Garen considered the formation. It was a simple enough block of halberdiers, if more heavily armored than he would have expected. That said, none of them were completely covered in steel, leaving a great deal of padding, clothes, and whatnot exposed to the open air, and of course none of the armor was properly ensorcelled. To Garen's sensibilities, it was an odd ensemble; he was used to troops so formidably equipped being afforded at least some measure of warding. Of course, the Champion's army did not view even a single of its number as expendable, and so he would have to adapt his expectations accordingly.

  The second thing that he was considering was the precise wording of Sara's request. "How would you go about fighting your way through?"

  That was an awfully dangerous question, and not one he thought well-formed. Perhaps Evie, if she were not busy lusting over her partner's muscuture, would have caught and corrected her owner's error, but she hadn't. The crux of the matter was that the way the Royal Mages would combat this problem differed greatly from the way Garen would have done so. It seemed that Sara had respected her sve's request all these months, and done no research into Garen's past. He respected her for that, even if it was naive.

  He decided to imitate the technique of the Royal Mages. She would be combatting the Sporaton forces, after all, not him, and demonstrating his own techniques would serve no purpose. Perhaps it might intimidate her, but he hardly wanted that. No, it would be best if he dug up his memories of the Royal Mages on the field of battle, then did as they did.

  "Could Evie not offer you this knowledge, Governess?" Garen asked as he rolled his sleeves up. "As you oft told me, she trained with the Night's Eye, who have their own cadre of mages."

  "Evie?"

  Once more, it took the feline a moment to realize she was being addressed. Clearing her throat, she said, "While I did train with the Night's Eye, it was training only. I never took to the field with them, and my training efforts were confined to my mother's manor, which would not have survived a mage's exertions. Before meeting Master, I had never stepped foot beyond the city walls. While I may have an academic knowledge of a mage's capabilities, my knowledge is too abstract to be of tactical value."

  "I see. Then I will be happy to help." He raised his hands, making a shooing motion to the assembled troops. "If you could please vacate the premises, it would be appreciated. I would assume you do not wish to actually attempt to weather a mage's assault."

  It took no words from their commander for the troops to clear themselves away after such a warning. In very short order, Garen had a pleasing, empty stretch of courtyard open before him. He stretched out his arms, intercing his fingers so that he could pop the knuckles, and took a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders, then his neck, enjoying the way it popped after a night spent in meditation. He ought to be better about stretching, he chided himself.

  "You good?" Sara asked suddenly. She looked concerned. "You don't have to, if you don't want to."

  He gave her a curious look, cracking his knuckles once more. "Why would I not be 'good'? I have cast spells such as this innumerable times."

  "Yeah, exactly. And now you're just standing there, warming up like you're about to go into a boxing match. I know you took an oath, and I respect that more than you'd expect. If you don't want to cast a violent spell, it's fine. Even a description of what I should expect would do me tons of good."

  She was right, he was abruptly forced to realize. It had been a very long while since Garen had cast a spell such as this one, but that didn't mean he was incapable. The space was clear, the observers were in position, and his energy freshly rejuvenated. He slowly lowered his hands from their stretch, growing introspective. Now that the timidity had been brought to his attention, he took his time in evaluating it.

  What he found should have been no surprise. It bellowed up with an arming ck of forewarning, taking him by complete surprise.

  A little twitch of the corner of his eye as distant screams echoed from far, far away.

  The acidic vomit of soldiers who thought themselves veterans, their stomachs overturned for the first time in a decade.

  The taste of iron in his mouth, clots in his hair, and an inescapable mist coating miles of waving grass.

  The sounds of victory.

  Silence, sobbing, and heaving.

  A light touch nded on his shoulder, and with it the shattered pane of time seemed to reassemble slightly. His head turned to the Champion as wards fred to life across his mind, warning him of something encroaching, trying to breach his mind.

  He dismissed them.

  Beneath the Tulian heat, Garen shivered. A cool flush soaked through his shoulder, spreading quickly to his mind, smothering the burning sound of screams. Sara's eyes were pinched with worry, and she didn't seem aware of doing anything other than pcing a calming hand on his shoulder. Still, the sounds faded, faded, falling away by degrees until Garen nodded thankfully.

  "Something of a surprise to me, I'm afraid, but you were right to worry. Your concern is appreciated, Sara, but I can continue."

  Her frown deepened. "Are you sure? Because it's no big deal–"

  "Quite. This is a simple matter. Observe."

  With no further ado, Garen flicked his fingers towards the space the trainee Guards had occupied a few moments prior.

  A white-hot gout of fme was summoned in a semi-circle before his feet, shooting outward at the speed of an arrow. In the span of a blink it rose, spreading from a brilliantly opaque beam of compressed energy at his feet to a roaring wall of orange fmes, ten feet high at its apex. Even as the bow of the wave blitzed forward, its wake expanded horizontally, spreading first ten, then twenty, then fifty feet, coating the entire circur pavilion at its widest. It could have kept going, but Garen didn't wish to light the adjacent foliage afme, and so he compressed it back down, forcing the fmes to curve with the circle so that the heat did not leave the stones. When the torrent reached the far edge, he snuffed it out.

  The fmes had existed for one, perhaps one and a half seconds, but that was all that was needed. The stone blocks of the courtyard were left ashen in its wake, and even though he had taken care not to let it touch the pnts themselves, the proximity to the heat had some of them smoldering. The Guard captain, Ignite if Garen recalled his name correctly, adeptly ordered the trainees to begin smothering the fmes.

  "Goddamn," Sara eloquently intoned.

  "It was not faith magic, Governess."

  Her gre was piercing. "I know that, you fucking overgrown fmethrower. I'm talking about the magic. Is that shit really what we're gonna be going up against?"

  "More or less. I will note that the control required to keep the fmes to the stone is not something you should expect. Most mages with an eye for violence are unconcerned with the limitation of their abilities, rather than their expansion."

  "So if anything, it would be bigger?"

  "Yes. Though I would ask you to note that the fmes weakened in both temperature and density as they expanded. What you saw there was likely the extent of the immediately lethal range of such an attack. Those beyond would be severely injured, but not dead."

  "And I can expect just about every mage I'm dealing with to be capable of this?"

  "Not every mage, no. Just those with a penchant for combat. The majority of Royal Mages accompanying King Sporatos will likely be simir in role to the leaders of your Military Engineers. As some of the most educated of the Kingdom's nobility, they will be logisticians, advisors, and constructors of siege weapons."

  "Then how many of those attacks should I be looking out for?"

  "That would be a question better directed to Evie, I believe. Her expertise in battlefield composition outstrips my own."

  With the feline having completed her less-than-subtle molestation of Hurlish's muscuture, her response was prompt.

  "Without the Night's Eye, and considering the force estimation of fifteen thousand peasant levies, I would expect only a handful of mages, Master. Ten or twelve, perhaps, that would be allowed into the fray proper. The archmages are too valuable to be risked in mere combat, so it will be their lessers that take the field."

  "Thank the gods for economics," Sara muttered. "We'd be fucked if they brought out all the stops."

  "Hence why you, Master, have so endeavored to ensure King Sporatos underestimates us." Evie looked at Garen, expining. "Our entire pn hinges on an evisceration of the enemy army so complete that they will not dare send a second, more capable force next year, one we would have no hope of repelling. With that in mind, would you agree with my estimation that the archmages will not be risked in combat?"

  "Almost certainly, yes," Garen said. "They are powerful, but the loss of even a single of their number would be a considerable blow to Sporatos. Even if he were afraid enough of Tulian to press them into battle, his advisors would not stand for it. After the rebellion, they seek stability before all else."

  Sara rolled her eyes. "Y'know, I'm gd it's happening, but there's some real mixed emotions running through me about my fate dangling by the thin string of politics. I thought Champions were supposed to be above all that crap."

  Once more, Garen found himself incredibly amused by Amarat's Champion. Why the Goddess of Diplomats chose a woman with such vitriol in her heart for political machinations, he couldn't imagine. He chuckled.

  "Some Champions were, Governess, but not Amarat's, and certainly not you. If you wished to avoid politics, I would have advised you not begin founding a nation the likes of which this world has never seen, then antagonizing the continent's rgest power. Now that you have, I believe you are stuck with them."

  "Ugh. If I get a time machine, I'm going for Tavan or something. Maybe I could whip up a spell to wipe the Divine Colrs off the face of the pnet, then."

  Evie, to Garen's shock, spped Sara on the shoulder. The Champion jumped, but rather than offended, she looked... chagrined? She cast her eyes to the sky.

  "Sorry, sorry. You're still great, and probably the best for the job. I'm just whining."

  Ah. Evie is concerned her master might irritate her patron. A prudent thought, I suppose, but not one with precedent. As far as Garen had been able to find in the historical records, no Champion had ever had their gifts rescinded by the gods. Some had died prematurely, yes, but never through the overt involvement of a deity.

  When it came to the divines, however, Evie was right. It was good practice not to assume. Death by lightning bolt on a cloudless day was not a worry Garen wished to entertain, and he imagined Sara was of the same mind.

  "Fmes are not the only spell you will defend against, Governess. Would you like demonstrations of other potential obstacles?"

  "If you don't mind," Sara said. "Knowing too much never hurt anyone, after all."

  Not strictly true, but the sentiment is worthwhile. Garen dusted off his hands, running through the catalogue of spells he knew the Royal Mages preferred in battle. "Your army prefers close-pressed infantry, yes?"

  "For the most part. We've got some skirmishers, and of course Irregurs, but the bulk will be either archers or halberdiers. Wish we had cavalry, but there wasn't near enough time to raise up a force."

  "Then I will adjust my spells accordingly."

  Garen raised his hands once more, plucking at the strings which thrummed through his body, and sent forth their energies. He cast upon the stone first a ball of lightning, its violent crackling tendrils seeking to leap to everything close, then shattered the stones themselves, sending their shards skyward in a lethal spray. He continued to eborate his methods as he did so, listing each spell and what he knew of its virtues. Sara observed closely, asking questions here and there, and Garen answered them to the best of his abilities. Many of her questions were peculiar, tracing a path towards some conclusion he could not discern, but he was no tactician.

  For example, Sara was particurly interested in the abilities of mages to defend themselves, rather than their offensive limitations. That may have been mere bravado, or perhaps diagnosed more charitably as optimism, because Garen knew that without mages of her own, only sheer numbers would wear down a true Practitioner. He didn't think her interest was particurly relevant to the upcoming conflict. As this was his first day earning his proverbial keep, however, he did not protest the questioning, and replied as truthfully and intelligently as he could.

  When his demonstration was completed, Garen was standing in front of one concerned Governess, an unsurprised feline, a dozing orc, and twenty very intimidated recruits. There was also the Vanara and female military officer, who'd thus far contributed little to the proceedings. He supposed they would come into py shortly.

  "Well, shit," the Governess said, waving her hand before her face to clear the smoke from Garen's st spell. "That doesn't look good for us. How many of those attacks would each mage have in them, before they get tired out?"

  "Assuming a prudent frequency of casting, perhaps two dozen, Governess. That is a maximum, however, and they will likely withdraw well before they are at their limit."

  "So with twelve mages casting, like, a bit more than half their spells, we've got..." Sara's face scrunched up.

  "A hundred and fifty," Evie supplied.

  "A hundred and fifty of those spells to contend with, most likely."

  "And nearly three hundred spells of such caliber if the mages are pushed to their limits." Evie cast a purposeful look at the crate in the middle of the courtyard. "Are you now entertaining my suggestions more readily, Master?"

  Sara sighed. "Maybe. I don't want to, but..." She shook her head. "Fifteen thousand spears, an uncertain cavalry force, and twelve mages. Fuck. Maybe we'll have to."

  Garen did not enjoy the sight of the perennially confident Champion appearing so consternated. With only those she considered personal confidants immediately present, she allowed a measure of doubt into her countenance that Garen was unaccustomed to, and it had him re-evaluating his certainty of her winning this conflict.

  But that does not fit, he insisted, if only to himself. She speaks of wonders unbound, and while yes, she does not wish to unduly alter our world, she is still capable of doing so. Is what she has not spoken of truly so horrific that she would rather have this fledgling nation shattered?

  No longer able to stand the sight of her lip-biting anxiety, Garen stepped forward, sweeping a hand toward the crate.

  "Perhaps now is the time to test the device you have prepared for the day, Governess? I must admit, I am awfully curious."

  Sara blinked her way out of her thoughts, refocusing on Garen. "That depends. How hot of a wizard do you think you are?"

  "Not enough that you should be using such antiquated terms to refer to me," Garen said, correcting her terminology yet again. "But if you are asking after my retive skill, it is considerable."

  "Defensively? Against pure kinetic energy?"

  Garen's eyebrows drew together. "Purely kinetic energy is not something most consider defending themselves against, as nearly every mage-unched projectile carries with it a multitude of energies, but adapting the mechanics of the forms are not unduly difficult."

  "Well, good. Because I'm going to need you to put up your strongest defensive ward on the far end of this courtyard." She held up a hand, grinning, and spoke as if quoting an amusing py. "Now, I'm going to stop you, because what I worry you just heard is 'put up a really strong ward.' No. What I said was for you to put your strongest ward on the far end of this courtyard. Understand?"

  Garen raised an eyebrow. "I do. But you must also understand that the strongest ward I am capable of erecting would be the project of decades. Are you perhaps asking me to attach a defensive spell upon the stones?"

  "Oh, fuck off with the technicalities. You know what I mean."

  "A spell, then."

  Garen moved over to the location the Governess had indicated, stooping to pce his right hand on a wide tile. Unseen by others, his left hand flicked a quick series of gestures, opening a gap between realms within his right sleeve. A glittering emerald fell out, rolling down his sleeve to his wrist, where he deftly palmed it with a second gesture. He pressed the gem into the stone, embedding it, then coated its surface with white, so it would be seamless.

  Next, he should have simply imbued it with the appropriate spell, but on this step he hesitated. Standing, he moved back over to the Governess.

  "Should there be any form the spell should take, ma'am? Typically, I would angle the spell, but if you are speaking of pure kinetics, such as a ballistae bolt, that could deflect the projectile into the sky, or worse, the surrounding buildings."

  Sara bnched. "Shit. Good point. Uh, can you angle it down, instead, so it hits the ground? Or better yet, no angle at all? Like, something that would catch the projectile, but still let us know how effective it would have been in a real-world situation?"

  Garen scratched thoughtfully at his beard, an itchy protrusion which he maintained specifically for such moments of consideration.

  "I believe I can, if you will forgive me a few minutes of preparation. I can pce first the spell, of a power you ought expect from the Royal Mages, while constructing around it a more pliable ward. That way, if the projectile is deflected any direction but directly back at its origin, it will be caught in this considerably stronger ward."

  "That sounds great, actually." Sara looked to the crate, where the female Vanara and the Army officer were waiting. "Do you think you could create the obscuring spell– or ward, whatever– first, though? That way we can get ready while you work."

  "Of course. This projectile, there will only be one of them at a time?"

  "Yep."

  "Excellent."

  As often as Garen had found the need for privacy in busy areas throughout his life, shielding the stretch of courtyard which the Governess and her companions occupied was trivial. It was a matter of moments to create a simple white rectangur box, opaque to light and sound, that covered the distance between crate and target. Garen then returned to the stones, finishing the creation of the first defensive spell, which was drawing power from the emerald he had hidden in the stones.

  Then he moved to the second, far more complex, warding process. The problem Sara had presented him, that of countering purely kinetic energy, was a deceptively complex one. At his level of skill, Garen had long since abandoned the idea of wards which focused on purely one aspect of energy. It was standard practice across the Continent and beyond to create what was called, confusingly, offensive-defenses.

  In essence, Garen was used to creating wards which did not stalwartly take punishment, but rather were set to react to an attack, countering the detected energies according to a preset arrangement. A common assault one would anticipate a ward to resist would be, thinking back to when he had worked upon castle fortifications, fmes being propelled by wind into a narrow point, their blinding heat chiseling into the stonework, then, once they detected they were at the interior of the castle, violently expanding as the carried charge of kinetic energy burst. The white-hot ejecta would morph into a spherical confgration, and if not outright shattering the stones from within, the resultant debris would at least devastate the defenders. For warding against such an attack, Garen preferred the preemptive detection of an incoming projectile, upon which his wards would spring forth to counter not the fmes, the proverbial tip of the spear, but the winds that drove them. This ruined their angle of attack, so that they would spsh helplessly against the stonework, achieving nothing.

  Such a clever solution was not possible, clearly, if the meager description he had been provided was accurate. This would be an assault of pure, unadulterated kinetic energy, likely of a strength that was unprecedented upon this world. There were no joining points between its elements that he could exploit, no tricky knot for him to unravel.

  And so it was that he took great pride in his work, setting about the creation of the very first ward of its type. His fingers twitched and danced as he drew the dimensions, first creating a cubical frame about the shield, then hollowing out its front-center, allowing a pathway for the projectile to strike the shield at its core. What he filled the frame with was far and away unlike the hardened, multi-faceted energetic shield it surrounded. In physical behavior, he created something almost getinous. Knowing to anticipate only one projectile, of indeterminable but certainly great force, Garen created a ward that would have an even distribution of comparatively weak energy all throughout its form, but with that energy tied together in reactive bindings. When the moment of impact arrived, the area affected would promptly colpse, but rather than shattering the whole, the strings tying its energy to elsewhere would pull hard, drawing more energy towards the point. As the projectile borrowed deeper, more energy would be drawn to it, exponentially so, until, if necessary, the energy of several hundred cubic feet would be pitted against the projectile.

  Then, once the ward no longer detected motion, those ties would rex, snapping the entire thing back to its original form. The energy expended would be lost, but that was a small total of the whole, and he thought the design was incredibly elegant. There would be no partial failures, no piercing in one location while others remained intact. Either a projectile would fully penetrate, colpsing the entire ward, or it would not, and the ward would be ready to respond to the next assault. While countering a hundred percent of every assault was detrimental to its longevity, it was ideal to, say, protect a highly valuable individual or target. One would never have to wonder if their ward may be pierced unexpectedly. It would work fwlessly, until it failed catastrophically, and so long as that failure didn't coincide with the loss of the protected party, it would be obvious to those nearby that it was time to move or rejuvenate the ward.

  He stood a few minutes ter, concealing his beaming pride. It was not a revolutionary ward, as it had no answer to non-kinetic attacks, but it was a novel implementation created in only a few scant minutes. He went to the opaque box he had created and stuck his head inside, to inform the Governess it was ready.

  "...no fucking way the gods work off of PUNS!"

  Garen flinched as the words hit his ears, the Governess's indignant yelling far louder than he'd been ready for. He turned about, so he would not witness whatever it was emerging from the crate, and tried to garner attention over the yelling.

  "It is not necessarily a pun, Master. The term 'chemistry' has no connotation with romance here–"

  "Then why the fuck am I good at it?! I didn't know shit about chemistry! I– Oh, hi, Garen."

  The Governess's impossibly swift change of tone, as always, threw him off. He remained facing the wall as he spoke, so that he would not witness the whatever-it-was emerging from the crate.

  "The target is ready, Governess. If you are as well, I will expand the obscuring spell, so that you may test to your heart's content."

  "Yeah, go ahead. Evie, if you don't mind?"

  "Certainly, Master."

  Garen stepped out of the white room he had created, expanding it to encompass the target as well. He was somewhat taken aback when Evie stepped out behind him, padding up to his side.

  "Evie? Are you not to stay with the Governess?"

  "Not at the moment, no. She is well protected, whereas you are not." Her ears flicked. "And the device is rather loud, as well. Painfully so."

  "Ah."

  Garen had anticipated waiting alone, perhaps reading a book, but that didn't feel appropriate with one of the most powerful women in the nation at his side. He considered the courtyard, looking for a topic of conversation.

  One, naturally, came to mind.

  "Am I to be privy to the origins of the Governess's... outburst?"

  "Her comments on chemistry, you mean?"

  "Yes."

  Evie's tail flicked back and forth, her ears twitching to track sounds throughout the courtyard. Garen knew, academically, that one could learn much about a feline's thoughts from the involuntary movements of their cat-like attributes, but he did not have the requisite experience. Evie's face and posture, as always, were perfectly controlled, and revealed nothing. Garen may have been an accomplished mage, but social cues had never entered his realm of study. Garen still had difficulty not thinking of her as "Lady Eliah," colr be damned.

  "I suppose I can discuss it," Evie said, after a long pause. "Master was taken by surprise by the revetion of a new aspect of her Champion's abilities. Seeing as you will likely be among the first she consults on the matter, there is no harm in expining." Evie began a slow walk away from the opaque box, gaining distance between the trainee guards. "She discovered that, upon smelling a certain chemical compound, she was able to determine its ingredients with exacting precision. The information provided included the names of the materials, their source, and the percentages involved in the overall composition."

  "Hardly a skill I would expect of Amarat," Garen said.

  "You and Master both." Evie let out a little huff, rolling her eyes. "Master made an immediate leap to the term for her world's version of Alchemy, Chemistry. Apparently, the word is often used to refer to romantic compatibility, and she now believes the goddess has granted her abilities reted to 'chemistry' solely on the grounds that it is cosmetically reted to romance. A pun, determining the domain of the gods."

  "That seems... unlikely."

  "I agree, and to a certain degree, so does Master. It is why she is so incredulous, finding the idea of a goddess defined by puns inherently absurd. Were I in her position, I would simply assume there is yet another aspect of divinity I do not understand, but Master is the Champion, not me. I think it will be difficult to disabuse her of the notion."

  Garen snorted, amused. "Whether or not you agree on the origins of the ability, it does seem rather promising. Perhaps she should have been pursuing alchemical talent earlier in her career."

  Evie made a face. "Perhaps. But I do not think Master has the right temperament for alchemy. She is..."

  "More oriented towards immediate action?" Garen suggested.

  "Rash. Impatient. Prone to failure as a result of her inability to sit still, and generally uninterested in detailed minutia."

  Garen blinked. They had reached the far end of the courtyard, so he and Evie turned, watching the intrusive white rectangle that he had summoned. Here, by the interior walls, there was pleasant shade that kept the air cooler.

  "I must admit, such open criticism of their owner from a sve is not something I am accustomed to."

  "It is what Master wishes of me," Evie said simply. "She does not want a sve, truly. She wants a partner. Ironically, as her sve, I am compelled to stretch for that lofty ideal."

  Garen gnced at Evie through the corner of his eyes. He was no diplomat, but it did not take one to sniff out a lie of that size.

  "You are far more her partner than a sve, Evie. Even if you were freed from the colr's bond, I doubt much of your retionship with the Governess would change."

  "You may be right. Master would certainly hope so, and perhaps even I'm coming around to the idea." Evie sniffed. "Of course, not wholly. Too much in our bedroom would be lost by my freedom for me to tolerate."

  Garen... did not have a response to that.

  Evie didn't seem to care. She continued on, feigning obliviousness to his discomfort.

  "After all, the colr, when combined with Amarat's blessings, is capable of unprecedented manipution of my senses. While Master's genitalia readily alters itself to my tastes, it is my colr which allows us to indulge in so many otherwise impossible fantasies. And that is not even considering the physical connection, of course."

  Despite himself, Garen's mage instincts could not leave such a tempting piece of information unprobed.

  "The physical connection? What do you mean by that?"

  "A permanent sharing of sensation. The physical pleasures of her body are transmitted to me, such that by using my body to please her, I receive pleasure in turn. When we have sex, then, I am on the receiving end of both my own body's delight, and hers. It has served exceptionally well to teach me how best to serve her."

  Garen slowly wiped a hand down his reddening face, feeling his unshaved stubble crackle. He was no blushing virgin, but the frankness with which Evie spoke was disconcerting. It did not help that he couldn't help but further tug on the thread, interested in the mechanics of such an intense magical bond.

  "It is like a witch and her familiar, then? The sharing of sensations?"

  "Simir, but not quite. We are actually well-acquainted with a witch and her familiar, which, against all ethical protocols, is a sapient woman."

  Garen bnched. If mages had something close to deadly sins, the subjugation of a thinking being in a familiar-like bond had to be near the most egregious. Seeing his expression, Evie subtly shook her head.

  "There is no need to concern yourself, Garen. Master thoroughly investigated that bond, and found nothing amiss. There is great potential for abuse, of course, but the emotions shared between them seem genuine enough to forestall any such issues. As for the bond between Master and me?"

  Evie touched her colr, lightly stroking its glyphs with her fingertips. "There is a simir capacity for abuse, of course. But Master is more resolute a woman than any I have ever met. If anything, at times I wish she would take more liberties with me. My tastes run more extreme than hers, it would seem."

  "That is," Garen hesitated, unsure of how to phrase his thoughts, "fortunate, in general. If not for your aforementioned desires."

  Evie shrugged. "It is a minor thing. She is more than capable of sating me in a plethora of other manners." Evie gnced to Garen, lips quirking up. "Capable of sating nearly everyone, I would remind you. Have you ever taken an interest?"

  Gods give me strength.

  "I- well- I suppose?" Garen tried. "She is a beautiful woman by anyone's standards, of course. There is a certain element of the libido that makes itself known, whether one wishes it or not. But such an entanglement seems wholly unwise."

  "Because of the power imbance? As I've already testified, she is quite adept at navigating those."

  Garen could not believe what he was hearing. When he was offered the headmaster position of a new university, this was not on his list of anticipated difficulties.

  "Are you trying to seduce me for your owner, Evie?"

  The feline licked her lips. "Perhaps."

  "May I know why?"

  "She finds you attractive," Evie stated, tone dry as ever. "And I ever seek to find new ways to entertain her. By seeming chance, the majority of her bedpartners have been women, and I think some variety would do her well."

  "If that was all you wished, there are more than enough alternatives to myself."

  "Yes, well, I must admit some ulterior motivations." Evie's lips turned down for a moment. "Master's penchant for uncompromising honesty is often counterproductive, but I always wish to follow in her footsteps. You, Garen, are too unknown, one whose capabilities concern me for the stability of the nation Master wishes to build. I reason that, if you were to have even a taste of her body, your loyalty would be far more certain."

  It was very rare that Garen was so flustered in a conversation. It had been decades, he thought, since he had been so adrift. Still, he attempted to march onward, seizing on what academic tangents he could.

  "Is there some spell-like component to intercourse with your Master, then? Something that lures her partners into her embrace time and time again, like a siren or a succubus?"

  Evie shook her head. "Not so far as we have been able to determine. Aside from her cum, that is. That always tastes exactly like one's favorite food, somehow, which must be magic. Other than that, it seems that her body, designed by a goddess, is simply too perfect for most to resist. The pleasure she brings is addictive, not by magical or chemical means, but psychologically. Once you have id with her, you know that no other, no matter how skilled, will bring you to the same heights."

  "That is..." Garen struggled for words. "Remarkable? I find it hard to believe, frankly. Emotional compatibility pys an overwhelming role in the body's pleasure during intercourse, after all."

  "Certainly, certainly," Evie agreed. "But Master is more than enough to make up the difference. Her technique, her body, it is simply that perfect. As I've said, her genitalia, cock or pussy, alters itself to her partner's innermost desires. The physical compatibility, if not emotional, is without compare."

  Garen's thoughts swam. He had no intention of ying with the Champion, particurly now that he had been told she was literally addictive, but the clinical fashion in which Evie used such crass nguage to describe the act was too much for him to bear.

  He was saved from the conversation by an abrupt, jarring rumble. It came and went silently, but he felt it subtly rattling the stones beneath his feet. In nearly the same instant, he felt a tug on his reserves, the emerald needing to replenish itself with his energy. Garen blinked incredulously.

  "It nearly shattered," he intoned.

  "Hm?"

  "The shield I created. It nearly shattered, just now. After one blow."

  "If you'd known what struck it, you would be impressed it survived even one."

  "What in the name of the gods has she created?"

  "You've said, repeatedly, that you didn't wish to know."

  "But..." Garen trailed off mely. To say he didn't wish to know had been much easier, before he had felt the power of it. Warned as he was, he still hadn't been ready.

  "How long until the second strike?" He asked.

  "That depends. Ideally, less than a minute. In these circumstances, however, I imagine they will undergo a great deal of examination of the tool between repetitions. Do you need me to ask for more time to recover?"

  "No, no, that is well under control. I only wish to learn what I can."

  "Again, you aren't supposed to be doing that."

  "I am what I am, Evie."

  She snorted at that, a rather indelicate noise. Garen could only assume she had picked the habit up from her partners. Garen was about to ask something else, but then his mind betedly seized on something Evie had mentioned a minute before.

  "Wait. You said, ah, 'cock or pussy,' earlier?"

  "Yes?"

  "Then, her comment on being the father of Hurlish's child...?"

  "Quite literal, I assure you."

  Another rumble sent the stones beneath Garen's feet jumping, a sharp snap seizing the back of his consciousness as the shield shattered for real, but it felt secondary to Evie's comment. Between whatever hellish creation she was testing inside that white cube, her impossibly contrarian sve, and the wonders of her body, the Champion of Amarat was quickly overwhelming Garen's ability to process revetions.

  Surely they'll slow down at some point, Garen half-prayed. Surely, once I get more familiar with her, the endless torrent of shock will abate.

  Only time would tell, he supposed.