants would even open it for him.
Even if he were to escape, there weren’t many places he could hide as the area outside was open except for the towns. Would he even be able to hide there? Or would the people simply turn him over to Ash? Some towns would do that, so the vampire wouldn’t take one of their own.
“Thinking about escaping?” Ash asked, suddenly close to him.
Jack sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and nearly fell over, but Ash grabbed him by the shirt to hold him up. “Huh?” Jack asked, “N-no!”
Ash tilted her head, her red eyes flashing briefly over him, “I would think you would know better than to lie to me, I can hear your heartbeat racing right now,” she released him and turned around, “if you want to escape, you’re more than welcome to try, but I assure you you won’t get far. I remember the scent of all my servants… even someone as drenched in odor as you.”
“The horses are taken care of, mistress.” The servant from earlier came by.
“Thank you, Eban, you may resume your post.”
Eban bowed to Ash before glancing briefly at Jack, who froze when he saw Eban’s eyes. His eyes were glazed over with an empty look in them with a translucent red film over them. The rest of Eban looked normal, he wasn’t as pale as Ash, meaning he was still a human. Jack noticed the way Eban moved, as though he was being pulled by strings, his body no longer his own. 'Dear gods, a thrall!'
“I’m glad you met Eban,” Ash said, noting Jack’s pale face, “now you see what will happen if you try to run. I try not to do that too much though, a thrall’s blood is terrible, both in taste and substance.”
“You’re a monster!” Jack exclaimed.
It happened quickly. One moment, Jack was standing glaring at Ash, and the next he was on the ground with his right cheek burning, looking up at Ash who kept a passive expression. “I’d be careful when you talk to me like that, human.” Ash said, looking down at him, “unless you want to share Eban’s fate.”
Jack tried to control himself, but unfortunately, his body betrayed him. His pants were baggy enough to hide his growing excitement, but unfortunately, Ash knew exactly what Jack was feeling and she quickly glanced down at his crotch before sneering.
“Truly pathetic.”
Jack’s face burned. He hated being called that. He hated other people thinking that. All his life, his father, his sister, so called friends, and even his professors all thought he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would not let this monster talk to him that way.
While she had her back turned to him, he rose to his feet, forgetting all his fear. He only had one thought, to kill. She wasn’t looking, now would be the perfect time to-
Ash turned around lazily, looking at him right in the eyes, “Oh? Back on your feet already?”
Jack swallowed, all his gusto gone. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he asked, “Is there anywhere else you’d like to show me?”
Ash smiled, a genuine smile. “Of course! I think it would be good if you get acquainted with the inside of my manor as well. Usually dusting and cleaning is Samantha’s job, but it would be nice for her to have a break every now and again.”
The manor was surprisingly warm, whenever Jack imagined something such as a vampire’s lair, he imagined it would be cold and uninviting. Even stories he heard of vampires taking over a residence said vampires transform to reflect themselves, by sapping away any warmth it might have had.
Ash’s manor, on the other hand, was well-lit and had the feel of something that had been lived in for a long time. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, which could be because of that Samantha person Ash mentioned, and the two of them even passed by a few servants doing their jobs, with each servant bowing their heads as they passed.
Unlike Eban, these servants weren’t thralls. At least, Jack wasn’t able to tell if they were or not. They seemed to move normally, although he wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of their eyes. “As you can see, I treat my servants well,” Ash said, continuing to walk with him through her manor, “provided they don’t misbehave, I give them as much freedom as I can.”
“Who are these people?” Jack asked.
“That,” Ash began, “I think would be best for you to find out on your own.”
'Most likely they’re people like me.' Jack thought bitterly, 'People taken by snatchers! Strange, with all these people around, I would think one of them would have tried to put a stake in her heart. Maybe Eban did, he’s the only one who might have had any sense. '
“This is the library,” Ash said, leading him to a large open room with rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with numerous tomes, like the fountain in the courtyard, there were depictions of ravens in the library as well, mostly as paintings on the walls as well as small statues sitting in empty spaces in the shelves, “feel free to read anything that might catch your fancy.”
Jack scowled, but said nothing.
Ash gave him a strange look, almost a look of concern. “I see you still don’t believe me, well give it some time. It took Atticus almost a month for him to trust me.”
“How long did it take Eban?” Jack asked.
Ash shook her head, “I should have mentioned this, I didn’t get Eban from Snatchers, rather I caught him when he snuck in here to try to kill me over a year ago.” she chuckled and undid the top buttons of her jacket, exposing the pale skin underneath. Ash’s smile widened when she saw Jack blush as she parted the jacket to reveal her full chest. She didn’t show too much though, but Jack saw the shape of her breasts, and most importantly, he saw the wicked scar above her left breast which looked like it barely missed her heart, “Eban would have got me if it wasn’t for his poor aim.” Ash said with a chuckle, “Awww, look at you, all flustered. What’s the matter? Never seen a pair of breasts before?”
Jack tore his eyes away, turning to the rows of books, “I was wondering how Eban managed to miss you so close.”
Ash shrugged as she buttoned up her jacket once more, “He panicked, plain and simple. His hand flew too high and his knife missed my heart, hurt like the abyss though. As you can see, I made sure he is paying the price for that.”
Jack growled, remembering the knife he had in his pocket. The snatchers gave that to him before he got into the carriage, but why? Did they want him to try to kill her? Or did they want him to make a fool of himself? The knife looked sharp, he thought, trying not to reach for it, maybe it could kill her. Or me.
While he was thinking, Atticus entered the room, holding a towel over his arm, “Misstress,” he greeted with a bow, “I have both your bath as well as the newcomer’s baths ready if you’d like to go.”
“That’s perfect, thank you Atticus,” Ash replied, “It’ll be good for him to wash off, I’d rather not have to bite into someone who's a bit dirty.”
Jack blinked and blushed, What in the Abyss is this? “We’re taking a bath together?” he blurted out.
Ash threw her head back in laughter, nearly doubling over as well, “Sorry, but no. I’m afraid you’re taking a bath separate from myself.”
The bath was a large room with a large tub, easily able to fill multiple people. It was just Jack though, and Atticus as well. The other man wasn’t getting in the tub with him, thankfully, but Jack wasn’t happy to see someone else in here with him. Ash said it was to make sure he didn’t get any ideas. 'As if I’d try.' He thought bitterly.
Atticus didn’t look away when Jack stripped, and Jack didn’t like the way Atticus was studying him. He made sure the knife stayed inside his pants and was as quiet as he could be when he laid his pants on the floor.
“I can see why the mistress chose you.” Atticus said when Jack was fully naked.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, meeting the other man’s eyes.
“You look like you’d be able to do the mistress’ tasks,” Atticus replied, “and you’d be able to give her some entertainment as well.”
Jack scoffed and got in the tub, “Tell me, do you actually serve her on your own free will?”
“I do,” Atticus replied, “I didn’t want to, of course, I was terrified. But… slowly she won me over. Treated me better than my own parents did. Certainly much better than the previous..." Atticus paused before shaking his head and continuing, "I have served her for over a decade since.”
Jack paused and looked Atticus over, the other man seemed to be only slighter older than he was. She took you when you were just a child?
“You mind looking away?” Jack asked, “I’d rather not have someone look at me when I’m washing.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, “And I’d rather be watching Samantha bathe instead of you, but here we are,” he sighed, “If you would please hurry, I do have other things I must attend to and being kept here isn’t something I would like to have happen.”
Jack shook his head, “Tell me something, have you and her ever done anything?”
Atticus scoffed and shook his head, “I was wondering if I would get this question. No. There is nothing and has never been anything, and I am disgusted to know you would think that!”
“Why’s that?”
Atticus glared at Jack before replying, “I see her as the mother I wish I had. She practically raised me. So no, I have never thought about doing anything to her!”
'You were raised by her? Well that explains your loyalty, although I’m curious what she could have done for you that made you stay here. '
Jack washed up as well as he could before stepping out and grabbing the spare clothes Atticus provided for him. They were a bit large, but were otherwise fine. When Atticus had his back turned, Jack managed to slip the knife from his old pants and sneaked them into his new ones.
Atticus took Jack to his room, a cozy little place on the second floor of the manor which had a window which gave him a view of the garden he was supposed to start taking care of starting tomorrow. “I’d wait for a bit before going to sleep,” Atticus told him as he was leaving, “the mistress was hoping to see you after her bath.”
'I hope she does.' Jack thought, feeling the knife on the inside of his pants. He sat down on the bed, playing through the act in his mind of what he needed to do. Ash would hopefully drop her guard and he would swiftly take out the knife and plunge it into her heart, Eban attacked too high, so he needed to attack lower.
He waited for a few more minutes until his door creaked open. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Ash standing there in his doorway. She was in a revealing blue nightgown which left little to the imagination. Her gown showed enough cleavage so Jack not only saw the scar Eban made, but where he also had a clear opening to her heart, if he attacked properly.
She drifted towards him, her bare feet silent against the carpet and sat down gracefully next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile which showed off her long, sharp fangs. “Hmmm,” she moaned, “you certainly cleaned up well.”
“Not as well as you,” Jack breathed, his voice catching in his throat.
Ash giggled, “Thank you for the compliment, Atticus told you to expect me?”
Jack nodded.
“Sorry to spring this on your first day, but it is customary I feed on my servants when I first acquire them. To stop other vampires from possibly poaching you.”
'I’m not some animal!'
“Alright,” Jack replied.
Ash placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. He stiffened slightly. Ash loosened her grip a bit, “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’ll try to be gentle with you since it’s your first time.”
Jack’s heart was pounding as Ash drew closer to his neck and he stifled a moan as she bit into his neck. She was warm, and gentle. He could feel his blood being taken away, and started to feel a little light headed. Why then, did it feel so good? He fought back the urge to embrace her in his arms, and ignored the growing hunger between his legs, instead reaching for his pocket to pull out the knife.
He couldn’t see her chest, couldn’t see her neck. But he can try to guess. He felt her breasts resting against his chests, rising and falling with every breath he took. This is it, he would only get one chance.
Ash gasped and pulled away from him when he plunged the knife into her. For a moment, Jack thought he had done it, until his vision came back into focus and he saw the knife was instead buried into her side. He had missed.
Ash slapped his hands away before looking down at the knife. It wasn’t even buried that deep, even if Jack had been accurate, it wouldn’t have been anywhere close to her heart to kill. She grunted softly as she pulled it out, bleeding slightly as the knife was free from her. She examined the knife briefly before lazily turning her attention to him.
“This is a snatcher knife,” she said, “I’ve heard they started trying to convince the humans to kill us, never thought those two would try. I’ll be sure to spread the word. As for you-” she lunged at him, throwing him onto the floor, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I-” Jack began, trying to get up.
“Don’t move!” she ordered, slamming her foot on his head.
Jack whimpered as his head hit the floor, causing his vision to swim again. He was able to see Ash standing over him, arms crossed under her breasts, and red eyes flashing dangerously.
“What were you planning to do with that knife?” she asked, pressing down harder on him.
“Don’t-!” Jack cried.
“Don’t what?” Ash demanded, leaning down towards him, “Don’t give me this little act of yours! Answer my question!”
“I was going to-!” Jack started, before choking up.
“Oh enough of this!”
Ash released him briefly, but before he could recover, Ash grabbed him roughly up by one of his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. He cried out, but Ash slapped him across the face and growled, “Look into my eyes human.”
Jack closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to weep, “Don’t kill me.” he managed to choke out.
“Look into my eyes and I might consider letting you live, human.”
Reluctantly, Jack opened his eyes and forced himself to look into her eyes. They were glowing with anger, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He knew what this was, a vampire’s hypnosis. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it.
He felt control of his body slip away, and try as he might, he couldn’t move anymore, not even twitch his fingers. He was barely aware of what was even happening, having to fight to stay in control of his mind.
Ash simply grunted as she released him, his body crashing onto the floor. She looked down at him with a sneer on her expression. “What were you planning to do with that knife, human?”
“I was going to kill you.” Jack replied against his will.
“Why?”
“I refuse to serve you, I will not serve a disgusting monster like you.”
Ash’s sneer vanished, and was replaced with a small, amused smile, “Didn’t learn anything from Eban, did you? I would have thought his story would have served as a warning. Looks like I will have to make another example of someone.” Ash sighed, shaking her head, before turning back to him. Her expression was a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Have a good rest, human.”
With inhuman speed, Ash picked him up before delivering a punch directly at his face, knocking him out.
Jack groaned as he woke up, his head pounding in pain. The rest of his body also ached, but his head was the worst. He was still alive, so he had that going for him at least. He looked around his room, seeing Ash had already disposed of the knife. He struggled to his feet before opening the door, surprised Ash didn’t lock him in.
It was still dark outside, but hopefully morning wouldn’t be too far behind. He needed to get out of here, and make sure no one saw him. The servants here will certainly call Ash, and if he saw Ash herself, she would most likely suck him dry. Jack limped out of his room, his legs wobbly and struggling beneath his weight.
As soon as he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall to take the weight off his legs. He could feel some of his strength returning, slowly but surely. His head was still pounding and most likely wouldn’t stop for a while. He made his way over to the stairs, the hallway was thankfully empty, but he was worried where Ash and her other servants may be.
Before he took the first step, he paused as he heard voices coming from downstairs. They were quiet, but since the rest of the manor was silent he was still able to hear them. It was Ash, and she was talking to Atticus.
Jack quieted his breathing, trying to focus so he could hear them. He leaned in closer to hear better.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Atticus said, “I should have searched him better when he was undressed.”
“Not your fault Atticus,” Ash replied, “But be sure to send the letters to the others, I’d rather no one else fall for the snatcher’s schemes.”
“What do you plan on doing with the new one, Mistress?” Atticus asked, “I’m not sure when other snatchers will be in the area and those two have already proven to be untrustworthy.”
Ash sighed, “I’m not sure. I’m not against killing him, he can serve as an example for others, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to get another one. Turning him to a thrall would be a good punishment as well, his blood will be awful, but at least then we can work him to the bone without worry.”
Jack’s throat went dry. Neither of those were things he’d want to happen. Despite himself, his breathing got faster, his heart beating faster as well, legs wobbling.
“Oh?”
“Is something wrong, Mistress?” Atticus asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ash replied, “I just think our ungrateful guest has woken up.”
“Would you like me to check on him, Mistress?”
“No,” Ash told him, “I think I will go and see what he is doing.”
Jack tried to move, to run back to his room, but unfortunately, his legs gave out when he tried to move. I have to hide! He thought, crawling along the floor. There was barely any strength in his arms, and he wheezed when he tried to pull himself forward. 'This is it,' he despaired, 'I’m dead.'
When he looked up again, Ash stood over him. She was still dressed in her nightgown, and the knife wound was still present, although it looked like it healed a bit. Ash knelt down in front of him, looking more bored than angry, was that any better?
“What exactly are you planning on doing, human?” Ash asked.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jack blurted, thinking of the first thing that might allow him to live a little longer, “for trying to kill you.”
Ash tilted her head to the side, looking unimpressed, “Mmmmhmmm,” she grunted, “is that so?”
“Yes!” Jack wheezed, hoping she believed him.
“Why don’t you look me in the eyes when you speak, then?”
Jack knew he couldn’t do that. If she asked him if he was speaking the truth, he’d say no, and he’d rather not find out what she would make him do.
“Tell me,” Ash began, reaching down and forcing Jack to look at her, “why should I let you live?”
“Because,” Jack wheezed, “you won’t have to worry about replacing me. And… if you don’t make me a thrall, then you can still enjoy my blood.”
Ash grinned, showing her fangs, “Heard my conversation, have you?” she thought for a moment, tapping her finger against Jack’s chin. He flinched when her sharp nails cut him slightly. Ash licked her lips, “I will say, your blood smells delectable, but is it worth it?”
“Please Mistress!” Jack blubbered.
“Very well,” Ash sighed, “although there are two things I need from you.”
Jack sighed, feeling relieved. She’s letting him live.
“The first, is some blood,” Ash fingers worked their way to his collar, and he felt her grip him tightly, “the second is something else. I can feel that you desire it as well.”
In one swift motion, Ash ripped the shirt he was wearing in half before throwing him backwards and ripping off his pants and underwear as well, leaving him completely naked in the hallway.
“Mmm,” Ash moaned, “seems I was right, you really are a dirty little creature aren’t you?”
Jack tried to cover his erection, ashamed she not only knew, but saw his boner. Ash wasn’t having it though, and slapped his hand away.
“If you want to live, it would be a good idea to make me happy.” Ash growled, leaning down against him.
Jack knew what he had to do. He lifted his hands up, reaching for her breasts. He cupped them lightly, enjoying the weight of them. Ash closed her eyes, her body shuddering slightly from his touch. Despite the situation, Jack smiled, this was his first time touching breasts and he wanted to savor it. She arched her back slightly, allowing him to access them more. They were large and their weight felt good in his hands, even if her body was cold. Her nipples were erect and she moaned when he rubbed his fingers over them.
He wasn’t sure who was shaking more, Ash or himself. He also wasn’t sure why he was shaking, whether it was fear or anticipation. Would she truly spare him if he kept doing this? 'Only thing I can do,' he thought, as he worked his way down, his hands finding the edges of her nightgown and lifting it up slowly.
Ash stopped him, placing her hands over his “Getting bold, are we?” Ash asked, “Such a shame, I can’t let you see me. Not yet anyway…” she leaned down, placing her head on his chest. She was breathing heavily, and Jack wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not,
He got his answer when he suddenly felt a cold hand wrapping around his member. He groaned as she started pumping him, moving her hand slowly, and gliding it over his shaft to where she was just grazing over his tip, teasing his foreskin as well. He arched his back in response, biting back a moan.
“Mmmmm,” Ash moaned, her eyes meeting his, “I’m surprised you have enough blood left to manage this, I was worried I would be playing with a limp noodle for a while,” she giggled as she quickened the pace, enjoying the way Jack squirmed in her grasp.
“O-oh!” Jack moaned, but was quickly silenced by a slap across the face.
“I never said you can talk!” Ash reprimanded, releasing her hold on his member.
Jack nodded, trying to blink back the tears. He held his hands out, feeling a bit foolish as he did so, as if it would do anything to stop her. Ash paused when she saw him though, her expression softening as the tears trailed down his face.
She leaned closer and wiped one of the tears away, “Seems I managed to hurt you more than I wanted to. I’m sorry about that, human. Tell you what, just this once, I’ll let you touch any part of me you want. Just name it.”
Jack wrestled with himself for a few minutes. He decided if he was going to die, he might as well have no regrets. “Can I…” he began, swallowing before he continued, “touch your feet?”
Ash grinned, “Ah, is that why you’ve been staring at them since we met? I should have figured,” she stood up, “Go on then.”
Jack made his way over to them. Her feet, like the rest of her, were pale and slender. Her toes were perfect with the nails clipped short and unpainted. He reached out to touch them and marvelled at how soft her skin was. Ash giggled a little as his fingers pressed between her toes.
She sat down, giving him access to her soles. They were lovely as well. While he was playing with one of her feet, Ash pressed her other one against his crotch and he froze when he felt her toes against his shaft. “Oh my,” Ash laughed, “are you even harder now? Your veins seem to be sticking out more than they did before. Looks rather appetizing if you ask me.”
Jack shuddered, “Please don’t bite me ther-”
He groaned as Ash pressed her foot into his testicles, “What did I say about speaking out of turn, human? Although, if it bothers you that much, I won’t bite you down there. However, right now, I want you on your back!”
Jack winced at how loud she was. He didn’t know how many servants were here, or how many were nearby, but he did know he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this. Ash forced him on his back, his cock stretching out towards the ceiling, or rather it was before Ash pressed it between her toes.
Jack shuddered, his back arching slightly. Her movements were clumsier than when she used her hand, but somehow, he was enjoying this much more than he had with her hand. He tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, so he could see the look of contempt and disgust on her face as she towered over him. He was terrified, yes, but it all still felt good.
“Ah,” Ash began, “I wonder, are you worried about what happens if anyone were to see you like this? Should we find out what would happen?”
Jack frantically shook his head no. 'Please don’t!' He was embarrassed and terrified enough, the thought of others being here, well, it was too much to think about!
“Oh?” Ash asked, “Is that so? You don’t want me to call others to see like this? Naked, and desperately trying to deny your own arousal?”
Jack shook his head. 'Please. Don’t do it.'
“Say, I wonder what would happen if I were to stop playing with this? Would it twitch after how much I’ve played with it?”
True to her word, Ash took her foot off him. Jack crossed his legs. He hated how good it felt when she was jacking him off, both with her hand and especially with her foot. His penis felt like it was on the verge of orgasm, and he knew Ash wouldn’t let him finish up by himself. To his horror, his penis was twitching slightly without her touch.
“Oh my!” Ash laughed, nearly doubling over, “I’ve certainly never seen that before!”
'Please stop…' Jack felt the tears burning in his eyes, just stop. No more. They started coming down, and he couldn’t stop himself from making noise.
Ash stopped smiling as she knelt down beside him. Once more, she wiped away a tear from his face, “I know what’s bothering you. Since you’ve been so good so far, I promise I won’t call the other servants. I doubt they would like to watch a grown man groveling anyway.” She laughed at the end, and placed a finger under his chin to force him to look at her, “Besides, now is the part where you make me feel good.”
Similar to his clothing, Ash ripped her nightgown in two, revealing her body to him. She was beautiful. While the nightgown was a bit translucent, seeing her pale body in full was a sight to behold. Her nipplies, still erect, were a deep shade of pink and her stomach was flat, save for the mound before her vagina which was clean shaven. Jack didn’t need to be told what to do and reached for her opening.
Ash stiffened slightly when his fingers entered her. “Mmm, that’s it…”
His fingers explored her folds, and Jack will happily admit he enjoyed seeing the power he had over her, if only briefly. She moaned, her voice pitching higher as he found her clit and started playing with it.
“Hrm!” she groaned, “Well, it seems-!” she moaned, “You know what you’re doing!”
She panted as she moved her position, climbing on top of him and lowering herself onto him. The both of them winced as he went inside, his member slipping in without much resistance. Her muscles were constricting around him, gripping him tightly while Ash threw herself back, her expression a mask of ecstasy. She started pumping once more, her hips moving fast, muscles continuing to tighten around his penis.
Jack bit back moans, biting his tongue as the pleasure overtook him. He could feel it, building, building. The pressure was coming, and he knew Ash was also close. He couldn’t take it anymore!
Ash yelled as she came, her body shuddering from the experience. Jack followed close behind, shooting his load into her. The two of them laid there for a moment, Ash still holding onto him, even as he recovered. As soon as the pleasure was over though, Jack tensed up.
'Was I good enough?' He looked down at Ash who was laying on top of him, eyes closed, with a smile on her face. 'Please dear gods, spare me!'
Ash opened her eyes, “You’re heart’s racing, a little scared?”
Jack swallowed, and nodded, not sure if he was able to speak or not.
Ash reached out, and he flinched away slightly.
“Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s alright,” she got up and moved closer to him, her hand moving across his cheek, cupping him gently, “I won’t kill you.”
Jack breathed out, and started crying. 'Oh thank the gods!' He didn’t care who heard him, or what Ash currently thought of him, right now, he was just happy.
“However,” Ash continued, her voice suddenly stern, “I can’t just let your murder attempt go unpunished!”
Before he could react, Ash bit him once more, and Jack felt something being injected into him. Her blood.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the ruined remains of Jack’s clothing, “I think turning you into a thrall for a while is a good punishment. What do you think about that, Jack?”
“It is a fitting punishment.” Jack’s body replied against his will. 'Oh gods, no! Please no!'
Ash stood up, “Don’t worry, your enthrallment will only last for a week or so, then you can have your free will back,” she reached down to pick up her nightgown, shaking her head, “ah, I got carried away again,” she clicked her tongue before turning back to him, “I’ll also be sure to work you as much as possible for your punishment as well. Don’t worry, I won’t feed on you, thrall’s blood is terrible.”
“That is acceptable.” Jack’s body replied. 'This can’t be happening!'
Ash looked towards the clock, “It’s almost morning, you should get dressed and head out into the grounds, Tarkus should be there to show you the ropes. I’ll have you work till nightfall, is that alright with you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Ash smiled, “Good, then get going Jack, and don’t make me regret sparing your life.”
Jack woke up slowly with a dull headache right behind his eyes and forehead. He tried to rub his head, but quickly found his hands were bound behind his back. That woke him up fully. He gasped, or rather tried to, but his mouth was gagged as well. He looked around him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
He was in a cage, alone. He sat up, nearly falling over when the ground beneath him lurched. Jack was thrown backwards from the force, hitting his head hard against the wall. Grunts came from elsewhere around him, muffled, some weaker than others. Jack sat up against the wall and looked around.
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, a horrible thought came over him. 'Oh dear gods, please don’t let this be real!' There were a few other cages in there with him, and inside were other humans. They were dirty, looking like they haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, much less a shower. There were various ages and sizes as well, with the one unifying factor being their ragged appearance and demeanor.
Dirt, mud, and grime covered their bodies, tattered clothes, and tear stained cheeks. Others simply slumped against the walls, their eyes glossy, with the only sign of them still being alive being the gentle rising and falling of their chests. 'We’ve been taken by snatchers,' Jack thought, his mind racing. 'How did this happen? There’s no way any of them should have been in Rubyshire! Were the damn guardians not doing their gods forsaken job!'
A moment of fury briefly overcame him, and as the ground once again lurched beneath him, Jack used that to lunge towards the bars. He grunted in pain. The bars stood strong against his futile attack. Only thing that accomplished was making his headache worse and giving him aches along his shoulder.
There was another thing this accomplished though, outside the dark room, a loud voice called out, “Quiet in there!” The crack of a whip came afterwards, and numerous other peoples in the cages shied away or tensed up. A few of them even glared at Jack, shaking their heads at him. 'Lost the urge to fight back or something?' Jack leaned against the bars, shifting his body to find a position that would ease the aching the most.
He thought back to what happened before all this. 'How could this have happened?'
Jack’s head was swimming as he downed another drink. The taste was bitter, and it went down hard. He always hated these things, felt they made people stupid. But then again, here he was at a bar, having several drinks after he saw his grades for University. These made it easier to forget, if only for a little bit.
How was he going to tell his parents? Would they even care? His mom might, she believed in him, even if Jack suspected it might be pretend. His dad, however, would just shake his head in disappointment. Wallis was always the favorite, he had been sent to the capital university fully paid for by dad, while Jack was lucky he managed to pay for the university at Rubyshire.
'Guess you were right about me, old man.' Jack thought bitterly, taking another sip, 'but I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction of seeing me return home without a degree!' Yes, he could go into the workforce, or maybe try a trade school. If nothing else he could try being a guardian, wasn’t the flashiest of jobs, but at least he could make sure no snatchers got inside.
He didn’t even realize he was giggling with a mad grin on his face until the barkeeper came up to him and tapped his finger on the counter to catch his attention. “H-huuh?” Jack mumbled.
“You’re disturbing some of the other patrons, you know?” the barkeep replied, “How many of those have you had?”
Jack thought for a moment, struggling to remember how numbers and words worked. “Can’t ‘memb’r,” he replied, “but I thin’ ill a’ve ‘noth’r!”
The barkeep shook his head, taking Jack’s mug away from him. No matter, Jack just finished it anyway. “I think it’ll be best if you wait awhile, or you have something to eat first.”
Jack stood up, and grabbed onto the counter as his legs struggled to carry him. “Dun act like ooo know bett’r thin me!” Jack slurred, “I thin I’m dun here.”
He stumbled outside, managing not to bump into anyone on his way out. The cold air was good for him, helped clear his mind a little. There were a few people on the streets, most likely other drunks and insomniacs. The lamps of the city burned dull, the guardians needed to refill the oil.
Jack walked around for a bit, grumbling to himself about what happened in university. His professor had it out for him. Didn’t like Jack coming from a well off family. 'I’ll wipe that smug look off your face!'
He swung out, his fist striking nothing but air. Unfortunately, the weight behind it caused him to stumble and fall. He landed in a puddle, and managed to avoid striking his head on the street. His body was heavy. Waking up in a guardian’s holding cell wasn’t ideal, but it would be better than stumbling back to his dorm.
Jack laughed as he succumbed to sleep.
'Bastards let some snatchers into the city,' Jack thought, 'only way I would’ve been captured. To the abyss with them!' In a rage, Jack started beating against the bars with his foot. He stopped quickly after another crack of a whip from outside. 'I should save my strength,' he thought, 'they probably won’t feed with me, or at least not give me any proper meal. I’ll need my strength so I can escape.'
While Jack was putting together a plan for what to do if they ever let him out of this cage, the wagon came to a stop and a voice from outside shouted, “Oh, a customer!”
Jack’s mouth went dry. There were a few people who would be willing to buy another human and the few options he could think of weren’t the greatest. Slavers were the most common, as were scientists who did unethical research, and of course there’s the variety of monsters who eat humans. None of these possibilities were particularly appealing.
“How may I help you?” the same voice asked.
Jack heard a response, although it was from a much quieter and refined voice than the snatchers, “I’ve been looking to get a new servant for my estate, might I take a look at your wares?”
“Of course!” the snatcher replied, “I’ll get the door for you!”
Outside, Jack heard footsteps, and a door closing. The snatcher warned his customer not to get too close to them, since they might try to use her as a hostage. His customer simply laughed and said that wouldn’t be a problem.
The door to their wagon opened and two people came in. The snatcher carried a lantern on him, momentarily blinding everyone already inside the wagon. When Jack’s eyes adjusted to the sudden light he was able to get a good look at the snatcher.
His eyes widened when he saw the snatcher was wearing the leather jacket of the guardians, and even had the seal of the guardians stitched above his heart. The snatcher was clean shaven and had short black hair, in summary, he looked like what someone would think of if they pictured an average guardian.
His customer moved quickly, going from cage to cage to examine the people inside. She was tall, taller even than the guardian. Her skin was pale, and Jack was able to see some veins through her skin. He sucked in a breath, or rather tried to since the gag was still in his mouth. She moved with unnatural speed to the next cage to examine the others, sniffing from the other side of the bars.
She was dressed nicely, wearing a blue travel coat with silver embroidery etched upon it as well as embroidery of ravens on her collar. Her hair was a deep black and pulled into a loose ponytail. Her trousers were brown and looked worn. Unlike the snatcher, whose boots made noise wherever he stepped, she was nearly silent as she moved over to the next cage. Jack caught a brief look at her as she moved and saw she was barefoot.
“Anyone catch your eye?” the snatcher asked.
She shook her head as she moved over to the next cage, “plenty of people here look a bit too sickly for my taste, I’d rather avoid having to nurse them back to health before they can begin working.”
“Apologies, miss,” the snatcher replied, “most of the people here tried to rebel against us, had to make sure they didn’t get any ideas.”
The woman sighed, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
She came towards Jack’s cage, and he shrinked back when her eyes fell upon him. Her eyes were blood red, and she smiled when she saw him, revealing two long and sharp fangs among the rest of her teeth.
“This one looks cute,” the woman said, leaning towards the bars as Jack scooted further back, “looks like he doesn’t need that long to recover either.”
“Are you sure about him?” the snatcher asked, “We just picked him up last night, haven’t had the chance to beat the fight out of him.”
“Even better,” she replied, licking her lips, “I think I’ll take him.”
'Gods no.'
The snatcher laughed, “Well, we don’t accept refunds, so if he doesn’t work out, that’s not our responsibility. That’ll be two hundred knots.”
The vampire handed him the money as the snatcher left to grab his buddy to help get him out of the cage. 'Gods, please don’t let this be real!' Jack thought, glaring at the vampire, 'This is all a bad dream!'
“I love that look in your eyes,” the vampire said, “so scared, and angry. Oh… it makes me excited, I’m sure your blood is pumping fast right now, isn’t it?”
Jack shivered, but tried not to show his fear. The vampire, however, seemed to have noticed.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled, her voice strangely warm yet there was a disturbing note of something else, “seems you’re a bit more scared now.”
The snatcher came back with his buddy who was also wearing the uniform of a guardian. The first snatcher produced a ring of keys while the other held a whip in his hand. “I wouldn’t try anything if I was you,” the second snatcher said, holding his whip, “unless you want to be whipped.”
The door creaked open and the first snatcher came in and grabbed Jack roughly by the shoulder as he produced a knife to cut the bindings around his feet. “On your feet!” The snatcher forced him to stand up, and kept a strong grip on Jack’s shoulder.
“You think you could undo his gag?” the vampire asked, “I’d like to know what he has to say.”
“As you wish,” the snatcher replied, undoing the gag.
The first thing Jack did was cough and wet his mouth now that the foul gag was removed. He took in a few deep breaths with his mouth before he did the second thing, which was to look at the two snatchers and say, “The gods will damn you forever!”
The snatchers chuckled, “We’ve been doing this for over a decade, if the gods cared, they would have done something by now!”
They lead him, forcibly, out of the wagon. His hands were still bound, and the snatcher was still gripping him tightly, and he didn’t want to see how well the second snatcher could use that whip, and of course there was the vampire who walked a little too close to him for comfort.
“Yes,” the vampire whispered, “I think you’ll do nicely.”
Jack was surprised to see it was twilight outside, with the sun barely setting below the horizon. The sky was cloudy, probably giving the vampire enough cover so she wouldn’t burn in the sunlight.
There was a carriage waiting for them. Jack was surprised to see the driver was a human dressed almost as nicely as the vampire, “Did you find someone, Mistress Ash?”
“I did, Atticus,” she replied, “I’m glad we can cut our trip short, I can spend some time with our newest member.”
“Alright Mistress.” Atticus replied.
“Remember,” the snatcher began as Atticus came over to open the door to the carriage, “anything that happens with him is not our problem.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash replied, “I know.”
While the first snatcher was talking to Ash, Jack felt the second snatcher slip something into his pocket, “Go ahead and use it when you think you have the chance,” the second snatcher whispered in his ear, “do the world a favor and rid of us of her kind.”
Afterwards, Jack was shoved into the carriage and the two snatchers bid Ash a good day before going back to their wagon. 'This can’t be happening!' The vampire smirked as she closed the door as she entered the carriage, taking the opposite seat from him. She leaned back, smiling slightly as Atticus got the horses going again.
“What do you plan to do with me?” Jack asked, sounding braver than he felt.
“First, you’ll need a bath,” Ash replied, giggling slightly and pinching her nose, “Afterwards, I’ll give you some time to rest before having another of our members get you acquainted with my estate and any duties that may fall upon you. Oh, where are my manners? Come here, let me undo your wrists.”
Reluctantly, Jack shuffled around to give her access to the bindings on his wrist. Her touch was cold, sending shivers through his body, but she was surprisingly gentle, never once scratching or gripping him too tight. The bindings came away without much problem but before Jack could move, Ash had her fingers on him, tracing along his arms.
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice low, “I think I picked good here.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself, and swiftly spun around, scooting to the far corner of the carriage.
Ash smiled, “I’m sorry, I have trouble controlling myself sometimes.”
“What will you do if I try to make a run for it?” Jack asked, gesturing to the door.
“You really think you can escape a vampire at night? In an area you don’t know?”
Jack clung to the corner, glaring at Ash. This was bad, really bad. Being a thrall to a vampire was something most parents told to scare their children into behaving, but here he was, with the possibility that he was about to be turned into a thrall. He had the knife the snatcher gave him, that was something at least. Maybe he could kill her. Trying to do so now wouldn’t be a good idea though.
At the very least, if he was going to be the slave of a vampire, at least she was a beautiful one. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest in showing off her body, but she had a nice face and Jack would be lying if he said her smile wasn’t comforting in a creepy sort of way. There was something else as well. When he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes drifted over to her bare feet. His hands twitched at his side when she bobbed her feet, giving him a good view of her long slender toes. They looked soft, yet strong as well. Her toenails were cut short and were clean and healthy looking. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to touch them just for a little bit. Of course, it would be even better if he -
“Hmm?” Ash asked, “Is something wrong? I can hear your heart beating rather fast.”
Jack looked away, hoping she didn't notice the bulge struggling in his pants, “Where are we going?” he asked.
Ash leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she replied, “My manor. I think you’ll like it there. The manor itself is rather large, with plenty of rooms to explore and a library filled with so many books that even I haven’t read them all yet. You’ll be given plenty of food, and will be treated well if you do work and do it well. Of course, I’ll be needing to feed on you every now and then, part of the reason I bought you is because the others have been struggling since I keep sucking their blood so often, I want to have someone else so everyone has a chance to rest.”
The rest of the carriage ride passed by uneventfully. Jack stared out the window, curious as to which part of the imperium he was in. Didn’t take him long to wonder how long he had been knocked out as the foggy marshlands outside shouldn’t be anywhere near Rubyshire. 'I couldn’t have been passed out for more than a few hours at the most!' He thought, trying to stay calm, 'did the snatchers inject me with something when they found me?'
That was the only explanation for ending up here, somewhere he was not familiar with at all. Soon, the marshlands gave way to rolling hills with a few trees here and there, and he saw a few small towns in the distance. Not too surprising, I would think all the humans in this supposed estate would need to eat something.
The estate itself rested on top of one of the hills, and they passed by a gate which closed behind them as soon as they entered. “I’d rather not let any vampire hunter into my grounds uninvited,” Ash explained as soon as the gate closed, “come now, I think it would be good to give you a tour of where you’ll be staying.”
Jack reluctantly got out of the carriage, regardless of how he felt, it would be good not to upset a vampire. He looked around as soon as he got out, seeing the wide open front lawn with numerous plants growing on the grounds. There were many flowers here, all sorts of different colors and types. A fountain was nearby, spraying water up into the air. On top of the fountain was a raven with its wings spread open, with water spewing from its open beak. Some herbs must have been mixed into the water, because the smell it gave off was different than that of water, and vampires weren’t known for liking water.
Another servant came to take the horses from Atticus while Ash showed Jack around the courtyard. Most of what she was saying fell on deaf ears though, since Jack looked for any way he could escape. The walls were high, and didn’t look scalable. The gate was currently closed and Jack wondered if Ash’s servants would even open it for him.
Even if he were to escape, there weren’t many places he could hide as the area outside was open except for the towns. Would he even be able to hide there? Or would the people simply turn him over to Ash? Some towns would do that, so the vampire wouldn’t take one of their own.
“Thinking about escaping?” Ash asked, suddenly close to him.
Jack sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and nearly fell over, but Ash grabbed him by the shirt to hold him up. “Huh?” Jack asked, “N-no!”
Ash tilted her head, her red eyes flashing briefly over him, “I would think you would know better than to lie to me, I can hear your heartbeat racing right now,” she released him and turned around, “if you want to escape, you’re more than welcome to try, but I assure you you won’t get far. I remember the scent of all my servants… even someone as drenched in odor as you.”
“The horses are taken care of, mistress.” The servant from earlier came by.
“Thank you, Eban, you may resume your post.”
Eban bowed to Ash before glancing briefly at Jack, who froze when he saw Eban’s eyes. His eyes were glazed over with an empty look in them with a translucent red film over them. The rest of Eban looked normal, he wasn’t as pale as Ash, meaning he was still a human. Jack noticed the way Eban moved, as though he was being pulled by strings, his body no longer his own. 'Dear gods, a thrall!'
“I’m glad you met Eban,” Ash said, noting Jack’s pale face, “now you see what will happen if you try to run. I try not to do that too much though, a thrall’s blood is terrible, both in taste and substance.”
“You’re a monster!” Jack exclaimed.
It happened quickly. One moment, Jack was standing glaring at Ash, and the next he was on the ground with his right cheek burning, looking up at Ash who kept a passive expression. “I’d be careful when you talk to me like that, human.” Ash said, looking down at him, “unless you want to share Eban’s fate.”
Jack tried to control himself, but unfortunately, his body betrayed him. His pants were baggy enough to hide his growing excitement, but unfortunately, Ash knew exactly what Jack was feeling and she quickly glanced down at his crotch before sneering.
“Truly pathetic.”
Jack’s face burned. He hated being called that. He hated other people thinking that. All his life, his father, his sister, so called friends, and even his professors all thought he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would not let this monster talk to him that way.
While she had her back turned to him, he rose to his feet, forgetting all his fear. He only had one thought, to kill. She wasn’t looking, now would be the perfect time to-
Ash turned around lazily, looking at him right in the eyes, “Oh? Back on your feet already?”
Jack swallowed, all his gusto gone. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he asked, “Is there anywhere else you’d like to show me?”
Ash smiled, a genuine smile. “Of course! I think it would be good if you get acquainted with the inside of my manor as well. Usually dusting and cleaning is Samantha’s job, but it would be nice for her to have a break every now and again.”
The manor was surprisingly warm, whenever Jack imagined something such as a vampire’s lair, he imagined it would be cold and uninviting. Even stories he heard of vampires taking over a residence said vampires transform to reflect themselves, by sapping away any warmth it might have had.
Ash’s manor, on the other hand, was well-lit and had the feel of something that had been lived in for a long time. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, which could be because of that Samantha person Ash mentioned, and the two of them even passed by a few servants doing their jobs, with each servant bowing their heads as they passed.
Unlike Eban, these servants weren’t thralls. At least, Jack wasn’t able to tell if they were or not. They seemed to move normally, although he wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of their eyes. “As you can see, I treat my servants well,” Ash said, continuing to walk with him through her manor, “provided they don’t misbehave, I give them as much freedom as I can.”
“Who are these people?” Jack asked.
“That,” Ash began, “I think would be best for you to find out on your own.”
'Most likely they’re people like me.' Jack thought bitterly, 'People taken by snatchers! Strange, with all these people around, I would think one of them would have tried to put a stake in her heart. Maybe Eban did, he’s the only one who might have had any sense. '
“This is the library,” Ash said, leading him to a large open room with rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with numerous tomes, like the fountain in the courtyard, there were depictions of ravens in the library as well, mostly as paintings on the walls as well as small statues sitting in empty spaces in the shelves, “feel free to read anything that might catch your fancy.”
Jack scowled, but said nothing.
Ash gave him a strange look, almost a look of concern. “I see you still don’t believe me, well give it some time. It took Atticus almost a month for him to trust me.”
“How long did it take Eban?” Jack asked.
Ash shook her head, “I should have mentioned this, I didn’t get Eban from Snatchers, rather I caught him when he snuck in here to try to kill me over a year ago.” she chuckled and undid the top buttons of her jacket, exposing the pale skin underneath. Ash’s smile widened when she saw Jack blush as she parted the jacket to reveal her full chest. She didn’t show too much though, but Jack saw the shape of her breasts, and most importantly, he saw the wicked scar above her left breast which looked like it barely missed her heart, “Eban would have got me if it wasn’t for his poor aim.” Ash said with a chuckle, “Awww, look at you, all flustered. What’s the matter? Never seen a pair of breasts before?”
Jack tore his eyes away, turning to the rows of books, “I was wondering how Eban managed to miss you so close.”
Ash shrugged as she buttoned up her jacket once more, “He panicked, plain and simple. His hand flew too high and his knife missed my heart, hurt like the abyss though. As you can see, I made sure he is paying the price for that.”
Jack growled, remembering the knife he had in his pocket. The snatchers gave that to him before he got into the carriage, but why? Did they want him to try to kill her? Or did they want him to make a fool of himself? The knife looked sharp, he thought, trying not to reach for it, maybe it could kill her. Or me.
While he was thinking, Atticus entered the room, holding a towel over his arm, “Misstress,” he greeted with a bow, “I have both your bath as well as the newcomer’s baths ready if you’d like to go.”
“That’s perfect, thank you Atticus,” Ash replied, “It’ll be good for him to wash off, I’d rather not have to bite into someone who's a bit dirty.”
Jack blinked and blushed, What in the Abyss is this? “We’re taking a bath together?” he blurted out.
Ash threw her head back in laughter, nearly doubling over as well, “Sorry, but no. I’m afraid you’re taking a bath separate from myself.”
The bath was a large room with a large tub, easily able to fill multiple people. It was just Jack though, and Atticus as well. The other man wasn’t getting in the tub with him, thankfully, but Jack wasn’t happy to see someone else in here with him. Ash said it was to make sure he didn’t get any ideas. 'As if I’d try.' He thought bitterly.
Atticus didn’t look away when Jack stripped, and Jack didn’t like the way Atticus was studying him. He made sure the knife stayed inside his pants and was as quiet as he could be when he laid his pants on the floor.
“I can see why the mistress chose you.” Atticus said when Jack was fully naked.
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, meeting the other man’s eyes.
“You look like you’d be able to do the mistress’ tasks,” Atticus replied, “and you’d be able to give her some entertainment as well.”
Jack scoffed and got in the tub, “Tell me, do you actually serve her on your own free will?”
“I do,” Atticus replied, “I didn’t want to, of course, I was terrified. But… slowly she won me over. Treated me better than my own parents did. Certainly much better than the previous..." Atticus paused before shaking his head and continuing, "I have served her for over a decade since.”
Jack paused and looked Atticus over, the other man seemed to be only slighter older than he was. She took you when you were just a child?
“You mind looking away?” Jack asked, “I’d rather not have someone look at me when I’m washing.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, “And I’d rather be watching Samantha bathe instead of you, but here we are,” he sighed, “If you would please hurry, I do have other things I must attend to and being kept here isn’t something I would like to have happen.”
Jack shook his head, “Tell me something, have you and her ever done anything?”
Atticus scoffed and shook his head, “I was wondering if I would get this question. No. There is nothing and has never been anything, and I am disgusted to know you would think that!”
“Why’s that?”
Atticus glared at Jack before replying, “I see her as the mother I wish I had. She practically raised me. So no, I have never thought about doing anything to her!”
'You were raised by her? Well that explains your loyalty, although I’m curious what she could have done for you that made you stay here. '
Jack washed up as well as he could before stepping out and grabbing the spare clothes Atticus provided for him. They were a bit large, but were otherwise fine. When Atticus had his back turned, Jack managed to slip the knife from his old pants and sneaked them into his new ones.
Atticus took Jack to his room, a cozy little place on the second floor of the manor which had a window which gave him a view of the garden he was supposed to start taking care of starting tomorrow. “I’d wait for a bit before going to sleep,” Atticus told him as he was leaving, “the mistress was hoping to see you after her bath.”
'I hope she does.' Jack thought, feeling the knife on the inside of his pants. He sat down on the bed, playing through the act in his mind of what he needed to do. Ash would hopefully drop her guard and he would swiftly take out the knife and plunge it into her heart, Eban attacked too high, so he needed to attack lower.
He waited for a few more minutes until his door creaked open. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Ash standing there in his doorway. She was in a revealing blue nightgown which left little to the imagination. Her gown showed enough cleavage so Jack not only saw the scar Eban made, but where he also had a clear opening to her heart, if he attacked properly.
She drifted towards him, her bare feet silent against the carpet and sat down gracefully next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile which showed off her long, sharp fangs. “Hmmm,” she moaned, “you certainly cleaned up well.”
“Not as well as you,” Jack breathed, his voice catching in his throat.
Ash giggled, “Thank you for the compliment, Atticus told you to expect me?”
Jack nodded.
“Sorry to spring this on your first day, but it is customary I feed on my servants when I first acquire them. To stop other vampires from possibly poaching you.”
'I’m not some animal!'
“Alright,” Jack replied.
Ash placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. He stiffened slightly. Ash loosened her grip a bit, “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’ll try to be gentle with you since it’s your first time.”
Jack’s heart was pounding as Ash drew closer to his neck and he stifled a moan as she bit into his neck. She was warm, and gentle. He could feel his blood being taken away, and started to feel a little light headed. Why then, did it feel so good? He fought back the urge to embrace her in his arms, and ignored the growing hunger between his legs, instead reaching for his pocket to pull out the knife.
He couldn’t see her chest, couldn’t see her neck. But he can try to guess. He felt her breasts resting against his chests, rising and falling with every breath he took. This is it, he would only get one chance.
Ash gasped and pulled away from him when he plunged the knife into her. For a moment, Jack thought he had done it, until his vision came back into focus and he saw the knife was instead buried into her side. He had missed.
Ash slapped his hands away before looking down at the knife. It wasn’t even buried that deep, even if Jack had been accurate, it wouldn’t have been anywhere close to her heart to kill. She grunted softly as she pulled it out, bleeding slightly as the knife was free from her. She examined the knife briefly before lazily turning her attention to him.
“This is a snatcher knife,” she said, “I’ve heard they started trying to convince the humans to kill us, never thought those two would try. I’ll be sure to spread the word. As for you-” she lunged at him, throwing him onto the floor, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I-” Jack began, trying to get up.
“Don’t move!” she ordered, slamming her foot on his head.
Jack whimpered as his head hit the floor, causing his vision to swim again. He was able to see Ash standing over him, arms crossed under her breasts, and red eyes flashing dangerously.
“What were you planning to do with that knife?” she asked, pressing down harder on him.
“Don’t-!” Jack cried.
“Don’t what?” Ash demanded, leaning down towards him, “Don’t give me this little act of yours! Answer my question!”
“I was going to-!” Jack started, before choking up.
“Oh enough of this!”
Ash released him briefly, but before he could recover, Ash grabbed him roughly up by one of his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. He cried out, but Ash slapped him across the face and growled, “Look into my eyes human.”
Jack closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to weep, “Don’t kill me.” he managed to choke out.
“Look into my eyes and I might consider letting you live, human.”
Reluctantly, Jack opened his eyes and forced himself to look into her eyes. They were glowing with anger, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He knew what this was, a vampire’s hypnosis. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would do it.
He felt control of his body slip away, and try as he might, he couldn’t move anymore, not even twitch his fingers. He was barely aware of what was even happening, having to fight to stay in control of his mind.
Ash simply grunted as she released him, his body crashing onto the floor. She looked down at him with a sneer on her expression. “What were you planning to do with that knife, human?”
“I was going to kill you.” Jack replied against his will.
“Why?”
“I refuse to serve you, I will not serve a disgusting monster like you.”
Ash’s sneer vanished, and was replaced with a small, amused smile, “Didn’t learn anything from Eban, did you? I would have thought his story would have served as a warning. Looks like I will have to make another example of someone.” Ash sighed, shaking her head, before turning back to him. Her expression was a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Have a good rest, human.”
With inhuman speed, Ash picked him up before delivering a punch directly at his face, knocking him out.
Jack groaned as he woke up, his head pounding in pain. The rest of his body also ached, but his head was the worst. He was still alive, so he had that going for him at least. He looked around his room, seeing Ash had already disposed of the knife. He struggled to his feet before opening the door, surprised Ash didn’t lock him in.
It was still dark outside, but hopefully morning wouldn’t be too far behind. He needed to get out of here, and make sure no one saw him. The servants here will certainly call Ash, and if he saw Ash herself, she would most likely suck him dry. Jack limped out of his room, his legs wobbly and struggling beneath his weight.
As soon as he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall to take the weight off his legs. He could feel some of his strength returning, slowly but surely. His head was still pounding and most likely wouldn’t stop for a while. He made his way over to the stairs, the hallway was thankfully empty, but he was worried where Ash and her other servants may be.
Before he took the first step, he paused as he heard voices coming from downstairs. They were quiet, but since the rest of the manor was silent he was still able to hear them. It was Ash, and she was talking to Atticus.
Jack quieted his breathing, trying to focus so he could hear them. He leaned in closer to hear better.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Atticus said, “I should have searched him better when he was undressed.”
“Not your fault Atticus,” Ash replied, “But be sure to send the letters to the others, I’d rather no one else fall for the snatcher’s schemes.”
“What do you plan on doing with the new one, Mistress?” Atticus asked, “I’m not sure when other snatchers will be in the area and those two have already proven to be untrustworthy.”
Ash sighed, “I’m not sure. I’m not against killing him, he can serve as an example for others, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to get another one. Turning him to a thrall would be a good punishment as well, his blood will be awful, but at least then we can work him to the bone without worry.”
Jack’s throat went dry. Neither of those were things he’d want to happen. Despite himself, his breathing got faster, his heart beating faster as well, legs wobbling.
“Oh?”
“Is something wrong, Mistress?” Atticus asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ash replied, “I just think our ungrateful guest has woken up.”
“Would you like me to check on him, Mistress?”
“No,” Ash told him, “I think I will go and see what he is doing.”
Jack tried to move, to run back to his room, but unfortunately, his legs gave out when he tried to move. I have to hide! He thought, crawling along the floor. There was barely any strength in his arms, and he wheezed when he tried to pull himself forward. 'This is it,' he despaired, 'I’m dead.'
When he looked up again, Ash stood over him. She was still dressed in her nightgown, and the knife wound was still present, although it looked like it healed a bit. Ash knelt down in front of him, looking more bored than angry, was that any better?
“What exactly are you planning on doing, human?” Ash asked.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jack blurted, thinking of the first thing that might allow him to live a little longer, “for trying to kill you.”
Ash tilted her head to the side, looking unimpressed, “Mmmmhmmm,” she grunted, “is that so?”
“Yes!” Jack wheezed, hoping she believed him.
“Why don’t you look me in the eyes when you speak, then?”
Jack knew he couldn’t do that. If she asked him if he was speaking the truth, he’d say no, and he’d rather not find out what she would make him do.
“Tell me,” Ash began, reaching down and forcing Jack to look at her, “why should I let you live?”
“Because,” Jack wheezed, “you won’t have to worry about replacing me. And… if you don’t make me a thrall, then you can still enjoy my blood.”
Ash grinned, showing her fangs, “Heard my conversation, have you?” she thought for a moment, tapping her finger against Jack’s chin. He flinched when her sharp nails cut him slightly. Ash licked her lips, “I will say, your blood smells delectable, but is it worth it?”
“Please Mistress!” Jack blubbered.
“Very well,” Ash sighed, “although there are two things I need from you.”
Jack sighed, feeling relieved. She’s letting him live.
“The first, is some blood,” Ash fingers worked their way to his collar, and he felt her grip him tightly, “the second is something else. I can feel that you desire it as well.”
In one swift motion, Ash ripped the shirt he was wearing in half before throwing him backwards and ripping off his pants and underwear as well, leaving him completely naked in the hallway.
“Mmm,” Ash moaned, “seems I was right, you really are a dirty little creature aren’t you?”
Jack tried to cover his erection, ashamed she not only knew, but saw his boner. Ash wasn’t having it though, and slapped his hand away.
“If you want to live, it would be a good idea to make me happy.” Ash growled, leaning down against him.
Jack knew what he had to do. He lifted his hands up, reaching for her breasts. He cupped them lightly, enjoying the weight of them. Ash closed her eyes, her body shuddering slightly from his touch. Despite the situation, Jack smiled, this was his first time touching breasts and he wanted to savor it. She arched her back slightly, allowing him to access them more. They were large and their weight felt good in his hands, even if her body was cold. Her nipples were erect and she moaned when he rubbed his fingers over them.
He wasn’t sure who was shaking more, Ash or himself. He also wasn’t sure why he was shaking, whether it was fear or anticipation. Would she truly spare him if he kept doing this? 'Only thing I can do,' he thought, as he worked his way down, his hands finding the edges of her nightgown and lifting it up slowly.
Ash stopped him, placing her hands over his “Getting bold, are we?” Ash asked, “Such a shame, I can’t let you see me. Not yet anyway…” she leaned down, placing her head on his chest. She was breathing heavily, and Jack wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not,
He got his answer when he suddenly felt a cold hand wrapping around his member. He groaned as she started pumping him, moving her hand slowly, and gliding it over his shaft to where she was just grazing over his tip, teasing his foreskin as well. He arched his back in response, biting back a moan.
“Mmmmm,” Ash moaned, her eyes meeting his, “I’m surprised you have enough blood left to manage this, I was worried I would be playing with a limp noodle for a while,” she giggled as she quickened the pace, enjoying the way Jack squirmed in her grasp.
“O-oh!” Jack moaned, but was quickly silenced by a slap across the face.
“I never said you can talk!” Ash reprimanded, releasing her hold on his member.
Jack nodded, trying to blink back the tears. He held his hands out, feeling a bit foolish as he did so, as if it would do anything to stop her. Ash paused when she saw him though, her expression softening as the tears trailed down his face.
She leaned closer and wiped one of the tears away, “Seems I managed to hurt you more than I wanted to. I’m sorry about that, human. Tell you what, just this once, I’ll let you touch any part of me you want. Just name it.”
Jack wrestled with himself for a few minutes. He decided if he was going to die, he might as well have no regrets. “Can I…” he began, swallowing before he continued, “touch your feet?”
Ash grinned, “Ah, is that why you’ve been staring at them since we met? I should have figured,” she stood up, “Go on then.”
Jack made his way over to them. Her feet, like the rest of her, were pale and slender. Her toes were perfect with the nails clipped short and unpainted. He reached out to touch them and marvelled at how soft her skin was. Ash giggled a little as his fingers pressed between her toes.
She sat down, giving him access to her soles. They were lovely as well. While he was playing with one of her feet, Ash pressed her other one against his crotch and he froze when he felt her toes against his shaft. “Oh my,” Ash laughed, “are you even harder now? Your veins seem to be sticking out more than they did before. Looks rather appetizing if you ask me.”
Jack shuddered, “Please don’t bite me ther-”
He groaned as Ash pressed her foot into his testicles, “What did I say about speaking out of turn, human? Although, if it bothers you that much, I won’t bite you down there. However, right now, I want you on your back!”
Jack winced at how loud she was. He didn’t know how many servants were here, or how many were nearby, but he did know he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this. Ash forced him on his back, his cock stretching out towards the ceiling, or rather it was before Ash pressed it between her toes.
Jack shuddered, his back arching slightly. Her movements were clumsier than when she used her hand, but somehow, he was enjoying this much more than he had with her hand. He tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, so he could see the look of contempt and disgust on her face as she towered over him. He was terrified, yes, but it all still felt good.
“Ah,” Ash began, “I wonder, are you worried about what happens if anyone were to see you like this? Should we find out what would happen?”
Jack frantically shook his head no. 'Please don’t!' He was embarrassed and terrified enough, the thought of others being here, well, it was too much to think about!
“Oh?” Ash asked, “Is that so? You don’t want me to call others to see like this? Naked, and desperately trying to deny your own arousal?”
Jack shook his head. 'Please. Don’t do it.'
“Say, I wonder what would happen if I were to stop playing with this? Would it twitch after how much I’ve played with it?”
True to her word, Ash took her foot off him. Jack crossed his legs. He hated how good it felt when she was jacking him off, both with her hand and especially with her foot. His penis felt like it was on the verge of orgasm, and he knew Ash wouldn’t let him finish up by himself. To his horror, his penis was twitching slightly without her touch.
“Oh my!” Ash laughed, nearly doubling over, “I’ve certainly never seen that before!”
'Please stop…' Jack felt the tears burning in his eyes, just stop. No more. They started coming down, and he couldn’t stop himself from making noise.
Ash stopped smiling as she knelt down beside him. Once more, she wiped away a tear from his face, “I know what’s bothering you. Since you’ve been so good so far, I promise I won’t call the other servants. I doubt they would like to watch a grown man groveling anyway.” She laughed at the end, and placed a finger under his chin to force him to look at her, “Besides, now is the part where you make me feel good.”
Similar to his clothing, Ash ripped her nightgown in two, revealing her body to him. She was beautiful. While the nightgown was a bit translucent, seeing her pale body in full was a sight to behold. Her nipplies, still erect, were a deep shade of pink and her stomach was flat, save for the mound before her vagina which was clean shaven. Jack didn’t need to be told what to do and reached for her opening.
Ash stiffened slightly when his fingers entered her. “Mmm, that’s it…”
His fingers explored her folds, and Jack will happily admit he enjoyed seeing the power he had over her, if only briefly. She moaned, her voice pitching higher as he found her clit and started playing with it.
“Hrm!” she groaned, “Well, it seems-!” she moaned, “You know what you’re doing!”
She panted as she moved her position, climbing on top of him and lowering herself onto him. The both of them winced as he went inside, his member slipping in without much resistance. Her muscles were constricting around him, gripping him tightly while Ash threw herself back, her expression a mask of ecstasy. She started pumping once more, her hips moving fast, muscles continuing to tighten around his penis.
Jack bit back moans, biting his tongue as the pleasure overtook him. He could feel it, building, building. The pressure was coming, and he knew Ash was also close. He couldn’t take it anymore!
Ash yelled as she came, her body shuddering from the experience. Jack followed close behind, shooting his load into her. The two of them laid there for a moment, Ash still holding onto him, even as he recovered. As soon as the pleasure was over though, Jack tensed up.
'Was I good enough?' He looked down at Ash who was laying on top of him, eyes closed, with a smile on her face. 'Please dear gods, spare me!'
Ash opened her eyes, “You’re heart’s racing, a little scared?”
Jack swallowed, and nodded, not sure if he was able to speak or not.
Ash reached out, and he flinched away slightly.
“Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s alright,” she got up and moved closer to him, her hand moving across his cheek, cupping him gently, “I won’t kill you.”
Jack breathed out, and started crying. 'Oh thank the gods!' He didn’t care who heard him, or what Ash currently thought of him, right now, he was just happy.
“However,” Ash continued, her voice suddenly stern, “I can’t just let your murder attempt go unpunished!”
Before he could react, Ash bit him once more, and Jack felt something being injected into him. Her blood.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the ruined remains of Jack’s clothing, “I think turning you into a thrall for a while is a good punishment. What do you think about that, Jack?”
“It is a fitting punishment.” Jack’s body replied against his will. 'Oh gods, no! Please no!'
Ash stood up, “Don’t worry, your enthrallment will only last for a week or so, then you can have your free will back,” she reached down to pick up her nightgown, shaking her head, “ah, I got carried away again,” she clicked her tongue before turning back to him, “I’ll also be sure to work you as much as possible for your punishment as well. Don’t worry, I won’t feed on you, thrall’s blood is terrible.”
“That is acceptable.” Jack’s body replied. 'This can’t be happening!'
Ash looked towards the clock, “It’s almost morning, you should get dressed and head out into the grounds, Tarkus should be there to show you the ropes. I’ll have you work till nightfall, is that alright with you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Ash smiled, “Good, then get going Jack, and don’t make me regret sparing your life.”
Short story about a man who moves to Miami and has his life body stolen by a maintenance man when they accidentally swap bodies after a head collision.
The humid Miami air clung to my skin as I adjusted to my new life in the city. My one-bedroom apartment was small but cozy, with a view of palm trees swaying outside my window. At 25, I was young, single, and—according to my friends—lucky enough to turn heads. But none of that mattered when I locked eyes with her at a café near Little Havana.
May.
Her name tasted like honey on my tongue. A stunning Cuban woman with curves that defied gravity, dark eyes that smoldered, and a smile that could melt steel. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to ask her out. And when she said yes, my heart nearly exploded.
There was just one problem: my Spanish was nonexistent.
The night before our date, I was pacing my apartment, rehearsing the few phrases I’d Googled—“Hola, guapa. ¿Quieres bailar?”—when the ceiling fan sputtered and died.
Great.
I called maintenance, and within an hour, a gruff, heavyset Mexican man named Ernesto showed up at my door. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and resentment, his white tank top straining over his gut as he grumbled about his wife under his breath.
“Fan’s broken,” he muttered, climbing the ladder with the grace of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
I nodded, distracted, when my phone buzzed.
A text from May.
A picture.
My breath hitched. She’d sent a selfie in the dress she was wearing tomorrow—tight, red, and sinful. My fingers hovered over the screen, my pulse racing, when—
CRASH.
Ernesto lost his balance. The ladder wobbled. His arms flailed.
And then—impact.
Our skulls collided with a sickening crack, and everything went black.
---
I woke up disoriented.
The room was different. The clothes were different. And—wait—why was the calendar three weeks ahead?
Before I could process it, the bedroom door swung open.
May.
She stood there in a sundress so short it was practically a suggestion, her hips swaying as she sauntered toward me. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she purred something in Spanish—words I didn’t understand but felt deep in my gut.
My confusion must’ve been obvious because she laughed, a rich, throaty sound, before dropping to her knees.
And then—
Oh. My. God.
The best. Blowjob. Of my life.
When she finally pulled away, licking her lips, she whispered in perfect English, “Tomorrow, we go meet my parents, okay?” Then she winked and strutted out, leaving me dazed, confused, and very satisfied.
But the moment she left, the door swung open again.
Ernesto.
His eyes locked onto mine, and his face drained of color.
“No… no, no, no,” he gasped before bolting like a man possessed.
May poked her head back in. “Who was that?”
I shrugged, my mind racing.
But I needed answers.
---
I tracked Ernesto down at his shitty apartment complex, cornering him in the dimly lit hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
He looked like a man who’d seen a ghost. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he whispered.
“Wake up?!”He swallowed hard. “When we hit heads… I woke up in your body. My body was just… empty. Like a shell.” His voice dropped. “I saw the text from May. The date. I—I went. I speak Spanish. She loved it. We… we’ve been together since.”
My stomach twisted. “You’ve been what?”
“Fucking her,” he admitted, shame and excitement warring in his eyes. “I’d swap back and forth—your body, mine—so I could escape my wife and still be with her. But now you’re here, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I stared at him, my blood boiling.
This bastard had been living my life.
Touching my woman.
And now?
Now I had a choice to make.
The air between Ernesto and me crackled with tension. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my mind racing with the implications of what he’d just confessed.
He’d been inside my body.
He’d touched May.
He’d lived my life.
A surge of possessive fury burned through me, but beneath it, something else flickered—curiosity.
“So,” I said slowly, stepping closer, “you’re telling me that when we hit heads, you swapped into my body? And you’ve been… switching back and forth?”
Ernesto nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sí. Your body—it’s like a car. I get in, I drive, then I go back to mine when I’m done.”
I scoffed. “And my body just… waits for you?”
“Exactamente.” He shrugged. “When I’m not in it, it’s just… empty. Like a puppet with no strings.”
My jaw tightened. The idea of my body being used—violated—without my consent made my skin crawl. But then, another thought slithered into my mind.
What if I could do the same?
I crossed my arms. “Show me.”
Ernesto blinked. “¿Qué?”
“Show me how it works,” I demanded. “If you can jump into my body, then I should be able to jump into yours.”
His face paled. “No, no, hombre—it’s not that simple—”
“Bullshit.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip iron-tight. “You stole my life. The least you can do is teach me how to do the same.”
For a long moment, Ernesto just stared at me, his dark eyes flickering with fear… and something else. Resignation.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But you’re not gonna like it.”
---
Back in my apartment, Ernesto paced nervously. “It only works when we’re close,” he muttered. “And it hurts.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”
He hesitated, then pointed at the couch. “Sit. And… brace yourself.”
I sat, my heart pounding. Ernesto stood in front of me, his thick fingers flexing like he was preparing for a fight.
Then—
He slammed his forehead into mine.
CRACK.
White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision swam, the room tilting violently—
And then…
Darkness.
---
I woke up with a gasp—but something was wrong.
My hands were thicker, rougher. My gut heavy.
I looked down.
White tank top. Jeans. A gold chain around my neck.
Ernesto’s body.
“Holy shit,” I breathed—but the voice that came out was his. Deep, accented.
Across from me, my body stirred.
Ernesto—now in me—groaned, rubbing his (my?) forehead. Then he looked up, and our eyes met.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.
“See?” he said, flexing my fingers. “Now you know.”
Disgust twisted in my gut—but so did something else. Power.
If he could do it…
So could I.
I stood, testing the weight of Ernesto’s body. It was strange—like wearing a suit two sizes too big. But the strength was undeniable.
And then—
The door opened.
May.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me—or rather, my body—sitting there.
“Hola, papi,” she purred, strutting over to him like I wasn’t even there.
My blood boiled.
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips—his lips—her fingers tangling in my hair.
And I was just… standing there.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
A growl ripped from my throat.
May pulled back, frowning at me. “Ernesto? What’s wrong with you?”
Wrong?
Everything was wrong.
But now…
Now I knew how to fix it.
I lunged.
May screamed as I tackled my own body to the ground, our skulls colliding with another sickening CRACK—
And the world went black again.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was back.
My hands. My body.
And May beneath me, her lips swollen from kissing me—the real me.
Her eyes widened. “James?”
The moment May stepped out of the apartment, the air between Ernesto and me grew thick with tension. I ran a hand through my hair—my hair again—and exhaled sharply.
"Alright," I said, turning to Ernesto, who was still rubbing his temple from the last headbutt. "We need to talk."
He scowled but didn't argue.
"I need you to do something for me," I said, keeping my voice low. "Tonight—May wants me to meet her parents. But I can't speak Spanish, and I don’t want to embarrass her."
Ernesto’s eyebrows shot up. "¿En serio? You want me to go?"
I nodded. "Just for the dinner. You go as me, charm them, then we swap back after."
A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "And what do I get out of it?"
My jaw tightened. "You get to keep using my body whenever you want—within reason. But there’s one condition."
He waited.
"You don’t sleep with May."
Ernesto barked a laugh. "Cabrón, you think I can resist that?" He gestured toward the door where May had just left.
I grabbed his collar, shoving him against the wall. "Yes. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make sure your wife finds out exactly where you’ve been disappearing to."
His smirk faltered.
After a tense silence, he finally relented. "Está bien. Fine. No sex. Just dinner."
I released him, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. "Good. Now get ready. You’ve got a date."
---
The swap was easier this time—just a quick, brutal knock of our foreheads, and suddenly, I was staring at myself again.
Ernesto—now in my body—adjusted my shirt, flashing me a cocky grin.
Ernesto—now wearing my body—with a low, dangerous growl.
“Listen carefully,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into my own chest. “You will be on your best behavior tonight. You will charm her parents. And you will not touch her after.”Ernesto smirked, running my hands down my torso in a way that made my skin crawl. “Relax, güey. I got this.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped. “You think this is some kind of game? You ruin this for me—”
“And what?” He laughed. “You’ll tell her the truth? ‘Oh hey, May, by the way, your novio is really a baldy maintenance man in a stolen body!’” His voice dripped with mocking. “Face it, hermano. You need me.”
I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath.
“One date,” I said through gritted teeth. “Then we swap back. No funny business.”
Ernesto rolled my eyes but nodded. “Sí, sí. No funny business.”---
From the window of my apartment, I watched them leave. May looped her arm through mine, laughing at something he said—something in perfect Spanish, no doubt. The way she looked at him—no, at me—sent a vicious pang of jealousy through my gut.
That should’ve been me walking her to the car.
That smile should’ve been for me.
I clenched the windowsill until my knuckles turned white.
Just get through tonight, I told myself. Then you get your life back.
---
Three hours later, the sound of the front door opening jolted me from my pacing.
“We’re back!” May’s musical voice called.
I rushed into the living room—and froze.
May was pressed against my body—Ernesto—her hips grinding into him as his hands roamed shamelessly over her curves. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her dark eyes hooded with lust.
“Ay, papi,” she purred, biting his—my—ear. “Take me to bed.”
Ernesto smirked—smirked—right at me over her shoulder.
You promised, I mouthed, fury burning in my chest.
His grin widened. Then he hoisted May over his shoulder like a prize, her giggles bouncing off the walls as they disappeared into the bedroom.
A second later, the first moan cut through the air.
Hers.
Then his.
I stood there, shaking.
Traitor. Liar.
I could’ve barged in. I could’ve screamed.
But what would I say?
That’s not me in there!
She’d think I was insane.
So I did the only thing I could.
I sat on the couch.
And I listened.
Every gasp. Every groan. Every filthy, throaty cry May made for him—for my body.
It should’ve been me.
My fists clenched.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, but the sounds—those goddamn sounds—continued to seep through the thin walls. May's breathy moans. The creak of the bedframe. Ernesto's gruff voice, my voice, whispering things in Spanish I couldn't understand but knew were filthy.
I gripped the armrest of the couch, my nails digging into the fabric. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
I wanted to kick down the door. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was sit there—trapped in Ernesto’s body, stuck on the sidelines of my own fucking life.
A particularly loud cry from May sent a jolt of white-hot anger through me. That was supposed to be mine.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stormed out onto the balcony, gulping the humid Miami air like it could cleanse my rage. The city lights blurred in front of me, my thoughts spinning.
How the hell was I going to fix this?
→ I could try to force another swap—but Ernesto was in my body now. Stronger. Younger. If I charged in there and we fought... May would see. She'd think I was attacking her.
→ I could wait. Let him finish. Maybe he'd keep his word and swap back after. Yeah, right.
→ Or… I could take matters into my own hands. Permanently.
The balcony railing groaned as I leaned against it. Below, the pool shimmered under ultraviolet lights. A dark fantasy flickered in my mind—Ernesto, my body, slipping on wet tiles. Hitting his head. Another accident.
Before I could follow that thought further, the bedroom door creaked open.
I turned.
May stood there in the doorway, draped in nothing but one of my old T-shirts—just long enough to tease the bare skin of her thighs. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were red and swollen.
She looked satisfied.
My stomach turned.
"Ernesto?" Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"
Ernesto. The name was a punch to the gut.
"Just... needed some air," I muttered, hating the gravel in his voice.
May bit her lip, glancing back toward the bedroom. "James is, uh... resting." A blush crept up her neck, and I knew exactly what kind of 'rest' he was getting.
I swallowed hard. "You two had a good night?"
She smiled—that smile. The one I'd been dreaming about since the day we met. "The best. His parents loved him. And then..." She trailed off, eyes glazing over with memory. My chest ached.
Before she could say more, my voice called from inside.
"Mi vidaaaaa, where'd you go?"
May grinned. "Gotta go." She turned, then hesitated. "Hey... you okay? You seem... off."
I forced a laugh. "Just tired."
She nodded and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
A second later, laughter spilled out. His.
That was it.
I wasn't playing this game anymore.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found her number—Ernesto's wife.
One ring. Two.
"¿Hola?"
I took a deep breath.
"Señora Rodriguez? You might want to come to my apartment. Your husband is here... and you won't believe what he's been doing with my body."
I hung up before she could reply.
Back inside, the sounds of passion had started up again.
But not for long.
The knock at the door came less than twenty minutes later - hard and impatient. I'd know that knock anywhere.
Marisol Rodriguez.
I rubbed my hands together (Ernesto's thick, calloused hands) and hurried to answer. The moment I opened the door, I was nearly knocked backward by the force of Marisol's fury.
"¿DÓNDE ESTÁ?" she demanded, dark eyes blazing. She was a beautiful woman - all dangerous curves and fire - but right now, she looked ready to kill.
I stepped aside. "Master bedroom."
She stormed past me in a whirlwind of floral perfume and righteous anger, platform sandals slapping against the tile. I followed closely behind, my heart pounding with equal parts guilt and anticipation.
The moans grew louder as we approached.
Marisol froze outside my bedroom door, her face twisting in fury. Without hesitation, she swung the door open with a violent crash.
The sight that greeted us was exactly what I expected. May on her back, legs wrapped around my body, sheets tangled around their waists. They froze mid-thrust, identical looks of horror dawning on their faces.
"MARISOL?!" Ernesto's voice cracked.
May scrambled backwards, clutching the sheets to her chest. "James? What the hell? Who is-?"
Marisol didn't say a word. She just smiled - slow and venomous. Then she reached into her designer purse and pulled out a glass bottle of holy water.
Ernesto's eyes went wide. "No, mujer, wait-"
She uncorked it with her teeth and flung the contents straight at his face.
The effect was instantaneous. Ernesto - in my body - screamed as the water hit his skin and began sizzling. His arms flailed as his back arched unnaturally, my body spasming against the mattress.
May screamed, falling off the bed in her scramble to escape. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
Marisol crossed herself. "Demonio. I knew it wasn't really my husband."
Smoke began rising from my body's pores as Ernesto thrashed, his screams taking on an unnatural, echoing quality.
And then - with one final, guttural wail - he separated.
A translucent, ghostly version of Ernesto was ejected from my body, hovering mid-air before collapsing into a shimmering puddle on the floor that slowly dissolved into nothing.
My body slumped onto the bed, unmoving.
Complete silence.
Then May scrambled to her feet, naked and terrified, grabbing for her clothes. "What the FUCK was that?!"
Marisol calmly recorked her now-empty bottle. "El Diablo takes many forms, mija." She turned to me - still in Ernesto's body - and tilted her head. "Now. About you..."
I held up my hands. "Marisol, I promise, I'm-"
She reached into her purse again.
I dove for my motionless body on the bed just as she flung another spray of holy water.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through my skull as my forehead connected with my body's.
Darkness.
Then - the feeling of fitting again.
I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my body - my real body. Down on the floor, Ernesto groaned, back in his own form.
Marisol grabbed her husband by the ear and yanked him upright. "We're leaving. Now."
As she dragged a groggy Ernesto toward the door, she turned back to me and May with a smirk. "You're welcome."
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence again.
May slowly turned to me, clutching her dress to her chest. "James... what the actual fuck just happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Somehow "my maintenance man possessed my body to date you because he was in a bad marriage and now we might both be cursed" didn't seem like the right answer.
So I went with:
"...Miami is weird?"
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then smacked me hard across the face.
"You're goddamn right," she muttered, stalking toward the bathroom. "And you're never sleeping with me again."
The bathroom door slammed.
Alone again.
I rubbed my stinging cheek and sighed.
Worth it.
→ Epilogue →
Three Months Later
The apartment AC hummed as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. First day at my new job - no more staring at Ernesto's ugly mug in the maintenance hallways.
A knock at the door.
I checked the peephole.
And nearly swallowed my tongue.
May stood there in a tight pink dress, arms crossed, looking pissed.
I opened the door slowly. "Uh. Hey?"
She glared. "You owe me dinner."
"...I do?"
"Correct." She shoved a stack of papers into my chest. Every single one was a Spanish workbook. "And you're going to learn real Spanish. Not whatever that pendejo was speaking."
I blinked. Then grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.
"Si, mi amor."
She rolled her eyes. "Dios mío. That's not even the right context." But she was smiling as she pushed past me into the apartment.
Life was good.
And Miami?
Miami was still very weird.
The humid Miami air clung to my skin as I adjusted to my new life in the city. My one-bedroom apartment was small but cozy, with a view of palm trees swaying outside my window. At 25, I was young, single, and—according to my friends—lucky enough to turn heads. But none of that mattered when I locked eyes with her at a café near Little Havana.
May.
Her name tasted like honey on my tongue. A stunning Cuban woman with curves that defied gravity, dark eyes that smoldered, and a smile that could melt steel. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to ask her out. And when she said yes, my heart nearly exploded.
There was just one problem: my Spanish was nonexistent.
The night before our date, I was pacing my apartment, rehearsing the few phrases I’d Googled—“Hola, guapa. ¿Quieres bailar?”—when the ceiling fan sputtered and died.
Great.
I called maintenance, and within an hour, a gruff, heavyset Mexican man named Ernesto showed up at my door. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and resentment, his white tank top straining over his gut as he grumbled about his wife under his breath.
“Fan’s broken,” he muttered, climbing the ladder with the grace of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
I nodded, distracted, when my phone buzzed.
A text from May.
A picture.
My breath hitched. She’d sent a selfie in the dress she was wearing tomorrow—tight, red, and sinful. My fingers hovered over the screen, my pulse racing, when—
CRASH.
Ernesto lost his balance. The ladder wobbled. His arms flailed.
And then—impact.
Our skulls collided with a sickening crack, and everything went black.
---
I woke up disoriented.
The room was different. The clothes were different. And—wait—why was the calendar three weeks ahead?
Before I could process it, the bedroom door swung open.
May.
She stood there in a sundress so short it was practically a suggestion, her hips swaying as she sauntered toward me. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she purred something in Spanish—words I didn’t understand but felt deep in my gut.
My confusion must’ve been obvious because she laughed, a rich, throaty sound, before dropping to her knees.
And then—
Oh. My. God.
The best. Blowjob. Of my life.
When she finally pulled away, licking her lips, she whispered in perfect English, “Tomorrow, we go meet my parents, okay?” Then she winked and strutted out, leaving me dazed, confused, and very satisfied.
But the moment she left, the door swung open again.
Ernesto.
His eyes locked onto mine, and his face drained of color.
“No… no, no, no,” he gasped before bolting like a man possessed.
May poked her head back in. “Who was that?”
I shrugged, my mind racing.
But I needed answers.
---
I tracked Ernesto down at his shitty apartment complex, cornering him in the dimly lit hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
He looked like a man who’d seen a ghost. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he whispered.
“Wake up?!”He swallowed hard. “When we hit heads… I woke up in your body. My body was just… empty. Like a shell.” His voice dropped. “I saw the text from May. The date. I—I went. I speak Spanish. She loved it. We… we’ve been together since.”
My stomach twisted. “You’ve been what?”
“Fucking her,” he admitted, shame and excitement warring in his eyes. “I’d swap back and forth—your body, mine—so I could escape my wife and still be with her. But now you’re here, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I stared at him, my blood boiling.
This bastard had been living my life.
Touching my woman.
And now?
Now I had a choice to make.
The air between Ernesto and me crackled with tension. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my mind racing with the implications of what he’d just confessed.
He’d been inside my body.
He’d touched May.
He’d lived my life.
A surge of possessive fury burned through me, but beneath it, something else flickered—curiosity.
“So,” I said slowly, stepping closer, “you’re telling me that when we hit heads, you swapped into my body? And you’ve been… switching back and forth?”
Ernesto nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sí. Your body—it’s like a car. I get in, I drive, then I go back to mine when I’m done.”
I scoffed. “And my body just… waits for you?”
“Exactamente.” He shrugged. “When I’m not in it, it’s just… empty. Like a puppet with no strings.”
My jaw tightened. The idea of my body being used—violated—without my consent made my skin crawl. But then, another thought slithered into my mind.
What if I could do the same?
I crossed my arms. “Show me.”
Ernesto blinked. “¿Qué?”
“Show me how it works,” I demanded. “If you can jump into my body, then I should be able to jump into yours.”
His face paled. “No, no, hombre—it’s not that simple—”
“Bullshit.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip iron-tight. “You stole my life. The least you can do is teach me how to do the same.”
For a long moment, Ernesto just stared at me, his dark eyes flickering with fear… and something else. Resignation.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But you’re not gonna like it.”
---
Back in my apartment, Ernesto paced nervously. “It only works when we’re close,” he muttered. “And it hurts.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”
He hesitated, then pointed at the couch. “Sit. And… brace yourself.”
I sat, my heart pounding. Ernesto stood in front of me, his thick fingers flexing like he was preparing for a fight.
Then—
He slammed his forehead into mine.
CRACK.
White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision swam, the room tilting violently—
And then…
Darkness.
---
I woke up with a gasp—but something was wrong.
My hands were thicker, rougher. My gut heavy.
I looked down.
White tank top. Jeans. A gold chain around my neck.
Ernesto’s body.
“Holy shit,” I breathed—but the voice that came out was his. Deep, accented.
Across from me, my body stirred.
Ernesto—now in me—groaned, rubbing his (my?) forehead. Then he looked up, and our eyes met.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.
“See?” he said, flexing my fingers. “Now you know.”
Disgust twisted in my gut—but so did something else. Power.
If he could do it…
So could I.
I stood, testing the weight of Ernesto’s body. It was strange—like wearing a suit two sizes too big. But the strength was undeniable.
And then—
The door opened.
May.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me—or rather, my body—sitting there.
“Hola, papi,” she purred, strutting over to him like I wasn’t even there.
My blood boiled.
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips—his lips—her fingers tangling in my hair.
And I was just… standing there.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
A growl ripped from my throat.
May pulled back, frowning at me. “Ernesto? What’s wrong with you?”
Wrong?
Everything was wrong.
But now…
Now I knew how to fix it.
I lunged.
May screamed as I tackled my own body to the ground, our skulls colliding with another sickening CRACK—
And the world went black again.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was back.
My hands. My body.
And May beneath me, her lips swollen from kissing me—the real me.
Her eyes widened. “James?”
The moment May stepped out of the apartment, the air between Ernesto and me grew thick with tension. I ran a hand through my hair—my hair again—and exhaled sharply.
"Alright," I said, turning to Ernesto, who was still rubbing his temple from the last headbutt. "We need to talk."
He scowled but didn't argue.
"I need you to do something for me," I said, keeping my voice low. "Tonight—May wants me to meet her parents. But I can't speak Spanish, and I don’t want to embarrass her."
Ernesto’s eyebrows shot up. "¿En serio? You want me to go?"
I nodded. "Just for the dinner. You go as me, charm them, then we swap back after."
A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "And what do I get out of it?"
My jaw tightened. "You get to keep using my body whenever you want—within reason. But there’s one condition."
He waited.
"You don’t sleep with May."
Ernesto barked a laugh. "Cabrón, you think I can resist that?" He gestured toward the door where May had just left.
I grabbed his collar, shoving him against the wall. "Yes. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make sure your wife finds out exactly where you’ve been disappearing to."
His smirk faltered.
After a tense silence, he finally relented. "Está bien. Fine. No sex. Just dinner."
I released him, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. "Good. Now get ready. You’ve got a date."
---
The swap was easier this time—just a quick, brutal knock of our foreheads, and suddenly, I was staring at myself again.
Ernesto—now in my body—adjusted my shirt, flashing me a cocky grin.
Ernesto—now wearing my body—with a low, dangerous growl.
“Listen carefully,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into my own chest. “You will be on your best behavior tonight. You will charm her parents. And you will not touch her after.”Ernesto smirked, running my hands down my torso in a way that made my skin crawl. “Relax, güey. I got this.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped. “You think this is some kind of game? You ruin this for me—”
“And what?” He laughed. “You’ll tell her the truth? ‘Oh hey, May, by the way, your novio is really a baldy maintenance man in a stolen body!’” His voice dripped with mocking. “Face it, hermano. You need me.”
I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath.
“One date,” I said through gritted teeth. “Then we swap back. No funny business.”
Ernesto rolled my eyes but nodded. “Sí, sí. No funny business.”---
From the window of my apartment, I watched them leave. May looped her arm through mine, laughing at something he said—something in perfect Spanish, no doubt. The way she looked at him—no, at me—sent a vicious pang of jealousy through my gut.
That should’ve been me walking her to the car.
That smile should’ve been for me.
I clenched the windowsill until my knuckles turned white.
Just get through tonight, I told myself. Then you get your life back.
---
Three hours later, the sound of the front door opening jolted me from my pacing.
“We’re back!” May’s musical voice called.
I rushed into the living room—and froze.
May was pressed against my body—Ernesto—her hips grinding into him as his hands roamed shamelessly over her curves. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her dark eyes hooded with lust.
“Ay, papi,” she purred, biting his—my—ear. “Take me to bed.”
Ernesto smirked—smirked—right at me over her shoulder.
You promised, I mouthed, fury burning in my chest.
His grin widened. Then he hoisted May over his shoulder like a prize, her giggles bouncing off the walls as they disappeared into the bedroom.
A second later, the first moan cut through the air.
Hers.
Then his.
I stood there, shaking.
Traitor. Liar.
I could’ve barged in. I could’ve screamed.
But what would I say?
That’s not me in there!
She’d think I was insane.
So I did the only thing I could.
I sat on the couch.
And I listened.
Every gasp. Every groan. Every filthy, throaty cry May made for him—for my body.
It should’ve been me.
My fists clenched.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, but the sounds—those goddamn sounds—continued to seep through the thin walls. May's breathy moans. The creak of the bedframe. Ernesto's gruff voice, my voice, whispering things in Spanish I couldn't understand but knew were filthy.
I gripped the armrest of the couch, my nails digging into the fabric. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
I wanted to kick down the door. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was sit there—trapped in Ernesto’s body, stuck on the sidelines of my own fucking life.
A particularly loud cry from May sent a jolt of white-hot anger through me. That was supposed to be mine.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stormed out onto the balcony, gulping the humid Miami air like it could cleanse my rage. The city lights blurred in front of me, my thoughts spinning.
How the hell was I going to fix this?
→ I could try to force another swap—but Ernesto was in my body now. Stronger. Younger. If I charged in there and we fought... May would see. She'd think I was attacking her.
→ I could wait. Let him finish. Maybe he'd keep his word and swap back after. Yeah, right.
→ Or… I could take matters into my own hands. Permanently.
The balcony railing groaned as I leaned against it. Below, the pool shimmered under ultraviolet lights. A dark fantasy flickered in my mind—Ernesto, my body, slipping on wet tiles. Hitting his head. Another accident.
Before I could follow that thought further, the bedroom door creaked open.
I turned.
May stood there in the doorway, draped in nothing but one of my old T-shirts—just long enough to tease the bare skin of her thighs. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were red and swollen.
She looked satisfied.
My stomach turned.
"Ernesto?" Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"
Ernesto. The name was a punch to the gut.
"Just... needed some air," I muttered, hating the gravel in his voice.
May bit her lip, glancing back toward the bedroom. "James is, uh... resting." A blush crept up her neck, and I knew exactly what kind of 'rest' he was getting.
I swallowed hard. "You two had a good night?"
She smiled—that smile. The one I'd been dreaming about since the day we met. "The best. His parents loved him. And then..." She trailed off, eyes glazing over with memory. My chest ached.
Before she could say more, my voice called from inside.
"Mi vidaaaaa, where'd you go?"
May grinned. "Gotta go." She turned, then hesitated. "Hey... you okay? You seem... off."
I forced a laugh. "Just tired."
She nodded and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
A second later, laughter spilled out. His.
That was it.
I wasn't playing this game anymore.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found her number—Ernesto's wife.
One ring. Two.
"¿Hola?"
I took a deep breath.
"Señora Rodriguez? You might want to come to my apartment. Your husband is here... and you won't believe what he's been doing with my body."
I hung up before she could reply.
Back inside, the sounds of passion had started up again.
But not for long.
The knock at the door came less than twenty minutes later - hard and impatient. I'd know that knock anywhere.
Marisol Rodriguez.
I rubbed my hands together (Ernesto's thick, calloused hands) and hurried to answer. The moment I opened the door, I was nearly knocked backward by the force of Marisol's fury.
"¿DÓNDE ESTÁ?" she demanded, dark eyes blazing. She was a beautiful woman - all dangerous curves and fire - but right now, she looked ready to kill.
I stepped aside. "Master bedroom."
She stormed past me in a whirlwind of floral perfume and righteous anger, platform sandals slapping against the tile. I followed closely behind, my heart pounding with equal parts guilt and anticipation.
The moans grew louder as we approached.
Marisol froze outside my bedroom door, her face twisting in fury. Without hesitation, she swung the door open with a violent crash.
The sight that greeted us was exactly what I expected. May on her back, legs wrapped around my body, sheets tangled around their waists. They froze mid-thrust, identical looks of horror dawning on their faces.
"MARISOL?!" Ernesto's voice cracked.
May scrambled backwards, clutching the sheets to her chest. "James? What the hell? Who is-?"
Marisol didn't say a word. She just smiled - slow and venomous. Then she reached into her designer purse and pulled out a glass bottle of holy water.
Ernesto's eyes went wide. "No, mujer, wait-"
She uncorked it with her teeth and flung the contents straight at his face.
The effect was instantaneous. Ernesto - in my body - screamed as the water hit his skin and began sizzling. His arms flailed as his back arched unnaturally, my body spasming against the mattress.
May screamed, falling off the bed in her scramble to escape. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
Marisol crossed herself. "Demonio. I knew it wasn't really my husband."
Smoke began rising from my body's pores as Ernesto thrashed, his screams taking on an unnatural, echoing quality.
And then - with one final, guttural wail - he separated.
A translucent, ghostly version of Ernesto was ejected from my body, hovering mid-air before collapsing into a shimmering puddle on the floor that slowly dissolved into nothing.
My body slumped onto the bed, unmoving.
Complete silence.
Then May scrambled to her feet, naked and terrified, grabbing for her clothes. "What the FUCK was that?!"
Marisol calmly recorked her now-empty bottle. "El Diablo takes many forms, mija." She turned to me - still in Ernesto's body - and tilted her head. "Now. About you..."
I held up my hands. "Marisol, I promise, I'm-"
She reached into her purse again.
I dove for my motionless body on the bed just as she flung another spray of holy water.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through my skull as my forehead connected with my body's.
Darkness.
Then - the feeling of fitting again.
I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my body - my real body. Down on the floor, Ernesto groaned, back in his own form.
Marisol grabbed her husband by the ear and yanked him upright. "We're leaving. Now."
As she dragged a groggy Ernesto toward the door, she turned back to me and May with a smirk. "You're welcome."
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence again.
May slowly turned to me, clutching her dress to her chest. "James... what the actual fuck just happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Somehow "my maintenance man possessed my body to date you because he was in a bad marriage and now we might both be cursed" didn't seem like the right answer.
So I went with:
"...Miami is weird?"
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then smacked me hard across the face.
"You're goddamn right," she muttered, stalking toward the bathroom. "And you're never sleeping with me again."
The bathroom door slammed.
Alone again.
I rubbed my stinging cheek and sighed.
Worth it.
→ Epilogue →
Three Months Later
The apartment AC hummed as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. First day at my new job - no more staring at Ernesto's ugly mug in the maintenance hallways.
A knock at the door.
I checked the peephole.
And nearly swallowed my tongue.
May stood there in a tight pink dress, arms crossed, looking pissed.
I opened the door slowly. "Uh. Hey?"
She glared. "You owe me dinner."
"...I do?"
"Correct." She shoved a stack of papers into my chest. Every single one was a Spanish workbook. "And you're going to learn real Spanish. Not whatever that pendejo was speaking."
I blinked. Then grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.
"Si, mi amor."
She rolled her eyes. "Dios mío. That's not even the right context." But she was smiling as she pushed past me into the apartment.
Life was good.
And Miami?
Miami was still very weird.
A man joins a yoga studio and its not exactly what he was expecting...
The moving truck groaned as it rolled down the gravel driveway of Jon’s new home—a small rental house on the edge of Laredo, Texas. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to his skin even as the sun dipped low in the sky. He wiped his forehead and glanced around. Quiet. Empty. Just him, his gym bag, and a whole lot of loneliness.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath.
The first week was brutal. Work was fine—some IT gig at a local firm—but the silence at home was deafening. So, naturally, Jon did what any single guy with no social life would do: he practically lived at the gym.
Iron Haven was the kind of place where beefed-up ranchers and college athletes clashed over bench press real estate, but Jon didn’t care. The grind kept him sane.
And then, on day five, he saw her.
She was mid-rep on the squat rack, legs flexed, her dark ponytail swaying with each controlled descent. Half-Filipina, half-Latina, and all trouble for his concentration. When she stood up, racking the bar with effortless strength, she caught him staring. Instead of scowling, she grinned.
"Could use a spot," she called over.
Jon blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Her name was Mariah. Twenty-four, worked as a physical therapist, and had a laugh that hit like a shot of whiskey—smooth and dangerous. She teased him about his form, he joked about her terrible taste in gym music (seriously, reggaeton mixed with 90s hip-hop?), and just like that, they were friends.
Mariah was the kind of girl who made Jon forget how to breathe. Not because she was flawless—though the way her leggings hugged those curves didn’t hurt—but because she was real. Quick to poke fun, quicker to check in if she sensed something was off.
"Helloooo? Earth to Jon." She waved a hand in front of his face during cooldown stretches.
"Sorry," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoned out."
"Bullshit," she grinned. "You were staring at my ass."
Jon’s face burned. "I was not—"
"—Don’t lie, I saw you." She stretched her arms overhead, flashing a sliver of toned stomach. "It’s cool. I get it. My glutes are legendary."
Jon groaned, but damn if she wasn’t right.
Weeks slipped by. They spotted each other, grabbed post-workout smoothies, and even binged bad action movies sprawled on her couch. Every time she leaned in to steal a fry or playfully shoved him, his pulse spiked. But then she’d mention him.
"Jackson’s flying in next weekend."
Jackson. The long-distance boyfriend. Seattle-based finance guy. Polite, handsome, and—according to Mariah—"super understanding."
Which meant Jon was screwed.
One night, post-deadlifts, Mariah twisted the cap off her water bottle and sighed. "You ever feel like life’s got this weird way of dangling what you want just outta reach?"
Jon swallowed. "Yeah."
She glanced at him, eyes searching. "Jon…"
The air between them thickened. His chest ached.
Then her phone buzzed. She checked it, and just like that, the moment shattered.
"Jackson," she said softly, smiling at the screen.
Jon forced a grin. "Better answer it."
She did. And Jon swallowed his feelings like chalky protein powder—gritty, tasteless, and necessary.
But Texas heat has a way of making fools out of careful men. And Jon was starting to wonder how long he could keep pretending. The weights felt heavier that day.
Not physically—his deadlifts were the same as always—but mentally, his focus was shot. He’d spent the previous night scrolling through Mariah’s Instagram, stalking Jackson’s perfect teeth and vacation pics in Seattle, feeling like an idiot. His grip slipped on the third rep.
Then—pop.
A white-hot bolt of pain ripped through Jon’s lower back. His vision blurred. The barbell hit the floor with a thunderous crash, and suddenly, he was on his knees, gasping.
"Jon?!"
Mariah was at his side in seconds, hands on his shoulders before he could even blink away the sweat burning his eyes. Her touch sent a different kind of electric current through him—not pain, just warmth.
"I’m fine," he lied through clenched teeth.
She gave him that don’t-bullshit-me look—the one that made men stronger than him crumble. "You’re not fine. You just folded like a lawn chair."
The doctor’s verdict later that evening was grim: herniated disc. No lifting. No heavy exertion. For at least three months.
"Try yoga," the doc suggested, scribbling on his clipboard.
Yoga.
Jon wanted to scream.
Day 4 of No Gym
Jon lasted four days before he caved.
The second he walked into Iron Haven, he spotted her—mid-conversation with some beefy guy in a tank top, laughing at something he said. His gut twisted.
Then she saw him. Her smile vanished.
"Jon." She marched over, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"
"Just... needed to move." He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Light stuff. Maybe just the bike or—"
"No." She poked his chest. "Doctor’s orders. You leave. Now."
The guy she’d been talking to raised an eyebrow.
Embarrassment burned Jon’s neck. "Mariah, c’mon—"
"—I’ll drive you home." She snatched his gym bag off his shoulder.
Jon groaned. "You’re relentless."
"And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you wreck yourself."
That should’ve been sweet. But all it did was remind Jon that she cared—just not the way he wanted her to.
Week 3: The Slow Decline
No gym meant no Mariah.
Sure, she texted. Sent dumb memes. Even dropped by once with soup, which was so disgustingly thoughtful it made Jon’s chest hurt. But without the routine of spotting each other, their interactions dwindled.
Meanwhile, Jackson was in town.
Her Instagram was a barrage of them—brunch, some hipster brewery, his arm slung around her waist in that I-own-this-space way guys like him had.
Jon should’ve stopped looking.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he lay on his couch, ice pack on his back, binge-watching terrible TV and wondering if Mariah ever thought about him when she wasn’t obligated to.
Pathetic. Three months.
Three goddamn months.
Jon stood outside the only yoga studio in Laredo—"Sunrise Yoga & Wellness"—staring at the lavender-scented hellscape beyond the glass door. Inside, a handful of women in stretchy outfits moved in slow, graceful unison. This was a mistake.
His fingers twitched at his sides. His back still ached, despite the epidural shot last week. And his doctor’s smug "told you so" echoed in his skull.
"Try yoga, Jon."
Bullshit.
The studio door chimed as Jon pushed it open.
Instantly, every head turned.
A woman near the front—mid-50s, sipping from a stainless-steel water bottle—gave him a slow once-over. Jon stood there awkwardly, feeling like a linebacker who’d wandered into a ballet rehearsal.
"First time?" a voice chirped.
A petite blonde instructor bounced over, her neon yoga pants practically glowing under the studio lights.
"Yeah," Jon muttered, rubbing his neck. "My doctor said—"
"—Ahhh, the doctor recommended crowd." She grinned. "I get it. You’re skeptical. You think yoga’s just stretching and incense. But trust me—" She poked his bicep. "—you’ll be humiliated by how hard this is."
Great fucking pep talk.
"I'm Marisa, by the way! Class starts in five!" she announced to the room before leaving Jon to grab a mat.
Jon shuffled toward the back corner—least visibility possible—and tried to just hide and observe.
The scent of lavender and jasmine settled over the studio like a warm, cloying blanket. Jon stood frozen at the edge of the room, gripping his rented yoga mat like it might sprout legs and run for the door.
The class was packed—mostly women. Not just any women. Beautiful ones. Laughing, stretching, their toned limbs effortlessly folding into pretzel-like shapes that made his lower back ache in sympathy. At the center of it all was an older woman—maybe late fifties—with silver-streaked dark hair and an easy confidence. She held court among a circle of girls wrapped in expensive athleisure, all giggling at something she said with the familiarity of people who had known each other for years.
Then, in the far corner, her.
A lone figure sitting cross-legged on her mat, deep brown hair spilling over one shoulder. She was younger than the others—early twenties, maybe. Her eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on the ground in front of her. She had that fresh-faced, untouched beauty—soft lips, faint freckles dusting her cheeks—but her posture screamed stay away.
Jon hesitated for half a second before shuffling over and dropping his mat beside hers.
"Hey," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "First time?"
She flinched—actually flinched—as if she hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge her. Then she nodded, barely lifting her chin.
"Yeah. You?"
"My doctor forced me into this," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "Said I had to 'embrace the healing process' or some shit."
A flicker of a smile. So tiny he almost missed it.
"Me too," she said. "Car accident. My physical therapist recommended it."
"Jon." He held out a hand.
She blinked at it, then placed her hand in his—delicate fingers, cold to the touch.
"Elena," she whispered.
For a second, it felt nice. Just two lost people in a room full of strangers, clinging to the briefest moment of connection.
Then Elena pulled her hand back too quickly, her gaze darting past him. Her expression flattened, her walls slamming up again.
Jon frowned. "Uh—"
"Class is starting," she muttered, turning her body away from him.
And just like that—dismissed.
Confused, he glanced around the room and froze.
The older woman was staring. And so were the others. All of them. Unmistakably. Eyes locked onto Elena with unsettling intensity.
Jon’s skin prickled.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone! Let’s begin!"
But no one moved.
For one bizarre, suspended moment, the air in the room felt wrong.
Then Elena exhaled sharply.
And the older woman smiled.
As they began, it dawned on Jon that he was terrible at yoga.
Like, tragically bad.
Downward Dog? More like Collapsed Mutt. Warrior Pose? More like "Wobbling Toddler." Every time he attempted to mirror the instructor’s graceful movements, his body protested with crackling joints and awkward tremors.
At one point, he caught sight of Elena—effortlessly balanced in a perfect Tree Pose, her slender arms lifted toward the ceiling—and nearly toppled over in distraction. That’s when he noticed the odd little detail: a paper wristband looped around her wrist, stark white with faint black lettering.
Even stranger? The only other people wearing them: the older silver-haired woman and Marisa, the instructor.
Jon waited until they transitioned into Child’s Pose (which, mercifully, mostly involved kneeling and not moving) before leaning toward Elena.
"Hey," he whispered. "Where’d you get the wristband?"
Elena blinked at him, then at her own wrist. "I don't know," she murmured, voice barely audible. "They just gave it to me after I checked in. Did you get one?"
Before Jon could answer—
"Shhhh."
Marisa shot them a pointed look from the front of the room. Elena immediately folded in on herself again, and Jon bit back a frustrated sigh. So much for conversation.
--
Then came meditation.
Lights dimmed, soft music hummed through the speakers, and Jon lay flat on his back, surrendering to the plush mat beneath him. The room sank into silence.
Around him, the others drifted effortlessly into serenity—breaths slow, bodies slack. Even Jon, despite himself, began to relax.
Then—
A scent.
Sweet, floral, intoxicating. Not overpowering—just… there. Like someone had spritzed the air with perfume, subtle but all-encompassing. Jon inhaled deeply, and suddenly, his limbs felt lighter. His thoughts mellowed. A slow, warm buzz settled over him, as if he’d sipped a shot of something strong.
What the hell…?
Then—commotion.
A hushed rustling, a sharp inhale followed by an audible "No."
Jon cracked open an eye.
The older woman sat bolt upright, fists clenched in her lap. Her face was twisted—not in pain, but in... frustration? Anger?
Marisa swooped in instantly, murmuring something soothing before gently guiding her out of the room. The woman didn’t resist, but as the door shut behind them, the air in the studio shifted.
Jon exhaled. Probably nothing.
He closed his eyes again.
And promptly dozed off.
--
When he stirred, the lights were up, and the music had faded. Around him, people stretched, sighed, smiled—blissed-out expressions plastered on every face.
Including Elena’s.
Except now, Elena wasn’t avoiding eye contact.
She wasn’t shy.She was beaming.
Jon barely had time to process before she bounced up to him, rolling up her mat with effortless fluidity.
"Hey," she chirped, "what was your name again?"
"Uh—Jon?"
She laughed—bright, loud. "Right! Sorry!" Then she stuck out her hand. "I’m Elena."
But the way she said it was… off. Over-enunciated. "I’M EL-EEEE-NA." As if she was announcing it to the room.
And then—she winked.
Jon stared.
Five minutes ago, this girl wouldn’t look at him. Now she was grinning, tossing her hair, radiating energy like she’d chugged three espressos.
"Nice to officially meet you," she said—flirty, playful—before sashaying toward the door. "See you next week!"
Then she was gone.
Jon stood frozen, mat half-rolled, brain working overtime.
--
The parking lot was empty, save for one figure.
The older woman slumped on a bench near the exit, face in her hands. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders.
Jon hesitated.
Then he climbed into his car.
And drove away.
---
A week passed before Jon mustered the willpower to return to Sunrise Yoga & Wellness.
This time, the door gave a cheerful ding as he walked in, and Marisa—grinning from ear to ear—welcomed him like an old friend.
"Jon! You actually came back!" she teased, clasping her hands together. "I was sure we scared you off for good."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, doc’s orders."
"Uh-huh, sure." She winked. "Whatever gets you here, handsome."
Jon felt his face warm. The attention was nice—too nice—and for a second, he almost forgot why he’d been weirded out last time.
Then he saw her.
Elena.
She wasn’t hiding in the corner this time. She was thriving.
Surrounded by that same circle of beautiful women, she laughed loudly at some unheard joke, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She looked different. Confident. Radiant. Entirely at home.
And then—her eyes flicked up.
She saw him.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips before she excused herself and sauntered toward him.
"Jon," she purred, stopping just a little too close, one hand resting lightly on his bicep. "You made it."
He stiffened—partly from surprise, partly because she was touching him like they’d known each other for years.
"Uh, yeah," he managed. "How’s… uh…?" He swallowed. "How’s the physical therapy going?"
A flicker of confusion passed over her face.
Then—just like that—it smoothed into recognition.
"Right! The accident." She laughed, brushing it off. "It’s going great. Thanks for asking."
Jon frowned. Last week, she’d acted like stepping out of her shell was impossible. Now she was making him the nervous one?
Before he could press, another woman walked in—young, gorgeous, glancing around the room with the cautious energy of a first-timer.
Elena immediately lit up.
"Ooooh, fresh meat," she whispered playfully—then shot Jon an apologetic smirk. "Duty calls. Catch you later?"
And just like that, she glided toward the newcomer, all sunshine and charm.
Jon watched as Elena greeted the woman—a hand on her arm, a warm laugh, a little tilt of her head that said you’re safe here.
Then… she slid a white wristband onto the woman’s wrist.
Jon stiffened.
The same exact kind he’d never been given.
He scanned the room.
Only three people had them.
—The new girl.
—Marisa.
—And some unfamiliar older lady, chatting animatedly with the same group of young, polished women as last time.
What the hell is going on?
Jon rolled out his mat, his skin prickling with unease as Elena’s laughter—bright, confident, uncharacteristic—filled the room.
Something was wrong.
And he was starting to think it wasn’t just his imagination.
The class unfolded like a broken-record replay of last week.
Jon struggled through the poses, his muscles protesting as he tried—and failed—to bend his body into shapes it clearly wasn’t meant to hold. Downward Dog still felt less like yoga and more like an uncoordinated stretch before faceplanting. Elena, meanwhile, had become disturbingly good overnight—her movements fluid, effortless, like she’d been doing this for years.
Which was impossible. She was new. Just like me.
Then came the wristbands.
Jon stole glances whenever he could, watching as the new girl—Emma, was it?—kept touching hers, running her fingers over the black lettering Jon still couldn’t read.
Elena noticed him looking and grinned. "whatcha lookin at hon?" she teased, swaying close during a water break.
"Those wristbands. You said last week they gave you one when you walked in. And then you have that new girl Emma one today. What are they for?" Jon hedged.
"Mmmmm, darling those are just for new people. You don't need one." she giggled, popping her hip. Jon wanted to investigate further so he asked "but I was new last week and I never got one. Why is that?" She looked nervous for about a nano second and then replied with "well you're not new anymore sweetheart! So I wouldn't worry your handsome head about it now." she said winking and then she was off again, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
——
Meditation.
Lights dimmed. Music hummed. The same cloying floral scent from last time curled through the air—thick, honey-sweet, with a weight to it that made Jon’s limbs feel like they were floating.
The high crept in slow, a warm, dizzying sensation that smoothed the edges of his thoughts.
Then—
A rustle. A sharp inhale.
Jon slitted his eyes open just in time to see the older woman—the new one this time—jerk upright, her breath ragged.
"What the fu-," she hissed under her breath. Looking at her hands with confusion and touching her face.
Marisa was on her instantly, murmuring soft words, gently steering her toward the door.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
Just like last week.
He wanted to follow. To ask questions. But his body ignored him, melting further into the mat, the scent wrapping around him like a drug.
His eyes closed.
——
Aftermath.
The lights came up. People stretched, sighed, exchanged soft smiles. Jon blinked back to reality, disoriented, an odd languidness clinging to his limbs.
Beside him, the new girl—Emma—sat up, her expression transformed.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
She turned to Elena, beaming. "I get what you meant now," she whispered, touching her wristband.
"Told you," Elena smirked back at her new friend.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Across the room, Marisa stretched her arms overhead, sighing in contentment. "Another amazing session, everyone! See you next week!"
Jon gathered his mat, mind racing.
Same scents. Same meditative shift. Same wristbands.
And now—same people?
He glanced over his shoulder just as Elena caught his eye. She winked, slow, deliberate.
"I think the gals are getting together this weekend for drinks, Jon," she sang. "You should join us, right EMMA?"
Emma was looking down at herself and not paying attention, but then looked back up and looked Jon up and down nodding playfully.
Marisa echoed the invitation for drinks Friday night and Jon politely agreed.
He barely made it to his car before he noticed.
The older woman sat slumped against the wheel of her parked SUV.
Crying.
---
Later that week, Jon found himself harassed and eventually coerced into going out with his new yoga "friends".
The Lone Star Saloon was the kind of small-town bar where the neon sign buzzed, the jukebox played a mix of classic country and top-40 hits no one asked for, and everybody knew everybody—or at least pretended to.
Jon pushed through the scarred wooden door, the chatter of voices and twang of steel guitar hitting him in a wall of sound. He spotted them immediately—the Sunrise Yoga crew clustered around a long table in the back, drinks gleaming under the dim amber lights.
Marisa waved him over, her smile luminous. "Jon! You came!"
He forced a grin, sliding into the booth beside her. "Wouldn’t miss it."
The table was packed—Elena, Emma, the other regulars from class—all polished and glowing like they’d stepped out of some sleek magazine ad for "Small-Town Goddesses." But what caught Jon’s attention were the men—because nearly a third of the girls weren’t alone.
They were with older men.
Much older.
Silver-haired gentlemen in pressed button-downs laughing intimately with girls young enough to be their daughters. One man—late 50s, tan, with the crisp confidence of money—had his hand possessively on the thigh of a yoga regular Jon recognized from class. Another, balding and thick around the middle, leaned in to whisper something that made his dark-haired companion giggle into her cocktail.
Jon frowned, swirling his beer.
A sharp elbow nudged his ribs.
"See something you like?" Marisa murmured, leaning in so close her perfume—something expensive, fruity—tickled his nose.
"Just… surprised," Jon admitted quietly, gesturing subtly toward one of the older couples. "Didn’t realize this was a date night."
Marisa’s laugh was bright, deliberate. "Oh, sweetie, age is just a number. Love doesn’t clock out at forty."
Jon wanted to press—but Elena suddenly appeared at his other side, draping herself halfway over his shoulders. Her touch was warm, her voice whiskey-smooth.
"Don’t worry, Jon," she teased, her breath sweet with gin. "Plenty of us aren’t taken yet."
Emma giggled across the table, twirling her straw. "Speak for yourself."
Elena gasped—mock-offended—and launched into some dramatic retort Jon barely heard.
His attention snagged on the older couple again.
The way the girl—Tiffany?—traced her fingers over her boyfriend’s wrist.
The same white wristband peeked out from under her sleeve.
Just like the others.
Jon’s pulse hitched.
Before he could react, Marisa clinked her glass against his bottle, pulling his focus back.
"To new friends," she toasted, smiling.
Around the table, glasses lifted.
Jon hesitated—then drank.
The beer tasted bitter.
Or maybe that was just the dread creeping up his throat.
The night should’ve been weird.
Elena was trashed—giggling so hard she almost knocked over Emma’s cosmo, her voice sharp and loud in that way drunk people never realize is obnoxious. Emma wasn’t far behind, slurring compliments like "Jon, you’re actually, like, soo funny when you’re not just, like… working out or whatever."
But despite the strangeness hanging over the yoga crew, Jon was surprised to find himself… having fun.
Mostly thanks to Marisa.
She was effortlessly engaging—switching between sarcastic wit and warm wisdom like it was nothing. Every joke landed, every story pulled him in. She teased him about his stiff posture ("Even in a bar booth, you sit like you’re about to deadlift it") but listened intently when he told her about his job, his move to Texas, even his stupid back injury.
At one point, after refilling his beer without him noticing, she smirked and said, "You know, I was worried you’d be the broody, silent type forever. But you’re kinda charming when you’re not scowling."
Jon snorted. "Thanks, I think."
"Oh, it’s a compliment," she laughed, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder. "Most guys in this town peak in high school and never recover."
And yeah—she was older. Easily mid-40s. Not someone he’d look at twice in that way. But damn if she wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.
Then the door swung open.
And all the warmth in Jon’s chest evaporated.
Mariah.
Dressed in jeans that hugged her just right and a soft sweater that made her skin glow under the bar lights. And beside her—Jackson. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, the kind of guy who looked like he spent more time on his skincare routine than Jon did on meal prep.
Jon’s grip tightened around his bottle.
He shouldn’t care.
But fuck.
Mariah’s eyes swept the room—paused on him—widened slightly. Then she smiled, small but genuine, and lifted her fingers in a little wave.
Jon managed a stiff nod.
Elena, drunk and oblivious, followed his gaze and gasped. "Oh! Omigod, it’s—" She shot up, wobbling. "—Time for shots! Right, Jon? Right?"
Marisa’s gaze flicked between Jon and Mariah, sharp with understanding.
"Well well," she murmured, lips curving. "This night just got interesting."
And Jon—
Jon really wished he wasn’t trapped in this booth.
Marisa leaned in, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? Nobody important?" she echoed, watching as Mariah and her boyfriend wound their way toward them through the crowd.
Jon stiffened. "I mean—we’re just friends."
"Mhmm," Marisa hummed, smirking. "The way you just said that tells me everything."
Before Jon could protest, Mariah was there—smiling warmly, her dark eyes bright.
"Jon! Hey!" she said, reaching out to briefly squeeze his shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through him. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
Jon forced an easy smile—or what he hoped looked like one. "Yeah, uh. Yoga class outing." He gestured vaguely at the table.
Mariah’s boyfriend, Jackson, extended a hand with perfect polite-guy charm. "Hey man, nice to finally meet you. Maria’s told me a lot about you."
Maria.
Not Mariah.
The nickname grated like nails on a chalkboard.
Jon shook his hand—too tight, probably—and muttered, "All good things, I hope."
Jackson laughed, oblivious. "Of course. Says you spot her on squats."
Mariah rolled her eyes playfully. "Jon’s saved my life multiple times from being squashed by a barbell."
Jon swallowed hard.
She was glowing. Happy. Relaxed. Everything about her body language screamed comfortable with this guy.
It stung.
The small talk lasted another painful minute before Mariah excused them both. "We’re meeting some of Jackson’s coworkers, but it was nice seeing you!" She hesitated, then added, "You should come to the gym next week. I’ve missed my lifting buddy."
Missed.
The word dangled between them like bait.
"Yeah," Jon rasped. "Maybe."
And just like that, she was gone again—Jackson’s hand sliding naturally to the small of her back as they walked away.
Jon exhaled slowly.
Marisa didn’t wait.
"Ohhhh honey," she drawled, swirling her drink. "That was painful to watch."
Jon groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
"That wasn’t just nobody important." She nudged him. "Tell me the truth—you’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?"
He debated lying.
But the alcohol loosened his tongue.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And it’s fucking stupid."
Marisa arched a brow, sipping her whiskey. "Why?"
Jon huffed a bitter laugh. "Because she’s with him! Because I wait all week just to spot her on bench press like some lovesick puppy. Because—" He cut himself off, frustrated.
Marisa studied him for a long moment. Then, softly: "She doesn’t look at you the way she looks at him?"
Jon froze.
"It's Bullshit," he said automatically.
But Marisa didn’t push. Just shrugged and leaned back, her expression knowing.
"You know, Jon," she said simply. "You should invite her—to Yoga. You never know...your luck might turn around."
Jon didn’t answer.
Just swallowed the rest of his drink whole.
---
The following Monday, the studio was quieter than usual when Jon stepped in—soft murmurs, hushed laughter, the faint sound of bare feet on mats.
And then he saw her.
Mariah.
Standing near the front of the room in black leggings and a fitted tank, talking animatedly with Marisa.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
What the hell is she doing here?
As if sensing his stare, Mariah turned. Her face lit up, and she gave him a little wave. "Hey! Surprise!"
Jon forced his legs to move forward. "You’re—uh—doing yoga now?"
Before she could answer, Marisa slipped an arm around Mariah’s shoulders, grinning. "I invited her after you left the bar. Everyone needs a little spiritual detox, right?" She winked—definitely not subtle.
Mariah laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, don’t look so nervous. I won’t completely embarrass myself."
Her ease helped. A little. Jon exhaled, rubbing his neck. "Just—don’t expect me to be any help. I still can’t touch my toes."
Mariah smirked. "For a guy who lifts like you do, that’s kinda pathetic."
It was such a Mariah thing to say—playful, teasing, effortlessly slipping back into the rhythm of their gym banter—that Jon’s chest loosened.
But then—
His gaze snagged on her wrist.
A thin white band.
The wristband.
His blood went cold.
He looked around the room, counting.
Marisa had one.
No one else did.
Not Elena. Not Emma. No one but…
Mariah.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Marisa invited her. Marisa gave her the wristband.
Was this planned?
Before he could think too much about it, the music shifted—soothing chimes, low and melodic.
Marisa clapped her hands. "Alright, lovelies! Let’s begin."
Mariah shot Jon one last grin before unfolding her mat beside him.
Jon unrolled his own, hands just a little unsteady.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
As it happens...Mariah was bad at yoga as well—but in the most endearing way possible.
She was flexible—no shock given how nimble she was with weights—but graceful? Not even close. Every transition was a half-second too slow, her balance tipping like a newborn deer on ice. At one point, halfway through Warrior Three, she wobbled so violently she windmilled her arms and nearly face-planted into Jon’s chest.
He caught her reflexively, grinning. "Maybe ease into it, Rocky."
Mariah clutched his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. "I swear this pose didn’t look this hard from the sidelines."
Jon couldn’t help it—he laughed. Really laughed. For the first time all night, the weird tension evaporated. This was just Mariah: clumsy, determined, utterly herself.
The rest of the class passed smoothly—until meditation.
As usual, the lights dimmed, slow music humming through the speakers. Marisa stretched her arms theatrically. "Alright, everyone, settle in. Deep breaths. I’ll be back in a few."
Jon frowned as she slipped out the door. Strange—she never left during meditation.
But before he could dwell on it, the room sank into silence. Ten minutes passed in a drowsy haze until—
Lights flicked on.
Elena stood at the front, smiling. "Hey guys, Marisa isn’t feeling great. She asked me to finish up. So… namaste, or whatever."
Jon sat up, blinking.
Beside him, Mariah was staring at her hands—turning them over, flexing her fingers. Almost like she was… checking them.
She caught him looking and immediately smirked. "Like what you see?"
Jon flushed. "Just—uh—making sure you didn’t pull anything."
Mariah rolled her eyes. "Relax, tough guy. I’m kidding." But her tone was different—sharper, smoother. Off.
The class dispersed quickly after that. Jon lingered, watching as Mariah gathered her things with uncharacteristic imprecision—dropping her keys, fumbling her water bottle.
Outside, the night air was thick with humidity.
"Walk me to my car?" Mariah asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Sure."
They crossed the darkened parking lot in silence. Mariah’s steps were confident now—almost swaggering—where earlier she’d been all stiff concentration.
Then—she stopped at a silver Honda.
Jon hesitated. "...That’s not your car."
Mariah froze.
For half a second, her face went utterly blank. Then she laughed, loud and careless. "Whoops! Wrong rental." She spun and marched three cars down to her actual Toyota.
Jon’s stomach knotted.
Rental? Mariah had owned that car for years.
She tossed her bag inside, flashing him a smirk. "See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Jon lied.
She drove off.
Jon stared after her, pulse humming uneasily.
Same voice. Same face.
But was that Mariah?
---
The next morning, Jon spotted her the second he walked into Iron Haven.
"Mariah".
Perched on the edge of a bench, stretching in sleek black yoga pants and a cropped athletic top—clothes he'd never seen her wear to lift before.
She caught his eye immediately, grinning as she unfolded herself in a fluid, feline motion. "There you are," she said, voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
Jon frowned. Her cadence was different—smoother, almost calculated. Even the way she stood seemed unnaturally poised, like someone who'd studied confidence rather than lived it.
"...You're in yoga gear," he blurted.
She glanced down, running her hands over her hips as if appreciating the fabric. "Mm. Felt like a change. Cute, right?"
Jon swallowed hard. Every alarm in his head was screaming.
Then came the real red flags.
She couldn't remember their usual push-pull split. She kept asking about muscle groups like the terms were foreign. And when she loaded up the bar for squats—
"Mariah, your knees—they're caving in. Big time," Jon warned, hovering behind her.
She just giggled. "Oops. Guess I need you to really spot me today."
Her wink was deliberate, her hips shifting invitingly as she started her descent with terrifying instability. Jon had to brace both hands on her waist to keep her from wobbling sideways—too close, too intimate.
When they switched to bench press, she abandoned form entirely, arching in a way that was less about power and more about giving him an obstructed view down her tank top.
Jon's face burned.
Then—
"So, big news," she announced between sets, twirling a lock of hair. "Me and Jackson? Done." She popped the p playfully. "Thought you'd be happy to hear that."
Jon froze mid-reach for his water bottle.
"You... broke up?"
"Mhmm." She stretched her arms overhead, watching his reaction like a cat eyeing a trapped mouse. "Long-distance sucked anyway. But now I'm single... lonely... could really use a friend tonight." Her foot nudged his calf. "Maybe you?"
Jon felt like he'd been dunked in ice water.
This wasn't Mariah.
The real Mariah would never ditch form like this. Would never flirt this blatantly. And if—some impossible fantasy—she'd actually broken up with Jackson, she'd be hurting. Drinking sad-girl wine, venting to friends, not propositioning him mid-workout.
Yet here this not-Mariah stood, smirking, waiting.
Jon forced a stiff smile. "Yeah. Maybe."
She beamed, like he'd confirmed some secret she already knew. "Great. Come by my place at 8. Don't bring beer—I've got better drinks."
She sauntered away to the water fountain, her stride too smooth, too practiced.
Jon stared after her.
He had no intention of showing up.
But he was going to figure out what the hell was happening.
---
Jon stood on Mariah’s porch at 8:03 PM, fist raised to knock, heart hammering like he was about to step into a trap.
Because he was.
But he had to know.
The door swung open before his knuckles even touched wood.
Mariah leaned against the frame, bathed in warm lamplight—barefoot, in a silky slip of a dress that clung to every curve. A far cry from her usual gym shorts and oversized tees.
"You came," she purred, stepping aside to let him in.
Jon forced himself to move. "Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it."
The apartment smelled like vanilla and red wine. Candles flickered on the coffee table beside an already half-empty bottle.
Mariah snatched it up, pouring him a glass without asking. "Relax," she laughed, pressing it into his hand. "You look like you’re about to bolt."
Jon took a sip. "Just… surprised, I guess."
"About?" She flopped onto the couch, patting the space beside her.
"This. You. Us hanging out like…" He gestured vaguely at the wine, the dim lighting, her.
Mariah’s smile turned sly. "Like a date?"
Jon choked on his drink.
She just giggled, leaning in to swipe a thumb over the corner of his lips, catching the spilled wine. Then—slow, deliberate—she sucked it off her own finger, watching him.
Jon’s pulse roared in his ears.
This was wrong.
The real Mariah would’ve teased him, sure. Would’ve maybe flirted after one too many drinks. But not like this. Not with this calculated, predatory heat.
Yet here she was, closing the distance between them, her knee brushing his.
"You’ve always been so careful with me," she murmured, fingers tracing idle circles on his thigh. "But you don’t have to be. Not anymore."
Jon’s grip tightened on his glass. "Mariah—"
"Shhh." Her hand slid up to cradle his jaw. "Just kiss me."
And then she did.
Her mouth was warm, insistent—wrong. The way she moved, the taste of her, the pressure—it was like kissing a stranger wearing Mariah’s skin. Little did he know how right he was.
Jon pulled back, breath ragged.
Mariah just smirked, licking her lips. "See? Not so hard."
Mariah didn’t just kiss him—she consumed him.
One second, Jon was reeling from the wrongness of it all—the next, her hands were fisted in his shirt, yanking him forward until his back hit the couch. Her teeth scraped his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan, and suddenly any semblance of hesitation shattered.
Her tongue swiped against his, tasting of rich red wine and something else—something darkly intoxicating. She climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, her silky dress riding up as she straddled him.
“You’ve wanted this,” she breathed, grinding down against the painful hardness in his jeans. “For so long.”
Jon’s hands found her hips on instinct, gripping tight as she rocked against him. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve asked what the hell was happening.
But then her mouth was on his neck, nipping, sucking, marking him like she was staking a claim—and logic dissolved.
She pulled back just enough to smirk at the mess she’d made of him.
“Pathetic,” she teased, dragging her nails down his chest. “All this time pretending you didn’t want me.”
Before he could respond, she slid off his lap and onto her knees between his legs.
Her fingers made quick work of his belt, his zipper, his straining boxers. When she freed him, hot and heavy in her grip, she licked her lips—slow, deliberate, savoring the moment.
Then, without warning, she took him deep.
Jon’s back arched off the couch, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.
Fuck.
Her mouth was perfect—hot, wet, relentless. No hesitation, no teasing buildup. Just ruthless skill. Her tongue swirled around the head, her lips tightened on the upstroke, her nails dug into his thighs when he tried to buck deeper. “Don’t,” she warned, smirking up at him before swallowing him down again.
Jon’s vision blurred.
She was too good. Knew exactly how to hollow her cheeks, when to hum, when to drag her teeth just enough to make him see stars. It wasn’t just the best head of his life—it was like she’d mapped out every desperate fantasy he’d ever had and cranked it to eleven.
When he growled, “I’m close,” she didn’t pull away.
She laughed around him—laughed—and doubled down, taking him to the hilt.
Jon came with a curse, fingers tangled in her hair as she milked him through it, swallowing every drop.
He barely had time to recover before she climbed back into his lap, yanking her dress down over her shoulders in one motion. No bra. Just smooth, golden skin and perfect curves.
Jon crushed her against him, hands roaming, mouth claiming hers again—but she was the one in control.
She pushed him back onto the couch, guiding him inside her with a slow, torturous roll of her hips. He hissed at the slick, blazing heat of her.
Then she moved.
No sweet, tentative rhythm. Just pure, unrelenting dominance. She rode him like she was punishing him for every second he’d spent pining—hard, fast, her nails scoring down his chest as she chased her own pleasure.
“Look at you,” she taunted, grinding down, clenching around him. “Mr. Self-Control.”
Jon didn’t last. Couldn’t. Not with her above him—eyes dark, body arching, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.
He flipped her beneath him in one rough motion, driving into her deep enough to wrench a sharp cry from her lips.
“Jon—!”
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Their coupling turned savage—skin slapping, teeth clashing, her thighs trembling around his waist as she clawed at his back. When she came, it was with a scream, her body locking around him like a vice.
Jon followed, burying himself inside her with a groan.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths.
Then she laughed.
Low. Triumphant.
Jon tensed.
Because that laugh—
It didn’t belong to Mariah.
Jon froze as Mariah's laugh - too deep, too smug, too knowing - echoed through the bedroom. That wasn't Mariah's giggle. That wasn't Mariah's playful tone.
He recognized it only a nanosecond later...That was Marisa.
"Enjoy yourself, big boy?" the woman in Mariah's body purred, stretching like a satisfied cat as she rolled away from him. When she turned back, there was something terrifyingly wrong about the way she moved - the familiar curves now inhabited by something alien. "I knew you'd be fun."
Jon sat up sharply, the post-coital haze evaporating. "What the fuck are you?"
Mariah's lips - no, not Mariah's lips - curved into a smile Jon had only ever seen on one person before.
"Smart boy," Marisa chuckled from Mariah's mouth, running Mariah's hands down Mariah's body in a way that made Jon's stomach lurch. "I was wondering when you'd notice."
Jon scrambled off the bed, grabbing for his pants. "Where's Mariah? What did you do to her?"
Marisa sighed dramatically, rolling Mariah's eyes - but the gesture was all wrong, like watching a bad actor play a part. "God, fine. Since you're so clever..." She sat up, tossing Mariah's hair. "I suppose you've earned the whole sordid story."
She spread Mariah's hands like she was giving a presentation.
"Astral projection. Soul transference. A little aromatherapy magic in the yoga studio. Basically..." She smirked. "I help older women trade up. Give some lonely grandma a chance to be young and beautiful again by hopping into a fresh new body. All it takes is a willing participant on each side - well, 'willing' in the loosest sense."
Jon's blood went cold as he remembered the wristbands. The older woman crying in the parking lot. The way Elena had changed so suddenly.
"You give them the bands," he breathed.
"Bingo." Marisa clapped Mariah's hands. "The wristband marks the donors. The incense during meditation loosens their soul's grip on their body just enough for me to... help them let go." She smiled. "Most of them don't even realize what's happening until it's too late."
Jon felt sick. "And the older women? You just... convince them to give up their bodies?"
Marisa shrugged. "They want to. At first they're confused, sure. But then they look in the mirror and realize what they've gained. A tight little body, smooth skin, all the time in the world..." She ran Mariah's hands over Mariah's breasts. "Would you give that up?"
Jon's stomach churned. This was worse than any nightmare his mind could come up with.
Jon felt dizzy, the room spinning as the horrific truth sank in. The yoga studio wasn't just a business - it was a hunting ground. And Mariah had walked right into the trap.
"I knew you had a thing for her," Marisa cooed, crawling toward him on the bed with Mariah's body. "So when I saw my chance to finally upgrade from my 46-year-old vessel... well, who better than your beautiful gym crush?" She laughed - that same rich, throaty laugh Jon now realized had never belonged to Mariah at all.
Jon backed away, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. "I'm calling the cops. This stops now."
Marisa rolled Mariah's eyes. "And say what? That your crush's body got possessed by a yoga instructor?" She smirked. "They'll lock you in the psych ward before you finish speaking."
Panic clawed at Jon's throat. She was right. No one would believe this. But he couldn't just walk away - not while the real Mariah was...
"Where is she?" Jon demanded. "Where's Mariah's soul right now?"
Marisa stretched luxuriously. "Oh, she's fine. Currently occupying my old body locked in a dark room back at the studio and tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth so nobody has to hear her scream. A little trade we made during meditation today." Her smile turned cruel. "Though I did warn her - if she tries telling anyone, no one will believe the crazy old lady claiming to be a 24-year-old."
Jon's mind raced. The crying woman in the parking lot. The way Mariah had stumbled getting into the wrong car. The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity.
"So all of then are actually old women...," he realized. "Elena, Emma, now Mariah...all those girls."
"Very good!" Marisa applauded. "Honestly, Mariah put up more fight than most. But they all give in eventually." She sauntered closer. "Now, you've got two choices. Either accept this sexy new version of your gym buddy..." She trailed Mariah's fingers down his chest. "Or go charging off to 'save the day' and look like a goddamn fool."
Jon's fists clenched. He knew Marisa was right about one thing - no cop would ever believe his story. He was out of options.
The moving truck groaned as it rolled down the gravel driveway of Jon’s new home—a small rental house on the edge of Laredo, Texas. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to his skin even as the sun dipped low in the sky. He wiped his forehead and glanced around. Quiet. Empty. Just him, his gym bag, and a whole lot of loneliness.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath.
The first week was brutal. Work was fine—some IT gig at a local firm—but the silence at home was deafening. So, naturally, Jon did what any single guy with no social life would do: he practically lived at the gym.
Iron Haven was the kind of place where beefed-up ranchers and college athletes clashed over bench press real estate, but Jon didn’t care. The grind kept him sane.
And then, on day five, he saw her.
She was mid-rep on the squat rack, legs flexed, her dark ponytail swaying with each controlled descent. Half-Filipina, half-Latina, and all trouble for his concentration. When she stood up, racking the bar with effortless strength, she caught him staring. Instead of scowling, she grinned.
"Could use a spot," she called over.
Jon blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Her name was Mariah. Twenty-four, worked as a physical therapist, and had a laugh that hit like a shot of whiskey—smooth and dangerous. She teased him about his form, he joked about her terrible taste in gym music (seriously, reggaeton mixed with 90s hip-hop?), and just like that, they were friends.
Mariah was the kind of girl who made Jon forget how to breathe. Not because she was flawless—though the way her leggings hugged those curves didn’t hurt—but because she was real. Quick to poke fun, quicker to check in if she sensed something was off.
"Helloooo? Earth to Jon." She waved a hand in front of his face during cooldown stretches.
"Sorry," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoned out."
"Bullshit," she grinned. "You were staring at my ass."
Jon’s face burned. "I was not—"
"—Don’t lie, I saw you." She stretched her arms overhead, flashing a sliver of toned stomach. "It’s cool. I get it. My glutes are legendary."
Jon groaned, but damn if she wasn’t right.
Weeks slipped by. They spotted each other, grabbed post-workout smoothies, and even binged bad action movies sprawled on her couch. Every time she leaned in to steal a fry or playfully shoved him, his pulse spiked. But then she’d mention him.
"Jackson’s flying in next weekend."
Jackson. The long-distance boyfriend. Seattle-based finance guy. Polite, handsome, and—according to Mariah—"super understanding."
Which meant Jon was screwed.
One night, post-deadlifts, Mariah twisted the cap off her water bottle and sighed. "You ever feel like life’s got this weird way of dangling what you want just outta reach?"
Jon swallowed. "Yeah."
She glanced at him, eyes searching. "Jon…"
The air between them thickened. His chest ached.
Then her phone buzzed. She checked it, and just like that, the moment shattered.
"Jackson," she said softly, smiling at the screen.
Jon forced a grin. "Better answer it."
She did. And Jon swallowed his feelings like chalky protein powder—gritty, tasteless, and necessary.
But Texas heat has a way of making fools out of careful men. And Jon was starting to wonder how long he could keep pretending. The weights felt heavier that day.
Not physically—his deadlifts were the same as always—but mentally, his focus was shot. He’d spent the previous night scrolling through Mariah’s Instagram, stalking Jackson’s perfect teeth and vacation pics in Seattle, feeling like an idiot. His grip slipped on the third rep.
Then—pop.
A white-hot bolt of pain ripped through Jon’s lower back. His vision blurred. The barbell hit the floor with a thunderous crash, and suddenly, he was on his knees, gasping.
"Jon?!"
Mariah was at his side in seconds, hands on his shoulders before he could even blink away the sweat burning his eyes. Her touch sent a different kind of electric current through him—not pain, just warmth.
"I’m fine," he lied through clenched teeth.
She gave him that don’t-bullshit-me look—the one that made men stronger than him crumble. "You’re not fine. You just folded like a lawn chair."
The doctor’s verdict later that evening was grim: herniated disc. No lifting. No heavy exertion. For at least three months.
"Try yoga," the doc suggested, scribbling on his clipboard.
Yoga.
Jon wanted to scream.
Day 4 of No Gym
Jon lasted four days before he caved.
The second he walked into Iron Haven, he spotted her—mid-conversation with some beefy guy in a tank top, laughing at something he said. His gut twisted.
Then she saw him. Her smile vanished.
"Jon." She marched over, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"
"Just... needed to move." He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Light stuff. Maybe just the bike or—"
"No." She poked his chest. "Doctor’s orders. You leave. Now."
The guy she’d been talking to raised an eyebrow.
Embarrassment burned Jon’s neck. "Mariah, c’mon—"
"—I’ll drive you home." She snatched his gym bag off his shoulder.
Jon groaned. "You’re relentless."
"And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you wreck yourself."
That should’ve been sweet. But all it did was remind Jon that she cared—just not the way he wanted her to.
Week 3: The Slow Decline
No gym meant no Mariah.
Sure, she texted. Sent dumb memes. Even dropped by once with soup, which was so disgustingly thoughtful it made Jon’s chest hurt. But without the routine of spotting each other, their interactions dwindled.
Meanwhile, Jackson was in town.
Her Instagram was a barrage of them—brunch, some hipster brewery, his arm slung around her waist in that I-own-this-space way guys like him had.
Jon should’ve stopped looking.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he lay on his couch, ice pack on his back, binge-watching terrible TV and wondering if Mariah ever thought about him when she wasn’t obligated to.
Pathetic. Three months.
Three goddamn months.
Jon stood outside the only yoga studio in Laredo—"Sunrise Yoga & Wellness"—staring at the lavender-scented hellscape beyond the glass door. Inside, a handful of women in stretchy outfits moved in slow, graceful unison. This was a mistake.
His fingers twitched at his sides. His back still ached, despite the epidural shot last week. And his doctor’s smug "told you so" echoed in his skull.
"Try yoga, Jon."
Bullshit.
The studio door chimed as Jon pushed it open.
Instantly, every head turned.
A woman near the front—mid-50s, sipping from a stainless-steel water bottle—gave him a slow once-over. Jon stood there awkwardly, feeling like a linebacker who’d wandered into a ballet rehearsal.
"First time?" a voice chirped.
A petite blonde instructor bounced over, her neon yoga pants practically glowing under the studio lights.
"Yeah," Jon muttered, rubbing his neck. "My doctor said—"
"—Ahhh, the doctor recommended crowd." She grinned. "I get it. You’re skeptical. You think yoga’s just stretching and incense. But trust me—" She poked his bicep. "—you’ll be humiliated by how hard this is."
Great fucking pep talk.
"I'm Marisa, by the way! Class starts in five!" she announced to the room before leaving Jon to grab a mat.
Jon shuffled toward the back corner—least visibility possible—and tried to just hide and observe.
The scent of lavender and jasmine settled over the studio like a warm, cloying blanket. Jon stood frozen at the edge of the room, gripping his rented yoga mat like it might sprout legs and run for the door.
The class was packed—mostly women. Not just any women. Beautiful ones. Laughing, stretching, their toned limbs effortlessly folding into pretzel-like shapes that made his lower back ache in sympathy. At the center of it all was an older woman—maybe late fifties—with silver-streaked dark hair and an easy confidence. She held court among a circle of girls wrapped in expensive athleisure, all giggling at something she said with the familiarity of people who had known each other for years.
Then, in the far corner, her.
A lone figure sitting cross-legged on her mat, deep brown hair spilling over one shoulder. She was younger than the others—early twenties, maybe. Her eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on the ground in front of her. She had that fresh-faced, untouched beauty—soft lips, faint freckles dusting her cheeks—but her posture screamed stay away.
Jon hesitated for half a second before shuffling over and dropping his mat beside hers.
"Hey," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "First time?"
She flinched—actually flinched—as if she hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge her. Then she nodded, barely lifting her chin.
"Yeah. You?"
"My doctor forced me into this," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "Said I had to 'embrace the healing process' or some shit."
A flicker of a smile. So tiny he almost missed it.
"Me too," she said. "Car accident. My physical therapist recommended it."
"Jon." He held out a hand.
She blinked at it, then placed her hand in his—delicate fingers, cold to the touch.
"Elena," she whispered.
For a second, it felt nice. Just two lost people in a room full of strangers, clinging to the briefest moment of connection.
Then Elena pulled her hand back too quickly, her gaze darting past him. Her expression flattened, her walls slamming up again.
Jon frowned. "Uh—"
"Class is starting," she muttered, turning her body away from him.
And just like that—dismissed.
Confused, he glanced around the room and froze.
The older woman was staring. And so were the others. All of them. Unmistakably. Eyes locked onto Elena with unsettling intensity.
Jon’s skin prickled.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone! Let’s begin!"
But no one moved.
For one bizarre, suspended moment, the air in the room felt wrong.
Then Elena exhaled sharply.
And the older woman smiled.
As they began, it dawned on Jon that he was terrible at yoga.
Like, tragically bad.
Downward Dog? More like Collapsed Mutt. Warrior Pose? More like "Wobbling Toddler." Every time he attempted to mirror the instructor’s graceful movements, his body protested with crackling joints and awkward tremors.
At one point, he caught sight of Elena—effortlessly balanced in a perfect Tree Pose, her slender arms lifted toward the ceiling—and nearly toppled over in distraction. That’s when he noticed the odd little detail: a paper wristband looped around her wrist, stark white with faint black lettering.
Even stranger? The only other people wearing them: the older silver-haired woman and Marisa, the instructor.
Jon waited until they transitioned into Child’s Pose (which, mercifully, mostly involved kneeling and not moving) before leaning toward Elena.
"Hey," he whispered. "Where’d you get the wristband?"
Elena blinked at him, then at her own wrist. "I don't know," she murmured, voice barely audible. "They just gave it to me after I checked in. Did you get one?"
Before Jon could answer—
"Shhhh."
Marisa shot them a pointed look from the front of the room. Elena immediately folded in on herself again, and Jon bit back a frustrated sigh. So much for conversation.
--
Then came meditation.
Lights dimmed, soft music hummed through the speakers, and Jon lay flat on his back, surrendering to the plush mat beneath him. The room sank into silence.
Around him, the others drifted effortlessly into serenity—breaths slow, bodies slack. Even Jon, despite himself, began to relax.
Then—
A scent.
Sweet, floral, intoxicating. Not overpowering—just… there. Like someone had spritzed the air with perfume, subtle but all-encompassing. Jon inhaled deeply, and suddenly, his limbs felt lighter. His thoughts mellowed. A slow, warm buzz settled over him, as if he’d sipped a shot of something strong.
What the hell…?
Then—commotion.
A hushed rustling, a sharp inhale followed by an audible "No."
Jon cracked open an eye.
The older woman sat bolt upright, fists clenched in her lap. Her face was twisted—not in pain, but in... frustration? Anger?
Marisa swooped in instantly, murmuring something soothing before gently guiding her out of the room. The woman didn’t resist, but as the door shut behind them, the air in the studio shifted.
Jon exhaled. Probably nothing.
He closed his eyes again.
And promptly dozed off.
--
When he stirred, the lights were up, and the music had faded. Around him, people stretched, sighed, smiled—blissed-out expressions plastered on every face.
Including Elena’s.
Except now, Elena wasn’t avoiding eye contact.
She wasn’t shy.She was beaming.
Jon barely had time to process before she bounced up to him, rolling up her mat with effortless fluidity.
"Hey," she chirped, "what was your name again?"
"Uh—Jon?"
She laughed—bright, loud. "Right! Sorry!" Then she stuck out her hand. "I’m Elena."
But the way she said it was… off. Over-enunciated. "I’M EL-EEEE-NA." As if she was announcing it to the room.
And then—she winked.
Jon stared.
Five minutes ago, this girl wouldn’t look at him. Now she was grinning, tossing her hair, radiating energy like she’d chugged three espressos.
"Nice to officially meet you," she said—flirty, playful—before sashaying toward the door. "See you next week!"
Then she was gone.
Jon stood frozen, mat half-rolled, brain working overtime.
--
The parking lot was empty, save for one figure.
The older woman slumped on a bench near the exit, face in her hands. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders.
Jon hesitated.
Then he climbed into his car.
And drove away.
---
A week passed before Jon mustered the willpower to return to Sunrise Yoga & Wellness.
This time, the door gave a cheerful ding as he walked in, and Marisa—grinning from ear to ear—welcomed him like an old friend.
"Jon! You actually came back!" she teased, clasping her hands together. "I was sure we scared you off for good."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, doc’s orders."
"Uh-huh, sure." She winked. "Whatever gets you here, handsome."
Jon felt his face warm. The attention was nice—too nice—and for a second, he almost forgot why he’d been weirded out last time.
Then he saw her.
Elena.
She wasn’t hiding in the corner this time. She was thriving.
Surrounded by that same circle of beautiful women, she laughed loudly at some unheard joke, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She looked different. Confident. Radiant. Entirely at home.
And then—her eyes flicked up.
She saw him.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips before she excused herself and sauntered toward him.
"Jon," she purred, stopping just a little too close, one hand resting lightly on his bicep. "You made it."
He stiffened—partly from surprise, partly because she was touching him like they’d known each other for years.
"Uh, yeah," he managed. "How’s… uh…?" He swallowed. "How’s the physical therapy going?"
A flicker of confusion passed over her face.
Then—just like that—it smoothed into recognition.
"Right! The accident." She laughed, brushing it off. "It’s going great. Thanks for asking."
Jon frowned. Last week, she’d acted like stepping out of her shell was impossible. Now she was making him the nervous one?
Before he could press, another woman walked in—young, gorgeous, glancing around the room with the cautious energy of a first-timer.
Elena immediately lit up.
"Ooooh, fresh meat," she whispered playfully—then shot Jon an apologetic smirk. "Duty calls. Catch you later?"
And just like that, she glided toward the newcomer, all sunshine and charm.
Jon watched as Elena greeted the woman—a hand on her arm, a warm laugh, a little tilt of her head that said you’re safe here.
Then… she slid a white wristband onto the woman’s wrist.
Jon stiffened.
The same exact kind he’d never been given.
He scanned the room.
Only three people had them.
—The new girl.
—Marisa.
—And some unfamiliar older lady, chatting animatedly with the same group of young, polished women as last time.
What the hell is going on?
Jon rolled out his mat, his skin prickling with unease as Elena’s laughter—bright, confident, uncharacteristic—filled the room.
Something was wrong.
And he was starting to think it wasn’t just his imagination.
The class unfolded like a broken-record replay of last week.
Jon struggled through the poses, his muscles protesting as he tried—and failed—to bend his body into shapes it clearly wasn’t meant to hold. Downward Dog still felt less like yoga and more like an uncoordinated stretch before faceplanting. Elena, meanwhile, had become disturbingly good overnight—her movements fluid, effortless, like she’d been doing this for years.
Which was impossible. She was new. Just like me.
Then came the wristbands.
Jon stole glances whenever he could, watching as the new girl—Emma, was it?—kept touching hers, running her fingers over the black lettering Jon still couldn’t read.
Elena noticed him looking and grinned. "whatcha lookin at hon?" she teased, swaying close during a water break.
"Those wristbands. You said last week they gave you one when you walked in. And then you have that new girl Emma one today. What are they for?" Jon hedged.
"Mmmmm, darling those are just for new people. You don't need one." she giggled, popping her hip. Jon wanted to investigate further so he asked "but I was new last week and I never got one. Why is that?" She looked nervous for about a nano second and then replied with "well you're not new anymore sweetheart! So I wouldn't worry your handsome head about it now." she said winking and then she was off again, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
——
Meditation.
Lights dimmed. Music hummed. The same cloying floral scent from last time curled through the air—thick, honey-sweet, with a weight to it that made Jon’s limbs feel like they were floating.
The high crept in slow, a warm, dizzying sensation that smoothed the edges of his thoughts.
Then—
A rustle. A sharp inhale.
Jon slitted his eyes open just in time to see the older woman—the new one this time—jerk upright, her breath ragged.
"What the fu-," she hissed under her breath. Looking at her hands with confusion and touching her face.
Marisa was on her instantly, murmuring soft words, gently steering her toward the door.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
Just like last week.
He wanted to follow. To ask questions. But his body ignored him, melting further into the mat, the scent wrapping around him like a drug.
His eyes closed.
——
Aftermath.
The lights came up. People stretched, sighed, exchanged soft smiles. Jon blinked back to reality, disoriented, an odd languidness clinging to his limbs.
Beside him, the new girl—Emma—sat up, her expression transformed.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
She turned to Elena, beaming. "I get what you meant now," she whispered, touching her wristband.
"Told you," Elena smirked back at her new friend.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Across the room, Marisa stretched her arms overhead, sighing in contentment. "Another amazing session, everyone! See you next week!"
Jon gathered his mat, mind racing.
Same scents. Same meditative shift. Same wristbands.
And now—same people?
He glanced over his shoulder just as Elena caught his eye. She winked, slow, deliberate.
"I think the gals are getting together this weekend for drinks, Jon," she sang. "You should join us, right EMMA?"
Emma was looking down at herself and not paying attention, but then looked back up and looked Jon up and down nodding playfully.
Marisa echoed the invitation for drinks Friday night and Jon politely agreed.
He barely made it to his car before he noticed.
The older woman sat slumped against the wheel of her parked SUV.
Crying.
---
Later that week, Jon found himself harassed and eventually coerced into going out with his new yoga "friends".
The Lone Star Saloon was the kind of small-town bar where the neon sign buzzed, the jukebox played a mix of classic country and top-40 hits no one asked for, and everybody knew everybody—or at least pretended to.
Jon pushed through the scarred wooden door, the chatter of voices and twang of steel guitar hitting him in a wall of sound. He spotted them immediately—the Sunrise Yoga crew clustered around a long table in the back, drinks gleaming under the dim amber lights.
Marisa waved him over, her smile luminous. "Jon! You came!"
He forced a grin, sliding into the booth beside her. "Wouldn’t miss it."
The table was packed—Elena, Emma, the other regulars from class—all polished and glowing like they’d stepped out of some sleek magazine ad for "Small-Town Goddesses." But what caught Jon’s attention were the men—because nearly a third of the girls weren’t alone.
They were with older men.
Much older.
Silver-haired gentlemen in pressed button-downs laughing intimately with girls young enough to be their daughters. One man—late 50s, tan, with the crisp confidence of money—had his hand possessively on the thigh of a yoga regular Jon recognized from class. Another, balding and thick around the middle, leaned in to whisper something that made his dark-haired companion giggle into her cocktail.
Jon frowned, swirling his beer.
A sharp elbow nudged his ribs.
"See something you like?" Marisa murmured, leaning in so close her perfume—something expensive, fruity—tickled his nose.
"Just… surprised," Jon admitted quietly, gesturing subtly toward one of the older couples. "Didn’t realize this was a date night."
Marisa’s laugh was bright, deliberate. "Oh, sweetie, age is just a number. Love doesn’t clock out at forty."
Jon wanted to press—but Elena suddenly appeared at his other side, draping herself halfway over his shoulders. Her touch was warm, her voice whiskey-smooth.
"Don’t worry, Jon," she teased, her breath sweet with gin. "Plenty of us aren’t taken yet."
Emma giggled across the table, twirling her straw. "Speak for yourself."
Elena gasped—mock-offended—and launched into some dramatic retort Jon barely heard.
His attention snagged on the older couple again.
The way the girl—Tiffany?—traced her fingers over her boyfriend’s wrist.
The same white wristband peeked out from under her sleeve.
Just like the others.
Jon’s pulse hitched.
Before he could react, Marisa clinked her glass against his bottle, pulling his focus back.
"To new friends," she toasted, smiling.
Around the table, glasses lifted.
Jon hesitated—then drank.
The beer tasted bitter.
Or maybe that was just the dread creeping up his throat.
The night should’ve been weird.
Elena was trashed—giggling so hard she almost knocked over Emma’s cosmo, her voice sharp and loud in that way drunk people never realize is obnoxious. Emma wasn’t far behind, slurring compliments like "Jon, you’re actually, like, soo funny when you’re not just, like… working out or whatever."
But despite the strangeness hanging over the yoga crew, Jon was surprised to find himself… having fun.
Mostly thanks to Marisa.
She was effortlessly engaging—switching between sarcastic wit and warm wisdom like it was nothing. Every joke landed, every story pulled him in. She teased him about his stiff posture ("Even in a bar booth, you sit like you’re about to deadlift it") but listened intently when he told her about his job, his move to Texas, even his stupid back injury.
At one point, after refilling his beer without him noticing, she smirked and said, "You know, I was worried you’d be the broody, silent type forever. But you’re kinda charming when you’re not scowling."
Jon snorted. "Thanks, I think."
"Oh, it’s a compliment," she laughed, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder. "Most guys in this town peak in high school and never recover."
And yeah—she was older. Easily mid-40s. Not someone he’d look at twice in that way. But damn if she wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.
Then the door swung open.
And all the warmth in Jon’s chest evaporated.
Mariah.
Dressed in jeans that hugged her just right and a soft sweater that made her skin glow under the bar lights. And beside her—Jackson. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, the kind of guy who looked like he spent more time on his skincare routine than Jon did on meal prep.
Jon’s grip tightened around his bottle.
He shouldn’t care.
But fuck.
Mariah’s eyes swept the room—paused on him—widened slightly. Then she smiled, small but genuine, and lifted her fingers in a little wave.
Jon managed a stiff nod.
Elena, drunk and oblivious, followed his gaze and gasped. "Oh! Omigod, it’s—" She shot up, wobbling. "—Time for shots! Right, Jon? Right?"
Marisa’s gaze flicked between Jon and Mariah, sharp with understanding.
"Well well," she murmured, lips curving. "This night just got interesting."
And Jon—
Jon really wished he wasn’t trapped in this booth.
Marisa leaned in, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? Nobody important?" she echoed, watching as Mariah and her boyfriend wound their way toward them through the crowd.
Jon stiffened. "I mean—we’re just friends."
"Mhmm," Marisa hummed, smirking. "The way you just said that tells me everything."
Before Jon could protest, Mariah was there—smiling warmly, her dark eyes bright.
"Jon! Hey!" she said, reaching out to briefly squeeze his shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through him. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
Jon forced an easy smile—or what he hoped looked like one. "Yeah, uh. Yoga class outing." He gestured vaguely at the table.
Mariah’s boyfriend, Jackson, extended a hand with perfect polite-guy charm. "Hey man, nice to finally meet you. Maria’s told me a lot about you."
Maria.
Not Mariah.
The nickname grated like nails on a chalkboard.
Jon shook his hand—too tight, probably—and muttered, "All good things, I hope."
Jackson laughed, oblivious. "Of course. Says you spot her on squats."
Mariah rolled her eyes playfully. "Jon’s saved my life multiple times from being squashed by a barbell."
Jon swallowed hard.
She was glowing. Happy. Relaxed. Everything about her body language screamed comfortable with this guy.
It stung.
The small talk lasted another painful minute before Mariah excused them both. "We’re meeting some of Jackson’s coworkers, but it was nice seeing you!" She hesitated, then added, "You should come to the gym next week. I’ve missed my lifting buddy."
Missed.
The word dangled between them like bait.
"Yeah," Jon rasped. "Maybe."
And just like that, she was gone again—Jackson’s hand sliding naturally to the small of her back as they walked away.
Jon exhaled slowly.
Marisa didn’t wait.
"Ohhhh honey," she drawled, swirling her drink. "That was painful to watch."
Jon groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
"That wasn’t just nobody important." She nudged him. "Tell me the truth—you’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?"
He debated lying.
But the alcohol loosened his tongue.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And it’s fucking stupid."
Marisa arched a brow, sipping her whiskey. "Why?"
Jon huffed a bitter laugh. "Because she’s with him! Because I wait all week just to spot her on bench press like some lovesick puppy. Because—" He cut himself off, frustrated.
Marisa studied him for a long moment. Then, softly: "She doesn’t look at you the way she looks at him?"
Jon froze.
"It's Bullshit," he said automatically.
But Marisa didn’t push. Just shrugged and leaned back, her expression knowing.
"You know, Jon," she said simply. "You should invite her—to Yoga. You never know...your luck might turn around."
Jon didn’t answer.
Just swallowed the rest of his drink whole.
---
The following Monday, the studio was quieter than usual when Jon stepped in—soft murmurs, hushed laughter, the faint sound of bare feet on mats.
And then he saw her.
Mariah.
Standing near the front of the room in black leggings and a fitted tank, talking animatedly with Marisa.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
What the hell is she doing here?
As if sensing his stare, Mariah turned. Her face lit up, and she gave him a little wave. "Hey! Surprise!"
Jon forced his legs to move forward. "You’re—uh—doing yoga now?"
Before she could answer, Marisa slipped an arm around Mariah’s shoulders, grinning. "I invited her after you left the bar. Everyone needs a little spiritual detox, right?" She winked—definitely not subtle.
Mariah laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, don’t look so nervous. I won’t completely embarrass myself."
Her ease helped. A little. Jon exhaled, rubbing his neck. "Just—don’t expect me to be any help. I still can’t touch my toes."
Mariah smirked. "For a guy who lifts like you do, that’s kinda pathetic."
It was such a Mariah thing to say—playful, teasing, effortlessly slipping back into the rhythm of their gym banter—that Jon’s chest loosened.
But then—
His gaze snagged on her wrist.
A thin white band.
The wristband.
His blood went cold.
He looked around the room, counting.
Marisa had one.
No one else did.
Not Elena. Not Emma. No one but…
Mariah.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Marisa invited her. Marisa gave her the wristband.
Was this planned?
Before he could think too much about it, the music shifted—soothing chimes, low and melodic.
Marisa clapped her hands. "Alright, lovelies! Let’s begin."
Mariah shot Jon one last grin before unfolding her mat beside him.
Jon unrolled his own, hands just a little unsteady.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
As it happens...Mariah was bad at yoga as well—but in the most endearing way possible.
She was flexible—no shock given how nimble she was with weights—but graceful? Not even close. Every transition was a half-second too slow, her balance tipping like a newborn deer on ice. At one point, halfway through Warrior Three, she wobbled so violently she windmilled her arms and nearly face-planted into Jon’s chest.
He caught her reflexively, grinning. "Maybe ease into it, Rocky."
Mariah clutched his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. "I swear this pose didn’t look this hard from the sidelines."
Jon couldn’t help it—he laughed. Really laughed. For the first time all night, the weird tension evaporated. This was just Mariah: clumsy, determined, utterly herself.
The rest of the class passed smoothly—until meditation.
As usual, the lights dimmed, slow music humming through the speakers. Marisa stretched her arms theatrically. "Alright, everyone, settle in. Deep breaths. I’ll be back in a few."
Jon frowned as she slipped out the door. Strange—she never left during meditation.
But before he could dwell on it, the room sank into silence. Ten minutes passed in a drowsy haze until—
Lights flicked on.
Elena stood at the front, smiling. "Hey guys, Marisa isn’t feeling great. She asked me to finish up. So… namaste, or whatever."
Jon sat up, blinking.
Beside him, Mariah was staring at her hands—turning them over, flexing her fingers. Almost like she was… checking them.
She caught him looking and immediately smirked. "Like what you see?"
Jon flushed. "Just—uh—making sure you didn’t pull anything."
Mariah rolled her eyes. "Relax, tough guy. I’m kidding." But her tone was different—sharper, smoother. Off.
The class dispersed quickly after that. Jon lingered, watching as Mariah gathered her things with uncharacteristic imprecision—dropping her keys, fumbling her water bottle.
Outside, the night air was thick with humidity.
"Walk me to my car?" Mariah asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Sure."
They crossed the darkened parking lot in silence. Mariah’s steps were confident now—almost swaggering—where earlier she’d been all stiff concentration.
Then—she stopped at a silver Honda.
Jon hesitated. "...That’s not your car."
Mariah froze.
For half a second, her face went utterly blank. Then she laughed, loud and careless. "Whoops! Wrong rental." She spun and marched three cars down to her actual Toyota.
Jon’s stomach knotted.
Rental? Mariah had owned that car for years.
She tossed her bag inside, flashing him a smirk. "See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Jon lied.
She drove off.
Jon stared after her, pulse humming uneasily.
Same voice. Same face.
But was that Mariah?
---
The next morning, Jon spotted her the second he walked into Iron Haven.
"Mariah".
Perched on the edge of a bench, stretching in sleek black yoga pants and a cropped athletic top—clothes he'd never seen her wear to lift before.
She caught his eye immediately, grinning as she unfolded herself in a fluid, feline motion. "There you are," she said, voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
Jon frowned. Her cadence was different—smoother, almost calculated. Even the way she stood seemed unnaturally poised, like someone who'd studied confidence rather than lived it.
"...You're in yoga gear," he blurted.
She glanced down, running her hands over her hips as if appreciating the fabric. "Mm. Felt like a change. Cute, right?"
Jon swallowed hard. Every alarm in his head was screaming.
Then came the real red flags.
She couldn't remember their usual push-pull split. She kept asking about muscle groups like the terms were foreign. And when she loaded up the bar for squats—
"Mariah, your knees—they're caving in. Big time," Jon warned, hovering behind her.
She just giggled. "Oops. Guess I need you to really spot me today."
Her wink was deliberate, her hips shifting invitingly as she started her descent with terrifying instability. Jon had to brace both hands on her waist to keep her from wobbling sideways—too close, too intimate.
When they switched to bench press, she abandoned form entirely, arching in a way that was less about power and more about giving him an obstructed view down her tank top.
Jon's face burned.
Then—
"So, big news," she announced between sets, twirling a lock of hair. "Me and Jackson? Done." She popped the p playfully. "Thought you'd be happy to hear that."
Jon froze mid-reach for his water bottle.
"You... broke up?"
"Mhmm." She stretched her arms overhead, watching his reaction like a cat eyeing a trapped mouse. "Long-distance sucked anyway. But now I'm single... lonely... could really use a friend tonight." Her foot nudged his calf. "Maybe you?"
Jon felt like he'd been dunked in ice water.
This wasn't Mariah.
The real Mariah would never ditch form like this. Would never flirt this blatantly. And if—some impossible fantasy—she'd actually broken up with Jackson, she'd be hurting. Drinking sad-girl wine, venting to friends, not propositioning him mid-workout.
Yet here this not-Mariah stood, smirking, waiting.
Jon forced a stiff smile. "Yeah. Maybe."
She beamed, like he'd confirmed some secret she already knew. "Great. Come by my place at 8. Don't bring beer—I've got better drinks."
She sauntered away to the water fountain, her stride too smooth, too practiced.
Jon stared after her.
He had no intention of showing up.
But he was going to figure out what the hell was happening.
---
Jon stood on Mariah’s porch at 8:03 PM, fist raised to knock, heart hammering like he was about to step into a trap.
Because he was.
But he had to know.
The door swung open before his knuckles even touched wood.
Mariah leaned against the frame, bathed in warm lamplight—barefoot, in a silky slip of a dress that clung to every curve. A far cry from her usual gym shorts and oversized tees.
"You came," she purred, stepping aside to let him in.
Jon forced himself to move. "Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it."
The apartment smelled like vanilla and red wine. Candles flickered on the coffee table beside an already half-empty bottle.
Mariah snatched it up, pouring him a glass without asking. "Relax," she laughed, pressing it into his hand. "You look like you’re about to bolt."
Jon took a sip. "Just… surprised, I guess."
"About?" She flopped onto the couch, patting the space beside her.
"This. You. Us hanging out like…" He gestured vaguely at the wine, the dim lighting, her.
Mariah’s smile turned sly. "Like a date?"
Jon choked on his drink.
She just giggled, leaning in to swipe a thumb over the corner of his lips, catching the spilled wine. Then—slow, deliberate—she sucked it off her own finger, watching him.
Jon’s pulse roared in his ears.
This was wrong.
The real Mariah would’ve teased him, sure. Would’ve maybe flirted after one too many drinks. But not like this. Not with this calculated, predatory heat.
Yet here she was, closing the distance between them, her knee brushing his.
"You’ve always been so careful with me," she murmured, fingers tracing idle circles on his thigh. "But you don’t have to be. Not anymore."
Jon’s grip tightened on his glass. "Mariah—"
"Shhh." Her hand slid up to cradle his jaw. "Just kiss me."
And then she did.
Her mouth was warm, insistent—wrong. The way she moved, the taste of her, the pressure—it was like kissing a stranger wearing Mariah’s skin. Little did he know how right he was.
Jon pulled back, breath ragged.
Mariah just smirked, licking her lips. "See? Not so hard."
Mariah didn’t just kiss him—she consumed him.
One second, Jon was reeling from the wrongness of it all—the next, her hands were fisted in his shirt, yanking him forward until his back hit the couch. Her teeth scraped his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan, and suddenly any semblance of hesitation shattered.
Her tongue swiped against his, tasting of rich red wine and something else—something darkly intoxicating. She climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, her silky dress riding up as she straddled him.
“You’ve wanted this,” she breathed, grinding down against the painful hardness in his jeans. “For so long.”
Jon’s hands found her hips on instinct, gripping tight as she rocked against him. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve asked what the hell was happening.
But then her mouth was on his neck, nipping, sucking, marking him like she was staking a claim—and logic dissolved.
She pulled back just enough to smirk at the mess she’d made of him.
“Pathetic,” she teased, dragging her nails down his chest. “All this time pretending you didn’t want me.”
Before he could respond, she slid off his lap and onto her knees between his legs.
Her fingers made quick work of his belt, his zipper, his straining boxers. When she freed him, hot and heavy in her grip, she licked her lips—slow, deliberate, savoring the moment.
Then, without warning, she took him deep.
Jon’s back arched off the couch, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.
Fuck.
Her mouth was perfect—hot, wet, relentless. No hesitation, no teasing buildup. Just ruthless skill. Her tongue swirled around the head, her lips tightened on the upstroke, her nails dug into his thighs when he tried to buck deeper. “Don’t,” she warned, smirking up at him before swallowing him down again.
Jon’s vision blurred.
She was too good. Knew exactly how to hollow her cheeks, when to hum, when to drag her teeth just enough to make him see stars. It wasn’t just the best head of his life—it was like she’d mapped out every desperate fantasy he’d ever had and cranked it to eleven.
When he growled, “I’m close,” she didn’t pull away.
She laughed around him—laughed—and doubled down, taking him to the hilt.
Jon came with a curse, fingers tangled in her hair as she milked him through it, swallowing every drop.
He barely had time to recover before she climbed back into his lap, yanking her dress down over her shoulders in one motion. No bra. Just smooth, golden skin and perfect curves.
Jon crushed her against him, hands roaming, mouth claiming hers again—but she was the one in control.
She pushed him back onto the couch, guiding him inside her with a slow, torturous roll of her hips. He hissed at the slick, blazing heat of her.
Then she moved.
No sweet, tentative rhythm. Just pure, unrelenting dominance. She rode him like she was punishing him for every second he’d spent pining—hard, fast, her nails scoring down his chest as she chased her own pleasure.
“Look at you,” she taunted, grinding down, clenching around him. “Mr. Self-Control.”
Jon didn’t last. Couldn’t. Not with her above him—eyes dark, body arching, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.
He flipped her beneath him in one rough motion, driving into her deep enough to wrench a sharp cry from her lips.
“Jon—!”
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Their coupling turned savage—skin slapping, teeth clashing, her thighs trembling around his waist as she clawed at his back. When she came, it was with a scream, her body locking around him like a vice.
Jon followed, burying himself inside her with a groan.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths.
Then she laughed.
Low. Triumphant.
Jon tensed.
Because that laugh—
It didn’t belong to Mariah.
Jon froze as Mariah's laugh - too deep, too smug, too knowing - echoed through the bedroom. That wasn't Mariah's giggle. That wasn't Mariah's playful tone.
He recognized it only a nanosecond later...That was Marisa.
"Enjoy yourself, big boy?" the woman in Mariah's body purred, stretching like a satisfied cat as she rolled away from him. When she turned back, there was something terrifyingly wrong about the way she moved - the familiar curves now inhabited by something alien. "I knew you'd be fun."
Jon sat up sharply, the post-coital haze evaporating. "What the fuck are you?"
Mariah's lips - no, not Mariah's lips - curved into a smile Jon had only ever seen on one person before.
"Smart boy," Marisa chuckled from Mariah's mouth, running Mariah's hands down Mariah's body in a way that made Jon's stomach lurch. "I was wondering when you'd notice."
Jon scrambled off the bed, grabbing for his pants. "Where's Mariah? What did you do to her?"
Marisa sighed dramatically, rolling Mariah's eyes - but the gesture was all wrong, like watching a bad actor play a part. "God, fine. Since you're so clever..." She sat up, tossing Mariah's hair. "I suppose you've earned the whole sordid story."
She spread Mariah's hands like she was giving a presentation.
"Astral projection. Soul transference. A little aromatherapy magic in the yoga studio. Basically..." She smirked. "I help older women trade up. Give some lonely grandma a chance to be young and beautiful again by hopping into a fresh new body. All it takes is a willing participant on each side - well, 'willing' in the loosest sense."
Jon's blood went cold as he remembered the wristbands. The older woman crying in the parking lot. The way Elena had changed so suddenly.
"You give them the bands," he breathed.
"Bingo." Marisa clapped Mariah's hands. "The wristband marks the donors. The incense during meditation loosens their soul's grip on their body just enough for me to... help them let go." She smiled. "Most of them don't even realize what's happening until it's too late."
Jon felt sick. "And the older women? You just... convince them to give up their bodies?"
Marisa shrugged. "They want to. At first they're confused, sure. But then they look in the mirror and realize what they've gained. A tight little body, smooth skin, all the time in the world..." She ran Mariah's hands over Mariah's breasts. "Would you give that up?"
Jon's stomach churned. This was worse than any nightmare his mind could come up with.
Jon felt dizzy, the room spinning as the horrific truth sank in. The yoga studio wasn't just a business - it was a hunting ground. And Mariah had walked right into the trap.
"I knew you had a thing for her," Marisa cooed, crawling toward him on the bed with Mariah's body. "So when I saw my chance to finally upgrade from my 46-year-old vessel... well, who better than your beautiful gym crush?" She laughed - that same rich, throaty laugh Jon now realized had never belonged to Mariah at all.
Jon backed away, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. "I'm calling the cops. This stops now."
Marisa rolled Mariah's eyes. "And say what? That your crush's body got possessed by a yoga instructor?" She smirked. "They'll lock you in the psych ward before you finish speaking."
Panic clawed at Jon's throat. She was right. No one would believe this. But he couldn't just walk away - not while the real Mariah was...
"Where is she?" Jon demanded. "Where's Mariah's soul right now?"
Marisa stretched luxuriously. "Oh, she's fine. Currently occupying my old body locked in a dark room back at the studio and tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth so nobody has to hear her scream. A little trade we made during meditation today." Her smile turned cruel. "Though I did warn her - if she tries telling anyone, no one will believe the crazy old lady claiming to be a 24-year-old."
Jon's mind raced. The crying woman in the parking lot. The way Mariah had stumbled getting into the wrong car. The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity.
"So all of then are actually old women...," he realized. "Elena, Emma, now Mariah...all those girls."
"Very good!" Marisa applauded. "Honestly, Mariah put up more fight than most. But they all give in eventually." She sauntered closer. "Now, you've got two choices. Either accept this sexy new version of your gym buddy..." She trailed Mariah's fingers down his chest. "Or go charging off to 'save the day' and look like a goddamn fool."
Jon's fists clenched. He knew Marisa was right about one thing - no cop would ever believe his story. He was out of options.
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