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A story of the Unseen and Forgotten
possession merge
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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—]
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Plot
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
body swap
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You and your group of friends won a raffle that awarded you with five tickets to Spooky Island! It was the new resort island being endorsed by Sydney Sweeney, it’s gimmick was supposedly a spooky and entertaining summer experience, and since you guys were on summer break, you definitely thought it was a sign to enjoy the island.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
possession
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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!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
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!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
possession
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Kent is young guy that has to spend the summer paying off his debt after accidentally damaging his bitch of a neighbour Julie’s car while playing a game with his friend Marcus. Kent resigns himself to working as Julie’s glorified servant, that is until he finds an odd looking idol that allows him to possess her body. Now with a summer of freedom ahead and Julie’s hot body to do with as he pleases, Kent is looking forward to making up for lost time and having some fun.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
mtf
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I try not to think of myself as the bad guy. Yes, I found myself involved in the development of mind-control technology, but I did my best to protect the world from the worst of it. After that, things just kind of happened on their own.
At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
In hindsight, I don’t see how things could have turned out any other way. I’m not saying that as an excuse for any of the things I did or as if it makes them any less bad, but having taken the first step, things just kind of kept happening.
It started at work. I won’t say where.
We were testing methods of remote information transmission that didn’t rely on explicit outputs or inputs. Basically communication that bypassed the barriers outlined in models like Berlo’s SMCR: Instead of relying on language to convey meaning, our aim was to find a way to convey meaning itself directly from one mind to at least one other.
Again, with the benefit of hindsight, the implications were obvious, but we weren’t concerned with whether we should, we just wanted to see if we could. Classic hubris of the scientifically minded.
And it turns out we can. Or more specifically, I can. I’ve made sure all traces of the research material has been scrubbed from any database; every hard drive degaussed, every memory stick smashed into tiny pieces, every document shredded and the whole lot set on fire just to be safe. The technology is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.
Yes, like mine. It turns out my hands are also the wrong hands, but I didn’t know it at the time. I thought if I just kept the research to myself and studied it in secret, I could find a way to use it to make the world a better place. I guess I can still do that. Maybe it will make up for the bad that I’ve done, which on reflection isn’t even that bad.
Sure, I accidentally corrupted the free will of a fellow human being and inadvertently turned them into my loyal assistant and sex slave, but they’re happy. I know they’re happy, because in a lot of ways, they’re also me.
That helps, right?
*
Everyone was very excited. It was something worth being excited about. Transmission was old tech and measuring changes in brain waves was old tech, but reliably translating knowledge as it was being recalled into data, then being able to implant that data into another mind was a big fucking deal.
Other departments in other labs were specialising in mechanical transmission - robotics and cybernetics, for replacement or auxiliary limbs or remote work in hazardous environments. Useful stuff, but not nearly as delicate as what we were trying to achieve. They were trying to transmit a signal to a robot hand to gently hold an egg: We were trying to pull a single thought out of one mind and stitch it seamlessly into another.
Our first major breakthrough was impression: Not the conveyance of explicit knowledge or of a specific message, just a vague sense experienced by the broadcaster transmitted to the receiver. It had to be a strong sense, which meant staff with intense phobias being the broadcaster knowing what objects were beneath a series of cups, and the receiver choosing a cup at random based on the impression being transmitted to them.
It wasn’t a hundred percent accurate, but the results fell well outside of what would have been possible on pure guesswork and we were pumped to fine tune the technology to see what it could do.
I say “random,” because even though it wasn’t, even though we knew it wasn’t and even though the receiver knew that a successful test would be proof that it wasn’t, they still felt as though they were choosing randomly. At no point did they feel like they were under someone else’s influence or receiving information externally; in every single instance, they were convinced that the experiment had failed and they were just choosing at random.
That should have been our first warning.
We advanced from cups viewed from two positions to mazes navigated from two positions, and then from mazes to simple guessing games like battleships and go fish. Again, no explicit information, but impressions that still left the receiver under the illusion that they were just lucky guessers.
From simple games we moved on to more advanced guessing games like celebrity heads and poker. This was a significant step forwards, but we were still relying on impressions that could be rationalised by the receiver as guesswork and luck. At no point was anyone being fed information that they couldn’t have conceivably deduced, remembered, calculated or bumbled their way into naturally.
That’s when the second major breakthrough happened. One of our broadcasters, Jackson, had gotten tired transmitting the correct answers to his receiver and had started feeding them deliberately incorrect answers. Nothing obvious - just answers that were close enough that they could make even someone who already knew second guess themselves. His receiver had a post-it note on her forehead with “Tiger Woods” written in permanent marker on it, and she had been given the clue “Golfing champion.”
By now, everyone had gotten used to Jackson’s shenanigans, so we grinned or grimaced as poor Lena rattled through every wrong answer she could be compelled to try.
“Tony the Tiger. Michael Jordan. Walt Disney. Santa Claus. Mickey Mouse. Bullroarer Took. Babe Ruth. Heisenberg. Wait, who the hell is Bullroarer Took?”
She didn’t get an answer, as the lab immediately exploded into questions and exclamations and people generally just freaking out. We’d done it, and somehow completely by accident: An entirely new, explicit piece of information had been seamlessly added to a receiver’s brain and it wasn’t until a few seconds after they’d actually said it that they even realised it wasn’t information from their own brain.
That was our second warning.
The third warning came quite a bit later, but by pure chance, I was the only one who noticed and when I did, I acted immediately.
Jackson’s shenanigans had inadvertently opened up new paths of inquiry. By randomly but deliberately poking at areas of knowledge specifically unrelated to the task at hand, we were able to isolate the neural activation patterns associated with conscious knowledge independent of emotional belief.
What followed were several successful instances of transmitting discrete pieces of data from broadcaster to receiver, however we then ran into the new problem of getting the receiver to distinguish between their own thoughts and the information being fed to them. Furthermore, when asked to explain the reasoning behind the transmitted answers, receivers became dismissive, evasive and sometimes even agitated, later explaining that the information just “felt true,” a sensation that applied even in instances where the receiver had been deliberately fed incorrect data.
With mounting dread, we realised the danger of the technology we had created.
The true horror sunk in during a coffee break, when by pure chance I saw Jackon’s reflection making an odd hand gesture over the drink of a coworker whose back was turned. I had to force myself to turn around slowly, watching Jackson converse casually without his eyes leaving her face. It wasn’t until she took a sip that he seemed to relax and noticed me by the coffee machine. I did my best to betray nothing, placing my own coffee onto the table in front of him and moving as though to sit when I “remembered” to get cream from the fridge.
This time when I turned I saw his hurried motion plainly in the brushed metal door, and it took all the self control I had not to confront him or punch his lights out. I returned to the table, adding the cream without sitting before returning it to the fridge. I picked up my coffee and was about to walk out of the room with it when Jackson called out to me with some innocent question about my department. It quickly became clear that he was stalling, waiting for me to drink, so I feigned a casual sip with tightly pursed lips as we spoke and he seemed to relax. I took the opportunity to leave with my cup and as soon as I was out of sight went straight to the micro-observation facility.
We had initially aimed to use physical chips implanted in the subject’s brains to establish a connection, but the risk of accidental damage compounded by multiple intrusions in the case of faulty hardware or the replacement of redundant units made this untenable. Thankfully (or perhaps not), we were assisted by our sister department in nanotech, who had developed a biomonitoring system using carbide nanites that could enter the bloodstream through the digestive tract. To test for successful nanite absorption, we just needed to take a blood sample and insert it into an observation case. And it didn’t just work on blood.
I felt my stomach drop as the coffee reading came back positive. A concentration high enough that even a mouthful would fully colonise a body within hours. I felt sick as I entered a vial of my own saliva, and when that test also came back as a weak positive and rising, I almost fainted.
That fucking bastard.
I had to stop myself from running to the configuration deck and came to a sudden halt halfway there. There’s no way Jackson could have done anything underhanded on one of the terminals without someone seeing him. The room, the equipment and change was constantly monitored as a security measure. If he were going to do anything without being detected, it would need to be somewhere private where he could still access the server and the network. He wasn’t authorised to be anywhere near the site’s core infrastructure, but it was the only place where he would have everything he needed.
I didn’t know how I was going to get access to the server room when I arrived - it’s not as if I had access either - but it turned out that I didn’t need access and neither did Jackson.
Lena had access, and she had left the door unlocked.
She looked up at me owlishly from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a laptop on her knees.
“Oh, Hi Marcus,” she said, parroting Tommy Wiseau’s infamous line as though we were meeting in the break room.
“Lena?” I asked cautiously. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, I’m just making sure that anytime a new host comes online, they’re set to receive only,” she said, as though she were just filling out her calendar. She turned the laptop so that I could see the screen and pointed at the second of two dots on a map of the facility. “See? There you are right next to me. You came online just a minute ago, so I’ve already made you a receiver.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because Jackson told me to.”
I stared at the unquestioning innocence in her eyes.
“And you have to do what he says?”
Lena rolled her eyes at me. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated. The silence was broken only by the steady whine of cooling fans.
Eventually, Lena shifted uncomfortably. “So, what are you doing here? You’re not IT.”
Not wanting to alarm her, I said the first thing that I could think of. “No, but Jackson sent me.”
The way Lena’s face lit up at his name made me feel ill.
“Does that mean you’re working for him too?”
“Yes,” I lied. Like a man laying down rails for a moving train as he’s riding on it, I grabbed blindly for any string of words that might work. “And he told me to come get you for something important. He’s… outside in the parking lot and says you need to come straight away.”
Lena’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, but I have to stay here for stage three. I’ve just finished getting everyone online.”
“That’s fine. He told me to take over. I have to do what he says, remember? You’ve finished stage two, haven’t you? He says you’ve done a very good job.”
Again, the look of bliss that took over Lena’s face twisted my gut.
“Great! Where can I find him?”
“He just told me as he was walking out,” I said, letting Lena stand up and hand me the laptop. “You’ll have to go look for him. He’s keeping an eye out for you.”
“Okay!” I watched Lena leave the room and closed it behind her, making sure to lock it this time. We shared our parking with three other departments across eight floors, so unless Jackson really was there already, that would keep her out of the way.
She’d been right. Jackson had worked his way through the entire department’s staff and I had a live view of every single person in the facility. Watching the glowing dots meander around the map gave me a truly terrifying glimpse into the future we had made possible.
What caught my eye was something that didn’t exist in the standard interface. We had created individual controls for the kind of transmissions we wanted and the direction we wanted them to go in, but Lena had added a new input without a label.
Clicking on it, a text field appears in which the name “Enfield, Lena” was already populated followed by a yes/no switch.
I pressed “yes” and blacked out.
*
I was in the parking lot, on the blue level by bay two-zero-two. At first I wondered how I had been suddenly transported when I realised how strange I felt all over - my body, my clothes and my hair all felt wrong somehow.
I looked down and felt the strength leave my legs as I saw a woman’s body stretching out below me. A woman’s body in a pair of black Mary Janes, matching pencil skirt, white dress shirt and a lanyard whose ID read “Lena Enfield.”
I stared at myself in shock, having fallen to my knees and began running my unfamiliar hands over my unfamiliar body, trying to confirm that I wasn’t somehow dreaming.
“Lena!” a voice echoed across the concrete, causing me to jump in a mix of fear and guilt. I turned in the direction of the voice and felt my heart quail at the side of Jackson striding towards me, his face contorted with fury.
In that instant I felt an overwhelming sense of panic take over and I wanted to be absolutely anywhere except anywhere near him, and in that same moment I felt myself dragged back into the cool air of the server room, sitting on the floor with Lena’s laptop on my legs.
We had theorised that it was possible, but had never been arrogant or stupid enough to try it. The psychological risks and ethical dangers it posed were beyond our ability to rationalise and well outside the original scope of the project, though there were rumours that it would eventually be turned towards a similar end.
But I didn’t have time to marvel at the development. Jackson would interrogate Lena, Lena would tell him the truth, and he would run straight here. I had to act fast.
Jackson would head straight for the server room once he realised what had happened.
I could head straight for the director’s office, but there was no guarantee that she wasn’t also in on his plot. I checked the map again: She had her nanites installed and despite her rank in the organisation had also been set to receive, as had every guard on her floor. Jackson really intended to just dominate everyone in the building. I had all the proof I needed to expose Jackson and have him arrested.
We would need to deprogram Lena. Shit, assuming that was even possible. God only knew how badly Jackson had been screwing with her brain, or for how long. And there was always a chance the higher ups would find out and do what higher ups always do when they have the opportunity to take even more wealth and power.
I fretted for much longer than I should have under the circumstances. Maybe there really was no other way, or maybe I was just deliberately backing myself into a corner. Whatever the case, the sudden jangle of keys at the door alerted me that I had run out of time, and that within seconds, Jackson would be in the room to steal back the laptop, or possibly even frame me, now that he’d been discovered.
I’d considered the option and dismissed it as immoral. Self-serving. A road too dangerous to even consider walking down. But having failed to take any other action, it was the only one I had left.
It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. When the chips are down and the pressure is on, the only person you can depend on is yourself.
I dragged my own icon into the super broadcaster position, and hit “execute.”
*
There wasn’t any sudden rush of sensation. There never had been: Broadcasting just took the data you wanted to impart and transmitted a copy to the target. But for some reason, I still expected something.
What did happen was the sound of keys hitting the floor outside, followed by a hollow groan of absolute despair.
I unlocked the door and opened it to find Jackson, grey-faced and swaying with his hands covering his face. Lena was behind him, looking pitiful, but not nearly as distraught as Jackson.
“Hello, Jackson.” I said flatly.
“Don’t…” he moaned through his hands.
People had begun to file into the room, ashen-faced but with a mix of anger, all of them staring at Jackson as he tried to hide behind himself.
I’d used the nanites to broadcast two things: The knowledge of what Jackson had tried to do, and my overwhelming disgust at him for the attempt.
Now everyone knew what he’d done, he knew that they knew and he shared their hatred for himself because I had copied it directly from my mind into his.
“Nobody hurt him,” I said, seeing the balled fists and shaking hands around me. “Nobody let him hurt himself, either. Get him out of here.”
Four men approached Jackson, who didn’t resist as they grimly marched him away. I turned to Lena, who was running her hands through her hair, wide-eyed and shivering.
“H-he was-s in m-my head…” she stammered.
I didn’t have any words of consolation for her. Least of all, because not moments ago I had also been inside her mind. The only reason she knew about Jackson was because I had “told” her. I motioned for another one of the staff to take her away.
“Alright, everyone,” I said to those who remained. “I want an all-hands meeting in the break room. Tell everyone you see, and someone head upstairs to find…”
I trailed off as I realised how much time would be wasted finding everyone in the building and telling them where to go, and then more wasted simply having the meeting itself, and that was assuming nobody disagreed with what I was about to say.
Well, neither of those things were problems anymore, were they?
I activated my transmitter and broadcast a new set of instructions.
“The project is to be terminated. Nobody can be trusted with this power. Destroy all hardware, all documentation, strip the building down and wipe everything.”
The effect was instant: People began moving with an almost frantic purpose, delegating tasks to themselves or people nearby as files began to be pulled out of drawers and shredded, computers wiped and machinery disassembled. I had intended to join in, but found myself at sea in a centre of bustling activity, so instead walked myself out to my car to lie down and clear my head.
Had I done the right thing? Yes. Absolutely. Any other decision would have exposed everyone to the risk of Jackson regaining control, or the project being compromised by a figure in authority. Even if the director was of sound moral character, her superiors might not be, or their superiors above them. Someone, somewhere in the organisation would have tried to take advantage, just like Jackson did. Better to destroy everything and pretend it never happened.
I watched numbly as a procession of staff began to file out with armfuls and boxes of shredded documents, leaving trails of confetti in their wake. Like ants, they threw their boxes into one of the massive steel containers used for waste disposal. Some others had started fussing over the nearest cars, and it took me a while to realise that they were siphoning the petrol.
My initial alarm was quelled somewhat when they left the containers of fuel to one side instead of lighting it immediately. Any kind of fire would alert the emergency services, who would no doubt try to stop what was happening once they arrived.
It was actually kind of peaceful, sitting apart from the action and just watching it unfold. Almost like watching an ant colony cleaning out a lunchbox: All of the inside bits got broken down and taken outside until all that was left was the shell.
They had filled all six bins and four of the cargo trucks by the time they were done. Everything had been reduced to the smallest parts it could be torn, cut, unscrewed, unplugged or just smashed into. There was no cheering as fuel was added or the flames lit from a safe distance. Just the quiet relief of a terrible future averted.
Someone coughed near me and I turned to see Lena and a few other members of staff with a single trolley loaded with some equipment that hadn’t been destroyed. Confused, I turned to Lena.
“Aren’t you going to add it to the pile?” I asked.
“Not this stuff,” Lena said cheerfully, apparently recovered from her earlier breakdown. “We figured it would be a shame if we destroyed literally everything, so we’ve saved some of it. And because you decided to be mister lazy-pants while the rest of us were hard at work, we’re giving you the job of taking care of it.”
I couldn’t stop my brow furrowing in confusion. “I never told you to do that.”
Lena scoffed as the others began loading the equipment into my car. “Good. We’re not here to do what you tell us. The vote was unanimous: We’re all getting out, so you get to babysit the last remnants. Hide it, destroy it, do whatever you want. This is your share of the responsibility. Maybe next time, do your bit instead of wandering off for a nap, okay?”
And with that, they left to join the rapidly dispersing crowd as everyone jumped into their cars or hitched a ride from the others. A column of black smoke reached up from the facility, and it would be a matter of minutes before the firefighters arrived. Just by virtue of the work we were doing, the cops wouldn’t be far behind.
Without time to get everything out of my car and into the fire, I jumped into the driver’s seat and made my way out with the rest, racking my brain furiously as I tried to avoid speeding on my way home.
I never told them to set aside any equipment for me. No, I never CONSCIOUSLY told them. That really was the only explanation: There was no way that - after being given the artificial impression that the entire project needed to be burned to the ground - they would somehow conveniently decide that I should be trusted with the last pieces of evidence. Not just any evidence, either: At a glance I could tell that I had been left with everything I needed to manufacture and configure the nanites myself, just on a much smaller scale.
Despite my best intentions, some small part of myself had subconsciously implanted the addendum that one way or another, I should have the power to continue the project privately.
Fine, then. I’d get home, pack up what little I could fit and get the hell out of the city, state, maybe even country before finding somewhere I could safely destroy the last remains of a terrible mistake.
That was almost two years ago.
I never did get around to destroying that equipment.
At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
In hindsight, I don’t see how things could have turned out any other way. I’m not saying that as an excuse for any of the things I did or as if it makes them any less bad, but having taken the first step, things just kind of kept happening.
It started at work. I won’t say where.
We were testing methods of remote information transmission that didn’t rely on explicit outputs or inputs. Basically communication that bypassed the barriers outlined in models like Berlo’s SMCR: Instead of relying on language to convey meaning, our aim was to find a way to convey meaning itself directly from one mind to at least one other.
Again, with the benefit of hindsight, the implications were obvious, but we weren’t concerned with whether we should, we just wanted to see if we could. Classic hubris of the scientifically minded.
And it turns out we can. Or more specifically, I can. I’ve made sure all traces of the research material has been scrubbed from any database; every hard drive degaussed, every memory stick smashed into tiny pieces, every document shredded and the whole lot set on fire just to be safe. The technology is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.
Yes, like mine. It turns out my hands are also the wrong hands, but I didn’t know it at the time. I thought if I just kept the research to myself and studied it in secret, I could find a way to use it to make the world a better place. I guess I can still do that. Maybe it will make up for the bad that I’ve done, which on reflection isn’t even that bad.
Sure, I accidentally corrupted the free will of a fellow human being and inadvertently turned them into my loyal assistant and sex slave, but they’re happy. I know they’re happy, because in a lot of ways, they’re also me.
That helps, right?
*
Everyone was very excited. It was something worth being excited about. Transmission was old tech and measuring changes in brain waves was old tech, but reliably translating knowledge as it was being recalled into data, then being able to implant that data into another mind was a big fucking deal.
Other departments in other labs were specialising in mechanical transmission - robotics and cybernetics, for replacement or auxiliary limbs or remote work in hazardous environments. Useful stuff, but not nearly as delicate as what we were trying to achieve. They were trying to transmit a signal to a robot hand to gently hold an egg: We were trying to pull a single thought out of one mind and stitch it seamlessly into another.
Our first major breakthrough was impression: Not the conveyance of explicit knowledge or of a specific message, just a vague sense experienced by the broadcaster transmitted to the receiver. It had to be a strong sense, which meant staff with intense phobias being the broadcaster knowing what objects were beneath a series of cups, and the receiver choosing a cup at random based on the impression being transmitted to them.
It wasn’t a hundred percent accurate, but the results fell well outside of what would have been possible on pure guesswork and we were pumped to fine tune the technology to see what it could do.
I say “random,” because even though it wasn’t, even though we knew it wasn’t and even though the receiver knew that a successful test would be proof that it wasn’t, they still felt as though they were choosing randomly. At no point did they feel like they were under someone else’s influence or receiving information externally; in every single instance, they were convinced that the experiment had failed and they were just choosing at random.
That should have been our first warning.
We advanced from cups viewed from two positions to mazes navigated from two positions, and then from mazes to simple guessing games like battleships and go fish. Again, no explicit information, but impressions that still left the receiver under the illusion that they were just lucky guessers.
From simple games we moved on to more advanced guessing games like celebrity heads and poker. This was a significant step forwards, but we were still relying on impressions that could be rationalised by the receiver as guesswork and luck. At no point was anyone being fed information that they couldn’t have conceivably deduced, remembered, calculated or bumbled their way into naturally.
That’s when the second major breakthrough happened. One of our broadcasters, Jackson, had gotten tired transmitting the correct answers to his receiver and had started feeding them deliberately incorrect answers. Nothing obvious - just answers that were close enough that they could make even someone who already knew second guess themselves. His receiver had a post-it note on her forehead with “Tiger Woods” written in permanent marker on it, and she had been given the clue “Golfing champion.”
By now, everyone had gotten used to Jackson’s shenanigans, so we grinned or grimaced as poor Lena rattled through every wrong answer she could be compelled to try.
“Tony the Tiger. Michael Jordan. Walt Disney. Santa Claus. Mickey Mouse. Bullroarer Took. Babe Ruth. Heisenberg. Wait, who the hell is Bullroarer Took?”
She didn’t get an answer, as the lab immediately exploded into questions and exclamations and people generally just freaking out. We’d done it, and somehow completely by accident: An entirely new, explicit piece of information had been seamlessly added to a receiver’s brain and it wasn’t until a few seconds after they’d actually said it that they even realised it wasn’t information from their own brain.
That was our second warning.
The third warning came quite a bit later, but by pure chance, I was the only one who noticed and when I did, I acted immediately.
Jackson’s shenanigans had inadvertently opened up new paths of inquiry. By randomly but deliberately poking at areas of knowledge specifically unrelated to the task at hand, we were able to isolate the neural activation patterns associated with conscious knowledge independent of emotional belief.
What followed were several successful instances of transmitting discrete pieces of data from broadcaster to receiver, however we then ran into the new problem of getting the receiver to distinguish between their own thoughts and the information being fed to them. Furthermore, when asked to explain the reasoning behind the transmitted answers, receivers became dismissive, evasive and sometimes even agitated, later explaining that the information just “felt true,” a sensation that applied even in instances where the receiver had been deliberately fed incorrect data.
With mounting dread, we realised the danger of the technology we had created.
The true horror sunk in during a coffee break, when by pure chance I saw Jackon’s reflection making an odd hand gesture over the drink of a coworker whose back was turned. I had to force myself to turn around slowly, watching Jackson converse casually without his eyes leaving her face. It wasn’t until she took a sip that he seemed to relax and noticed me by the coffee machine. I did my best to betray nothing, placing my own coffee onto the table in front of him and moving as though to sit when I “remembered” to get cream from the fridge.
This time when I turned I saw his hurried motion plainly in the brushed metal door, and it took all the self control I had not to confront him or punch his lights out. I returned to the table, adding the cream without sitting before returning it to the fridge. I picked up my coffee and was about to walk out of the room with it when Jackson called out to me with some innocent question about my department. It quickly became clear that he was stalling, waiting for me to drink, so I feigned a casual sip with tightly pursed lips as we spoke and he seemed to relax. I took the opportunity to leave with my cup and as soon as I was out of sight went straight to the micro-observation facility.
We had initially aimed to use physical chips implanted in the subject’s brains to establish a connection, but the risk of accidental damage compounded by multiple intrusions in the case of faulty hardware or the replacement of redundant units made this untenable. Thankfully (or perhaps not), we were assisted by our sister department in nanotech, who had developed a biomonitoring system using carbide nanites that could enter the bloodstream through the digestive tract. To test for successful nanite absorption, we just needed to take a blood sample and insert it into an observation case. And it didn’t just work on blood.
I felt my stomach drop as the coffee reading came back positive. A concentration high enough that even a mouthful would fully colonise a body within hours. I felt sick as I entered a vial of my own saliva, and when that test also came back as a weak positive and rising, I almost fainted.
That fucking bastard.
I had to stop myself from running to the configuration deck and came to a sudden halt halfway there. There’s no way Jackson could have done anything underhanded on one of the terminals without someone seeing him. The room, the equipment and change was constantly monitored as a security measure. If he were going to do anything without being detected, it would need to be somewhere private where he could still access the server and the network. He wasn’t authorised to be anywhere near the site’s core infrastructure, but it was the only place where he would have everything he needed.
I didn’t know how I was going to get access to the server room when I arrived - it’s not as if I had access either - but it turned out that I didn’t need access and neither did Jackson.
Lena had access, and she had left the door unlocked.
She looked up at me owlishly from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a laptop on her knees.
“Oh, Hi Marcus,” she said, parroting Tommy Wiseau’s infamous line as though we were meeting in the break room.
“Lena?” I asked cautiously. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, I’m just making sure that anytime a new host comes online, they’re set to receive only,” she said, as though she were just filling out her calendar. She turned the laptop so that I could see the screen and pointed at the second of two dots on a map of the facility. “See? There you are right next to me. You came online just a minute ago, so I’ve already made you a receiver.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because Jackson told me to.”
I stared at the unquestioning innocence in her eyes.
“And you have to do what he says?”
Lena rolled her eyes at me. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated. The silence was broken only by the steady whine of cooling fans.
Eventually, Lena shifted uncomfortably. “So, what are you doing here? You’re not IT.”
Not wanting to alarm her, I said the first thing that I could think of. “No, but Jackson sent me.”
The way Lena’s face lit up at his name made me feel ill.
“Does that mean you’re working for him too?”
“Yes,” I lied. Like a man laying down rails for a moving train as he’s riding on it, I grabbed blindly for any string of words that might work. “And he told me to come get you for something important. He’s… outside in the parking lot and says you need to come straight away.”
Lena’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, but I have to stay here for stage three. I’ve just finished getting everyone online.”
“That’s fine. He told me to take over. I have to do what he says, remember? You’ve finished stage two, haven’t you? He says you’ve done a very good job.”
Again, the look of bliss that took over Lena’s face twisted my gut.
“Great! Where can I find him?”
“He just told me as he was walking out,” I said, letting Lena stand up and hand me the laptop. “You’ll have to go look for him. He’s keeping an eye out for you.”
“Okay!” I watched Lena leave the room and closed it behind her, making sure to lock it this time. We shared our parking with three other departments across eight floors, so unless Jackson really was there already, that would keep her out of the way.
She’d been right. Jackson had worked his way through the entire department’s staff and I had a live view of every single person in the facility. Watching the glowing dots meander around the map gave me a truly terrifying glimpse into the future we had made possible.
What caught my eye was something that didn’t exist in the standard interface. We had created individual controls for the kind of transmissions we wanted and the direction we wanted them to go in, but Lena had added a new input without a label.
Clicking on it, a text field appears in which the name “Enfield, Lena” was already populated followed by a yes/no switch.
I pressed “yes” and blacked out.
*
I was in the parking lot, on the blue level by bay two-zero-two. At first I wondered how I had been suddenly transported when I realised how strange I felt all over - my body, my clothes and my hair all felt wrong somehow.
I looked down and felt the strength leave my legs as I saw a woman’s body stretching out below me. A woman’s body in a pair of black Mary Janes, matching pencil skirt, white dress shirt and a lanyard whose ID read “Lena Enfield.”
I stared at myself in shock, having fallen to my knees and began running my unfamiliar hands over my unfamiliar body, trying to confirm that I wasn’t somehow dreaming.
“Lena!” a voice echoed across the concrete, causing me to jump in a mix of fear and guilt. I turned in the direction of the voice and felt my heart quail at the side of Jackson striding towards me, his face contorted with fury.
In that instant I felt an overwhelming sense of panic take over and I wanted to be absolutely anywhere except anywhere near him, and in that same moment I felt myself dragged back into the cool air of the server room, sitting on the floor with Lena’s laptop on my legs.
We had theorised that it was possible, but had never been arrogant or stupid enough to try it. The psychological risks and ethical dangers it posed were beyond our ability to rationalise and well outside the original scope of the project, though there were rumours that it would eventually be turned towards a similar end.
But I didn’t have time to marvel at the development. Jackson would interrogate Lena, Lena would tell him the truth, and he would run straight here. I had to act fast.
Jackson would head straight for the server room once he realised what had happened.
I could head straight for the director’s office, but there was no guarantee that she wasn’t also in on his plot. I checked the map again: She had her nanites installed and despite her rank in the organisation had also been set to receive, as had every guard on her floor. Jackson really intended to just dominate everyone in the building. I had all the proof I needed to expose Jackson and have him arrested.
We would need to deprogram Lena. Shit, assuming that was even possible. God only knew how badly Jackson had been screwing with her brain, or for how long. And there was always a chance the higher ups would find out and do what higher ups always do when they have the opportunity to take even more wealth and power.
I fretted for much longer than I should have under the circumstances. Maybe there really was no other way, or maybe I was just deliberately backing myself into a corner. Whatever the case, the sudden jangle of keys at the door alerted me that I had run out of time, and that within seconds, Jackson would be in the room to steal back the laptop, or possibly even frame me, now that he’d been discovered.
I’d considered the option and dismissed it as immoral. Self-serving. A road too dangerous to even consider walking down. But having failed to take any other action, it was the only one I had left.
It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. When the chips are down and the pressure is on, the only person you can depend on is yourself.
I dragged my own icon into the super broadcaster position, and hit “execute.”
*
There wasn’t any sudden rush of sensation. There never had been: Broadcasting just took the data you wanted to impart and transmitted a copy to the target. But for some reason, I still expected something.
What did happen was the sound of keys hitting the floor outside, followed by a hollow groan of absolute despair.
I unlocked the door and opened it to find Jackson, grey-faced and swaying with his hands covering his face. Lena was behind him, looking pitiful, but not nearly as distraught as Jackson.
“Hello, Jackson.” I said flatly.
“Don’t…” he moaned through his hands.
People had begun to file into the room, ashen-faced but with a mix of anger, all of them staring at Jackson as he tried to hide behind himself.
I’d used the nanites to broadcast two things: The knowledge of what Jackson had tried to do, and my overwhelming disgust at him for the attempt.
Now everyone knew what he’d done, he knew that they knew and he shared their hatred for himself because I had copied it directly from my mind into his.
“Nobody hurt him,” I said, seeing the balled fists and shaking hands around me. “Nobody let him hurt himself, either. Get him out of here.”
Four men approached Jackson, who didn’t resist as they grimly marched him away. I turned to Lena, who was running her hands through her hair, wide-eyed and shivering.
“H-he was-s in m-my head…” she stammered.
I didn’t have any words of consolation for her. Least of all, because not moments ago I had also been inside her mind. The only reason she knew about Jackson was because I had “told” her. I motioned for another one of the staff to take her away.
“Alright, everyone,” I said to those who remained. “I want an all-hands meeting in the break room. Tell everyone you see, and someone head upstairs to find…”
I trailed off as I realised how much time would be wasted finding everyone in the building and telling them where to go, and then more wasted simply having the meeting itself, and that was assuming nobody disagreed with what I was about to say.
Well, neither of those things were problems anymore, were they?
I activated my transmitter and broadcast a new set of instructions.
“The project is to be terminated. Nobody can be trusted with this power. Destroy all hardware, all documentation, strip the building down and wipe everything.”
The effect was instant: People began moving with an almost frantic purpose, delegating tasks to themselves or people nearby as files began to be pulled out of drawers and shredded, computers wiped and machinery disassembled. I had intended to join in, but found myself at sea in a centre of bustling activity, so instead walked myself out to my car to lie down and clear my head.
Had I done the right thing? Yes. Absolutely. Any other decision would have exposed everyone to the risk of Jackson regaining control, or the project being compromised by a figure in authority. Even if the director was of sound moral character, her superiors might not be, or their superiors above them. Someone, somewhere in the organisation would have tried to take advantage, just like Jackson did. Better to destroy everything and pretend it never happened.
I watched numbly as a procession of staff began to file out with armfuls and boxes of shredded documents, leaving trails of confetti in their wake. Like ants, they threw their boxes into one of the massive steel containers used for waste disposal. Some others had started fussing over the nearest cars, and it took me a while to realise that they were siphoning the petrol.
My initial alarm was quelled somewhat when they left the containers of fuel to one side instead of lighting it immediately. Any kind of fire would alert the emergency services, who would no doubt try to stop what was happening once they arrived.
It was actually kind of peaceful, sitting apart from the action and just watching it unfold. Almost like watching an ant colony cleaning out a lunchbox: All of the inside bits got broken down and taken outside until all that was left was the shell.
They had filled all six bins and four of the cargo trucks by the time they were done. Everything had been reduced to the smallest parts it could be torn, cut, unscrewed, unplugged or just smashed into. There was no cheering as fuel was added or the flames lit from a safe distance. Just the quiet relief of a terrible future averted.
Someone coughed near me and I turned to see Lena and a few other members of staff with a single trolley loaded with some equipment that hadn’t been destroyed. Confused, I turned to Lena.
“Aren’t you going to add it to the pile?” I asked.
“Not this stuff,” Lena said cheerfully, apparently recovered from her earlier breakdown. “We figured it would be a shame if we destroyed literally everything, so we’ve saved some of it. And because you decided to be mister lazy-pants while the rest of us were hard at work, we’re giving you the job of taking care of it.”
I couldn’t stop my brow furrowing in confusion. “I never told you to do that.”
Lena scoffed as the others began loading the equipment into my car. “Good. We’re not here to do what you tell us. The vote was unanimous: We’re all getting out, so you get to babysit the last remnants. Hide it, destroy it, do whatever you want. This is your share of the responsibility. Maybe next time, do your bit instead of wandering off for a nap, okay?”
And with that, they left to join the rapidly dispersing crowd as everyone jumped into their cars or hitched a ride from the others. A column of black smoke reached up from the facility, and it would be a matter of minutes before the firefighters arrived. Just by virtue of the work we were doing, the cops wouldn’t be far behind.
Without time to get everything out of my car and into the fire, I jumped into the driver’s seat and made my way out with the rest, racking my brain furiously as I tried to avoid speeding on my way home.
I never told them to set aside any equipment for me. No, I never CONSCIOUSLY told them. That really was the only explanation: There was no way that - after being given the artificial impression that the entire project needed to be burned to the ground - they would somehow conveniently decide that I should be trusted with the last pieces of evidence. Not just any evidence, either: At a glance I could tell that I had been left with everything I needed to manufacture and configure the nanites myself, just on a much smaller scale.
Despite my best intentions, some small part of myself had subconsciously implanted the addendum that one way or another, I should have the power to continue the project privately.
Fine, then. I’d get home, pack up what little I could fit and get the hell out of the city, state, maybe even country before finding somewhere I could safely destroy the last remains of a terrible mistake.
That was almost two years ago.
I never did get around to destroying that equipment.
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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—]
0
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Plot
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
Your body was stolen by a super busty Goth Girl. You now have to live her life. You find out you switched because her family was cursed to give their bodies to a stranger of the opposite sex on their 21st birthday. Emily just chose you at random.
Characters
Emily Lunawood: The goth girl who stole your body. She is wearing fishnet stockings, a short skirt with a black lace thong under it, a revealing top with a black lace bra under it and black high heels when she steals your body. She has black hair with red dyed tips, it goes to her waist.
You: An average looking man, you have brown hair and blue eyes. Your slightly muscular.
One moment, I was pressing my palm to the mirror, mesmerized by the way my reflection moved without me. The next—reality twisted, inverted. A dizzying lurch, and I was staring out from the glass at my own horrified face.
Oh God.
My body—Emily’s body now—was already backing away, her—my—lips curling into a smirk that felt alien on my features. "Enjoy the new life," she said in my voice, rolling my shoulders like she was testing them out. "Trust me, you’ll need it."
"Switch us back!" I snapped, but the words came out in her higher, smoother tone—hers now. My hands—slender, unfamiliar—clenched at my sides.
She just smirked, my smirk, and reached for the jacket I’d draped over the chair. "Check the purse, sweetheart. You’ll definitely want to." Then, with a wink that made my stomach twist, she was gone, the door slamming behind her before I could even think to chase her—me.
Nausea rolled through me as I grabbed the leather handbag by the dresser. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, shaking as I pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Emily Lunawood. 21. 309 Cedar Lane.
The drive was a nightmare of panicked swerves and clumsy turns; the car, an automatic, felt foreign without my stick shift to grip. Her—my—apartment was all soft grays and jasmine in the air, pristine except for the open notebook on the kitchen counter.
A single note sat beside it, written in fluid, looping script.
Sorry to whoever is now me, it read, my family was cursed years ago. On the 21st birthday, we are forced to seek out someone of the opposite sex and give them our bodies. You will be given my memories the first night you sleep. Signed Emily Lunawood.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Of course. I thumbed open the notebook—passwords, addresses, even a meticulously planned gym schedule—before collapsing onto the couch, my (her) head in my (her) hands.
The bed was too plush, the sheets too silky, but exhaustion won out. I fell into the dark, and when dreams came, they weren’t mine.
They were hers—childhood summers, first heartbreaks, whispered family warnings that the curse had no loopholes, no way back. And worst of all? The unshakable knowledge that no one in the Lunawood bloodline had ever escaped it.
The first thing I registered as consciousness crawled back was the delicious ache between my thighs and the whisper of stockings against freshly shaved skin. My fingers—her fingers—traced the outline of fishnets stretched taut over smooth legs, the crisscross pattern pressing kisses into flesh that wasn’t mine. A gasp caught in my throat as I realized the skirt riding up was obscenely short, the lace of my thong riding high enough to tease at the curve of my—her—ass. The top barely contained the swell of cleavage spilling over a black lace bra, the fabric sheer enough to outline hardened nipples.
I shifted—God, even the movement felt different—and nearly toppled off the bed when the spiked heels caught in the sheets. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a punch to the gut: smudged eyeliner, swollen lips bitten red, black hair cascading over bare shoulders with crimson streaks blazing through it like warning flares.
And the worst part? The thrill zipping down my spine at how good it all felt.
I got up and went to a mirror.
The mirror showed me—her—in full, and I barely recognized the predatory amusement in my new eyes. My fingers trembled as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my collarbone, every unfamiliar contour both alien and intoxicating. The lace of my bra dug into soft flesh when I inhaled sharply, my nails biting crescents into my palms—just to feel something real.
A slow, involuntary roll of my hips sent a jolt through me—her body knew exactly what it wanted. The fishnets rasped against my thighs as I spread my legs slightly, just enough to feel the damp heat pooling where the thong cut in.
Jesus.
I watched in horrified fascination as my reflection’s tongue swiped over painted lips, my own breath coming faster as I fought the urge to slide a hand lower. This wasn’t me—
But the thought shattered when I arched my back experimentally, and the bra’s clasp strained against the motion. A whimper escaped me—high, breathy, embarrassingly feminine—as my nipple peaked tighter against the lace, the sensation so intense it nearly buckled my knees.
The purse Emily left gaped open on the bed, a glint of metal catching my eye. I reached for it with shaking fingers and pulled out a slim silver vibrator, still slick with—
Oh God, she’d been using this right before swapping us.
The realization burned through me hotter than shame. My reflection’s pupils blew wide as my thumb brushed the damp button, the device humming to life with a predatory purr. The sound alone dragged a moan from my throat—her throat.
I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop.
The vibrator pressed against my inner thigh, the vibrations rippling up through the fishnets like a live wire. Every rational thought short-circuited when I dragged it higher, the lace of my panties already soaked through.
The mirror showed it all—the way my hips jerked when the buzzing found my clit, the obscene glide of the toy through slick folds as I fucked myself with it in frantic, shallow thrusts.
"Fuck—fuck—" My voice was a broken thing, her voice, her pleasure, even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t right.
But God, it felt like heaven.
The orgasm hit like a train, my back slamming against the vanity as my legs gave out. Pleasure pulsed through me in dizzying waves, my reflection’s mouth slack with ecstasy, mascara streaking down flushed cheeks.
I slid to the floor, trembling, the vibrator still buzzing weakly against my thigh.
What the hell was I becoming?
The question pulsed through me like a second heartbeat as I stared at my reflection lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The need to feel more, to explore this stolen flesh, burned hotter than reason.
The top was the first to go. I reached behind my neck to undo the clasp, letting the silky material pool around my waist before sliding it the rest of the way down.
With shaking hands, I reached up and tugged at the straps of the lace bra, seeing in the process a 42F tag. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, setting my full breasts free. They bounced slightly with the motion, nipples hardening immediately in the cool air. A shiver ran through me as my fingers brushed against one, the contact sending a jolt straight to my still-throbbing core.
The fishnets came next. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, rolling them down with slow, deliberate movements. The material clung stubbornly, the crisscross pattern stretching then snapping back against my hips with each inch exposed. Smooth skin emerged beneath, freshly waxed and still tingling from earlier.
The thong was soaked through, the damp lace clinging obscenely when I finally shimmied out of it. My fingers trailed along the inside of my thighs before pausing at the apex - so smooth, so incredibly different. The scent of my own arousal filled the air as I tentatively spread my legs wider, watching in the mirror as the evidence of my pleasure glistened under soft light.
I ran trembling hands over my new body - from the dip of my waist up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling peaked nipples that responded eagerly to every touch. A breathy moan escaped my lips as one hand slid lower, fingertips brushing through damp curls before sinking into slick heat.
This isn't me.
This feels so good.
The contradictions warred in my mind even as my body arched into my own touch, hips rocking against my fingers with increasing urgency. The mirror showed it all - showed her - lost in pleasure, mouth open in silent ecstasy as fingers worked furiously between spread thighs.
When the wave crashed over me this time, I barely recognized my own scream.
The shower did nothing to wash away the surreal thrill of my stolen skin—every inch of Emily’s body still buzzed unnervingly under my touch. Steam fogged the mirror as I toweled off, deliberately running my (her) hands down the unfamiliar slope of narrow waist and curved hips. The face staring back—sharp cheekbones, violet eyes heavy with something darkly knowing—still sent a jolt through me.
I knotted the silk robe too tight, ignoring how it barely covered her thighs. Luckily thanks to her memories, I knew she didn't have any close relationships. I also knew that she would find me again soon, since the curse had a second component. The swapped individuals would fall in love and help continue the family line.
Emily—me now—had left more than just her lipsticks and half-used perfume. The sleek black phone buzzed beneath my fingers, unlocked by my—her—face. I swallowed hard. Time to take inventory of my new life.
Bank Account
The app opened instantly. I blinked.
$84,756.22
I actually laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Savings account? Another $312K. I tapped through transaction history—monthly deposits from something called Lunawood Holdings for $15K, along with smaller payments labeled consulting fees. What the hell kind of consulting did she do?
Social Media
The first tab I tapped was Instagram—her Instagram. My stomach clenched as the app loaded, revealing a digital shrine to seduction. The blue checkmark was inevitable. The bio burned into my retinas: 💋 Your Next Bad Decision 💋, all smirking lips and dangerous promise.
The feed was a slow, deliberate burn—no accidents here. Every shot was a masterclass in teasing control. Silk sheets tangled around one bare thigh, the shadow-dipped dip of her spine as she arched over a hotel balcony, a crimson-lacquered nail dragging down a champagne flute. No laughter, no adrenaline—just heat, simmering in every flick of her wrist, every half-lidded glance at the camera like she could already feel hands on her skin. The captions were sparse, deliberate: "Late nights only", "Tell me how badly you want it", "Good boys don't get to touch."
Every post wasn’t just a demand to look—it was a dare to want.
Twitter was a constant stream of punchy one-liners and suggestive stunt reels. TikTok was a minefield of temptation—short, scorching loops of Emily arching against silk bedsheets, biting her lower lip in teasing slow-motion, her fingers tracing idle circles over the lace hem of lingerie before cutting to black. No laughter, no wasted movement—just a half-second of exposed thigh, the barest glimpse of teeth grazing skin, all set to a pulse-heavy soundtrack that left you craving another replay. Every clip was a dare wrapped in five seconds of sin.
OnlyFans
The icon made my fingers hesitate. Of course she had one. I tapped it—password already saved—and nearly choked.
$27K last month. $42K the month before. A catalog of paywalled galleries—Mistress in Marble, Bondage & Breakfast, each one featuring me now, in poses so sinful my pulse stuttered. There I was, sprawled across black satin sheets, fingers tangled in my own hair as I arched toward the camera, lips parted just enough to tease. Another series showed me kneeling in thigh-high stockings, the garter straps biting into creamy skin while I stared down the lens with heavy-lidded authority.
Subscriptions
Then came the subscriptions. Of course she had every premium streaming service—Netflix, HBO, the works—but the real fun started scrolling down. Paid access to high-end porn sites, all sleek branding and "exclusive content." A membership to Velvet Orbit, some kind of luxury erotic streaming platform with thumbnails featuring tangled limbs under silk sheets and promises of "real couples, real desires."
I was closing out of the accounts when I heard it—three sharp raps against the bedroom wall, followed by two slower ones. A pattern. Deliberate.
My breath caught. That wasn’t the front door.
Emily’s memories surfaced like fragments of a dream—pressed against this same wall, her fingers finding the nearly invisible seam in the wallpaper, pushing just so—
A hidden door clicked open.
I froze as the panel swung inward, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for shoulders. And there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that matched the one I’d worn earlier, stood me.
My old body looked different now. The way he held himself was all Emily; the cocky tilt of his chin, the way his fingers drummed a lazy rhythm against his thigh. His shirt hung open, revealing the chest I used to know every scar and freckle of.
“Miss me already?” His voice was mine, but the cadence, the purr—hers.
“You—” My throat tightened. I hadn’t realized how much taller I used to be until I had to look up at myself.
“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger—my finger—and stepped inside, the hidden door whispering shut behind him. “Rule one of the curse: no take-backs.” His gaze dragged over me, lingering where the robe gaped at my chest. “Though I do like what I see.”
A flush burned up my neck. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He prowled closer, close enough that I caught my old cologne on his skin. “I was hoping you’d find the toys first.” His grin widened as my cheeks heated. “Oh, you did.”
I backed up until the vanity dug into my spine. “Why are you here?”
His grin turned wicked as he leaned in, close enough for his borrowed lips to brush my ear. "Because you will be my bride and help continue the line as per the second half of the curse."
A few years later
The pain was unbearable—a searing, primal fire tearing through me with every contraction. My nails dug into the hospital bed sheets, sweat gluing Emily’s—no, mine now—long black hair to my face.
"You’re doing amazing," he murmured, squeezing my hand. Even now, with my old face lined with worry, the way he tilted his head was pure Emily—that same confident smirk tempered by something softer. The silver band on his finger glinted under the harsh hospital lights, matching the one nestled securely against my own ring finger.
"Shut up," I gasped, arching off the bed as another wave hit. "This is your fault.*"
He just chuckled, brushing damp strands back from my forehead. "Our family now, sweetheart." His thumb traced my knuckles. "And trust me, when you hold her, you won’t regret a damn thing."
The nurse between my legs looked up, grinning. "One more push, Mom. She’s right there."
I barely had time to scream before the pressure shattered into sudden, dizzying relief. A fragile, furious wail filled the room, and then—
Her.
Tiny. Perfect. Swaddled in a pink blanket and placed carefully against my chest, her little face scrunched up in outrage. Dark lashes fluttered against petal-soft cheeks, her miniature fingers curling reflexively around mine.
"Congratulations," the nurse murmured. "She’s beautiful."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The weight of her was terrifying, intoxicating—mine.
"She has your nose," he whispered, bending to press a kiss to my temple. His—my old—calloused finger traced the baby’s shock of dark hair. "But your mother’s eyes." His voice cracked. "God, look at her."
The baby blinked up at us, her tiny mouth working silently before she settled with a sigh. The monitors beeped steadily, the world narrowing to this moment—this impossible, inevitable moment.
I leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, euphoric, and met my husband’s gaze.
"Worth it?" he teased, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
I clutched our daughter tighter—the next in the Lunawood line—and laughed through the tears.
body swap
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You and your group of friends won a raffle that awarded you with five tickets to Spooky Island! It was the new resort island being endorsed by Sydney Sweeney, it’s gimmick was supposedly a spooky and entertaining summer experience, and since you guys were on summer break, you definitely thought it was a sign to enjoy the island.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
possession
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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!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
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!
The air in my apartment was thick with exhaustion and the lingering stench of energy drinks. Finals had officially wrecked us—Kevin was sprawled across the couch like a corpse, James was rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the last 72 hours from memory, and Steve and Russel were slumped on the floor, barely conscious.
Russel scrolled lazily through his phone before suddenly sitting up. "No way. You guys seeing this shit?" He turned the screen toward us, revealing a Reddit thread with the title: "BodyPossession.com is LEGIT—I spent an hour as my hot neighbor and now I’m addicted."
Kevin snorted. "Yeah, and I’m Elon Musk. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
James groaned. "If people could just steal bodies, the world would be a nightmare. Think about it—politicians, celebrities, your ex? Total chaos."
Russel smirked. "Tell that to the thousands of people swearing it works. Says you upload a pic, pay in crypto, and boom—first hour’s free. Like a trial run."
Steve, who had been half-asleep, cracked an eye open. "Okay, hypothetically—if this wasn’t complete bullshit—who would you even possess?"
A slow, stupid grin spread across my face.
I grabbed my laptop. "Only one way to find out."
The guys groaned, half-heartedly protesting, but curiosity got the better of them as they crowded behind me. I typed BodyPossession.com into Google, fully expecting nothing but scam links.
But there it was—first result. No shady redirects, no sketchy warnings. Just a sleek black-and-white homepage with bold letters:
"TEMPORARY BODY HOSTING. FIRST HOUR FREE."
Silence.
Russel exhaled. "What the actual fuck."
Kevin jabbed my arm. "This has got to be fake."
I clicked the gallery. Hundreds of faces loaded—some smiling for the camera, others caught unaware, like the site had scraped every social media profile in existence. A cold tingle slithered down my neck, but I ignored it, scrolling faster.
"Let’s keep it simple," I said, pulling up the Drews’ Instagram—our insanely hot neighbors who lived one floor above us.
Samantha Drew, late 40s but looking like she could pass for a decade younger, full lips and curves that made yoga pants look like a crime. Henry Drew, six-foot-something of sculpted muscle, the kind of guy who probably bench-pressed his kids for fun. Their daughter, Sophie, medical student by day, knockout by night, with that dangerous combo of brains and a body that belonged in a magazine. And the twins—Abby, a lithe, bright-eyed brunette with legs for days, and Lance, her cocky, broad-shouldered counterpart who acted like the dorm showers were his personal runway.
Steve let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Mom’s mine."
"The hell she is," James snapped, elbowing him. "Dibs don’t mean shit—this isn’t monopoly."
Russel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys. First things first—who the hell gets last pick? Because I know none of you are volunteering."
I tuned them out. My fingers moved before I could second-guess—cropping Henry’s sharply defined jawline from a Cabo vacation pic and dropping it onto the site.
HOST SELECTED: HENRY DREW
FIRST HOUR FREE. SESSION BEGINS IN 10…
Kevin yanked at the laptop. "John, no—think for one goddamn second—!"
Russel just cackled. "Oh, you beautiful, reckless bastard—"
The screen flared white.
Then—nothing.
possession
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Kent is young guy that has to spend the summer paying off his debt after accidentally damaging his bitch of a neighbour Julie’s car while playing a game with his friend Marcus. Kent resigns himself to working as Julie’s glorified servant, that is until he finds an odd looking idol that allows him to possess her body. Now with a summer of freedom ahead and Julie’s hot body to do with as he pleases, Kent is looking forward to making up for lost time and having some fun.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
mtf
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I try not to think of myself as the bad guy. Yes, I found myself involved in the development of mind-control technology, but I did my best to protect the world from the worst of it. After that, things just kind of happened on their own.
At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
In hindsight, I don’t see how things could have turned out any other way. I’m not saying that as an excuse for any of the things I did or as if it makes them any less bad, but having taken the first step, things just kind of kept happening.
It started at work. I won’t say where.
We were testing methods of remote information transmission that didn’t rely on explicit outputs or inputs. Basically communication that bypassed the barriers outlined in models like Berlo’s SMCR: Instead of relying on language to convey meaning, our aim was to find a way to convey meaning itself directly from one mind to at least one other.
Again, with the benefit of hindsight, the implications were obvious, but we weren’t concerned with whether we should, we just wanted to see if we could. Classic hubris of the scientifically minded.
And it turns out we can. Or more specifically, I can. I’ve made sure all traces of the research material has been scrubbed from any database; every hard drive degaussed, every memory stick smashed into tiny pieces, every document shredded and the whole lot set on fire just to be safe. The technology is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.
Yes, like mine. It turns out my hands are also the wrong hands, but I didn’t know it at the time. I thought if I just kept the research to myself and studied it in secret, I could find a way to use it to make the world a better place. I guess I can still do that. Maybe it will make up for the bad that I’ve done, which on reflection isn’t even that bad.
Sure, I accidentally corrupted the free will of a fellow human being and inadvertently turned them into my loyal assistant and sex slave, but they’re happy. I know they’re happy, because in a lot of ways, they’re also me.
That helps, right?
*
Everyone was very excited. It was something worth being excited about. Transmission was old tech and measuring changes in brain waves was old tech, but reliably translating knowledge as it was being recalled into data, then being able to implant that data into another mind was a big fucking deal.
Other departments in other labs were specialising in mechanical transmission - robotics and cybernetics, for replacement or auxiliary limbs or remote work in hazardous environments. Useful stuff, but not nearly as delicate as what we were trying to achieve. They were trying to transmit a signal to a robot hand to gently hold an egg: We were trying to pull a single thought out of one mind and stitch it seamlessly into another.
Our first major breakthrough was impression: Not the conveyance of explicit knowledge or of a specific message, just a vague sense experienced by the broadcaster transmitted to the receiver. It had to be a strong sense, which meant staff with intense phobias being the broadcaster knowing what objects were beneath a series of cups, and the receiver choosing a cup at random based on the impression being transmitted to them.
It wasn’t a hundred percent accurate, but the results fell well outside of what would have been possible on pure guesswork and we were pumped to fine tune the technology to see what it could do.
I say “random,” because even though it wasn’t, even though we knew it wasn’t and even though the receiver knew that a successful test would be proof that it wasn’t, they still felt as though they were choosing randomly. At no point did they feel like they were under someone else’s influence or receiving information externally; in every single instance, they were convinced that the experiment had failed and they were just choosing at random.
That should have been our first warning.
We advanced from cups viewed from two positions to mazes navigated from two positions, and then from mazes to simple guessing games like battleships and go fish. Again, no explicit information, but impressions that still left the receiver under the illusion that they were just lucky guessers.
From simple games we moved on to more advanced guessing games like celebrity heads and poker. This was a significant step forwards, but we were still relying on impressions that could be rationalised by the receiver as guesswork and luck. At no point was anyone being fed information that they couldn’t have conceivably deduced, remembered, calculated or bumbled their way into naturally.
That’s when the second major breakthrough happened. One of our broadcasters, Jackson, had gotten tired transmitting the correct answers to his receiver and had started feeding them deliberately incorrect answers. Nothing obvious - just answers that were close enough that they could make even someone who already knew second guess themselves. His receiver had a post-it note on her forehead with “Tiger Woods” written in permanent marker on it, and she had been given the clue “Golfing champion.”
By now, everyone had gotten used to Jackson’s shenanigans, so we grinned or grimaced as poor Lena rattled through every wrong answer she could be compelled to try.
“Tony the Tiger. Michael Jordan. Walt Disney. Santa Claus. Mickey Mouse. Bullroarer Took. Babe Ruth. Heisenberg. Wait, who the hell is Bullroarer Took?”
She didn’t get an answer, as the lab immediately exploded into questions and exclamations and people generally just freaking out. We’d done it, and somehow completely by accident: An entirely new, explicit piece of information had been seamlessly added to a receiver’s brain and it wasn’t until a few seconds after they’d actually said it that they even realised it wasn’t information from their own brain.
That was our second warning.
The third warning came quite a bit later, but by pure chance, I was the only one who noticed and when I did, I acted immediately.
Jackson’s shenanigans had inadvertently opened up new paths of inquiry. By randomly but deliberately poking at areas of knowledge specifically unrelated to the task at hand, we were able to isolate the neural activation patterns associated with conscious knowledge independent of emotional belief.
What followed were several successful instances of transmitting discrete pieces of data from broadcaster to receiver, however we then ran into the new problem of getting the receiver to distinguish between their own thoughts and the information being fed to them. Furthermore, when asked to explain the reasoning behind the transmitted answers, receivers became dismissive, evasive and sometimes even agitated, later explaining that the information just “felt true,” a sensation that applied even in instances where the receiver had been deliberately fed incorrect data.
With mounting dread, we realised the danger of the technology we had created.
The true horror sunk in during a coffee break, when by pure chance I saw Jackon’s reflection making an odd hand gesture over the drink of a coworker whose back was turned. I had to force myself to turn around slowly, watching Jackson converse casually without his eyes leaving her face. It wasn’t until she took a sip that he seemed to relax and noticed me by the coffee machine. I did my best to betray nothing, placing my own coffee onto the table in front of him and moving as though to sit when I “remembered” to get cream from the fridge.
This time when I turned I saw his hurried motion plainly in the brushed metal door, and it took all the self control I had not to confront him or punch his lights out. I returned to the table, adding the cream without sitting before returning it to the fridge. I picked up my coffee and was about to walk out of the room with it when Jackson called out to me with some innocent question about my department. It quickly became clear that he was stalling, waiting for me to drink, so I feigned a casual sip with tightly pursed lips as we spoke and he seemed to relax. I took the opportunity to leave with my cup and as soon as I was out of sight went straight to the micro-observation facility.
We had initially aimed to use physical chips implanted in the subject’s brains to establish a connection, but the risk of accidental damage compounded by multiple intrusions in the case of faulty hardware or the replacement of redundant units made this untenable. Thankfully (or perhaps not), we were assisted by our sister department in nanotech, who had developed a biomonitoring system using carbide nanites that could enter the bloodstream through the digestive tract. To test for successful nanite absorption, we just needed to take a blood sample and insert it into an observation case. And it didn’t just work on blood.
I felt my stomach drop as the coffee reading came back positive. A concentration high enough that even a mouthful would fully colonise a body within hours. I felt sick as I entered a vial of my own saliva, and when that test also came back as a weak positive and rising, I almost fainted.
That fucking bastard.
I had to stop myself from running to the configuration deck and came to a sudden halt halfway there. There’s no way Jackson could have done anything underhanded on one of the terminals without someone seeing him. The room, the equipment and change was constantly monitored as a security measure. If he were going to do anything without being detected, it would need to be somewhere private where he could still access the server and the network. He wasn’t authorised to be anywhere near the site’s core infrastructure, but it was the only place where he would have everything he needed.
I didn’t know how I was going to get access to the server room when I arrived - it’s not as if I had access either - but it turned out that I didn’t need access and neither did Jackson.
Lena had access, and she had left the door unlocked.
She looked up at me owlishly from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a laptop on her knees.
“Oh, Hi Marcus,” she said, parroting Tommy Wiseau’s infamous line as though we were meeting in the break room.
“Lena?” I asked cautiously. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, I’m just making sure that anytime a new host comes online, they’re set to receive only,” she said, as though she were just filling out her calendar. She turned the laptop so that I could see the screen and pointed at the second of two dots on a map of the facility. “See? There you are right next to me. You came online just a minute ago, so I’ve already made you a receiver.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because Jackson told me to.”
I stared at the unquestioning innocence in her eyes.
“And you have to do what he says?”
Lena rolled her eyes at me. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated. The silence was broken only by the steady whine of cooling fans.
Eventually, Lena shifted uncomfortably. “So, what are you doing here? You’re not IT.”
Not wanting to alarm her, I said the first thing that I could think of. “No, but Jackson sent me.”
The way Lena’s face lit up at his name made me feel ill.
“Does that mean you’re working for him too?”
“Yes,” I lied. Like a man laying down rails for a moving train as he’s riding on it, I grabbed blindly for any string of words that might work. “And he told me to come get you for something important. He’s… outside in the parking lot and says you need to come straight away.”
Lena’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, but I have to stay here for stage three. I’ve just finished getting everyone online.”
“That’s fine. He told me to take over. I have to do what he says, remember? You’ve finished stage two, haven’t you? He says you’ve done a very good job.”
Again, the look of bliss that took over Lena’s face twisted my gut.
“Great! Where can I find him?”
“He just told me as he was walking out,” I said, letting Lena stand up and hand me the laptop. “You’ll have to go look for him. He’s keeping an eye out for you.”
“Okay!” I watched Lena leave the room and closed it behind her, making sure to lock it this time. We shared our parking with three other departments across eight floors, so unless Jackson really was there already, that would keep her out of the way.
She’d been right. Jackson had worked his way through the entire department’s staff and I had a live view of every single person in the facility. Watching the glowing dots meander around the map gave me a truly terrifying glimpse into the future we had made possible.
What caught my eye was something that didn’t exist in the standard interface. We had created individual controls for the kind of transmissions we wanted and the direction we wanted them to go in, but Lena had added a new input without a label.
Clicking on it, a text field appears in which the name “Enfield, Lena” was already populated followed by a yes/no switch.
I pressed “yes” and blacked out.
*
I was in the parking lot, on the blue level by bay two-zero-two. At first I wondered how I had been suddenly transported when I realised how strange I felt all over - my body, my clothes and my hair all felt wrong somehow.
I looked down and felt the strength leave my legs as I saw a woman’s body stretching out below me. A woman’s body in a pair of black Mary Janes, matching pencil skirt, white dress shirt and a lanyard whose ID read “Lena Enfield.”
I stared at myself in shock, having fallen to my knees and began running my unfamiliar hands over my unfamiliar body, trying to confirm that I wasn’t somehow dreaming.
“Lena!” a voice echoed across the concrete, causing me to jump in a mix of fear and guilt. I turned in the direction of the voice and felt my heart quail at the side of Jackson striding towards me, his face contorted with fury.
In that instant I felt an overwhelming sense of panic take over and I wanted to be absolutely anywhere except anywhere near him, and in that same moment I felt myself dragged back into the cool air of the server room, sitting on the floor with Lena’s laptop on my legs.
We had theorised that it was possible, but had never been arrogant or stupid enough to try it. The psychological risks and ethical dangers it posed were beyond our ability to rationalise and well outside the original scope of the project, though there were rumours that it would eventually be turned towards a similar end.
But I didn’t have time to marvel at the development. Jackson would interrogate Lena, Lena would tell him the truth, and he would run straight here. I had to act fast.
Jackson would head straight for the server room once he realised what had happened.
I could head straight for the director’s office, but there was no guarantee that she wasn’t also in on his plot. I checked the map again: She had her nanites installed and despite her rank in the organisation had also been set to receive, as had every guard on her floor. Jackson really intended to just dominate everyone in the building. I had all the proof I needed to expose Jackson and have him arrested.
We would need to deprogram Lena. Shit, assuming that was even possible. God only knew how badly Jackson had been screwing with her brain, or for how long. And there was always a chance the higher ups would find out and do what higher ups always do when they have the opportunity to take even more wealth and power.
I fretted for much longer than I should have under the circumstances. Maybe there really was no other way, or maybe I was just deliberately backing myself into a corner. Whatever the case, the sudden jangle of keys at the door alerted me that I had run out of time, and that within seconds, Jackson would be in the room to steal back the laptop, or possibly even frame me, now that he’d been discovered.
I’d considered the option and dismissed it as immoral. Self-serving. A road too dangerous to even consider walking down. But having failed to take any other action, it was the only one I had left.
It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. When the chips are down and the pressure is on, the only person you can depend on is yourself.
I dragged my own icon into the super broadcaster position, and hit “execute.”
*
There wasn’t any sudden rush of sensation. There never had been: Broadcasting just took the data you wanted to impart and transmitted a copy to the target. But for some reason, I still expected something.
What did happen was the sound of keys hitting the floor outside, followed by a hollow groan of absolute despair.
I unlocked the door and opened it to find Jackson, grey-faced and swaying with his hands covering his face. Lena was behind him, looking pitiful, but not nearly as distraught as Jackson.
“Hello, Jackson.” I said flatly.
“Don’t…” he moaned through his hands.
People had begun to file into the room, ashen-faced but with a mix of anger, all of them staring at Jackson as he tried to hide behind himself.
I’d used the nanites to broadcast two things: The knowledge of what Jackson had tried to do, and my overwhelming disgust at him for the attempt.
Now everyone knew what he’d done, he knew that they knew and he shared their hatred for himself because I had copied it directly from my mind into his.
“Nobody hurt him,” I said, seeing the balled fists and shaking hands around me. “Nobody let him hurt himself, either. Get him out of here.”
Four men approached Jackson, who didn’t resist as they grimly marched him away. I turned to Lena, who was running her hands through her hair, wide-eyed and shivering.
“H-he was-s in m-my head…” she stammered.
I didn’t have any words of consolation for her. Least of all, because not moments ago I had also been inside her mind. The only reason she knew about Jackson was because I had “told” her. I motioned for another one of the staff to take her away.
“Alright, everyone,” I said to those who remained. “I want an all-hands meeting in the break room. Tell everyone you see, and someone head upstairs to find…”
I trailed off as I realised how much time would be wasted finding everyone in the building and telling them where to go, and then more wasted simply having the meeting itself, and that was assuming nobody disagreed with what I was about to say.
Well, neither of those things were problems anymore, were they?
I activated my transmitter and broadcast a new set of instructions.
“The project is to be terminated. Nobody can be trusted with this power. Destroy all hardware, all documentation, strip the building down and wipe everything.”
The effect was instant: People began moving with an almost frantic purpose, delegating tasks to themselves or people nearby as files began to be pulled out of drawers and shredded, computers wiped and machinery disassembled. I had intended to join in, but found myself at sea in a centre of bustling activity, so instead walked myself out to my car to lie down and clear my head.
Had I done the right thing? Yes. Absolutely. Any other decision would have exposed everyone to the risk of Jackson regaining control, or the project being compromised by a figure in authority. Even if the director was of sound moral character, her superiors might not be, or their superiors above them. Someone, somewhere in the organisation would have tried to take advantage, just like Jackson did. Better to destroy everything and pretend it never happened.
I watched numbly as a procession of staff began to file out with armfuls and boxes of shredded documents, leaving trails of confetti in their wake. Like ants, they threw their boxes into one of the massive steel containers used for waste disposal. Some others had started fussing over the nearest cars, and it took me a while to realise that they were siphoning the petrol.
My initial alarm was quelled somewhat when they left the containers of fuel to one side instead of lighting it immediately. Any kind of fire would alert the emergency services, who would no doubt try to stop what was happening once they arrived.
It was actually kind of peaceful, sitting apart from the action and just watching it unfold. Almost like watching an ant colony cleaning out a lunchbox: All of the inside bits got broken down and taken outside until all that was left was the shell.
They had filled all six bins and four of the cargo trucks by the time they were done. Everything had been reduced to the smallest parts it could be torn, cut, unscrewed, unplugged or just smashed into. There was no cheering as fuel was added or the flames lit from a safe distance. Just the quiet relief of a terrible future averted.
Someone coughed near me and I turned to see Lena and a few other members of staff with a single trolley loaded with some equipment that hadn’t been destroyed. Confused, I turned to Lena.
“Aren’t you going to add it to the pile?” I asked.
“Not this stuff,” Lena said cheerfully, apparently recovered from her earlier breakdown. “We figured it would be a shame if we destroyed literally everything, so we’ve saved some of it. And because you decided to be mister lazy-pants while the rest of us were hard at work, we’re giving you the job of taking care of it.”
I couldn’t stop my brow furrowing in confusion. “I never told you to do that.”
Lena scoffed as the others began loading the equipment into my car. “Good. We’re not here to do what you tell us. The vote was unanimous: We’re all getting out, so you get to babysit the last remnants. Hide it, destroy it, do whatever you want. This is your share of the responsibility. Maybe next time, do your bit instead of wandering off for a nap, okay?”
And with that, they left to join the rapidly dispersing crowd as everyone jumped into their cars or hitched a ride from the others. A column of black smoke reached up from the facility, and it would be a matter of minutes before the firefighters arrived. Just by virtue of the work we were doing, the cops wouldn’t be far behind.
Without time to get everything out of my car and into the fire, I jumped into the driver’s seat and made my way out with the rest, racking my brain furiously as I tried to avoid speeding on my way home.
I never told them to set aside any equipment for me. No, I never CONSCIOUSLY told them. That really was the only explanation: There was no way that - after being given the artificial impression that the entire project needed to be burned to the ground - they would somehow conveniently decide that I should be trusted with the last pieces of evidence. Not just any evidence, either: At a glance I could tell that I had been left with everything I needed to manufacture and configure the nanites myself, just on a much smaller scale.
Despite my best intentions, some small part of myself had subconsciously implanted the addendum that one way or another, I should have the power to continue the project privately.
Fine, then. I’d get home, pack up what little I could fit and get the hell out of the city, state, maybe even country before finding somewhere I could safely destroy the last remains of a terrible mistake.
That was almost two years ago.
I never did get around to destroying that equipment.
At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
In hindsight, I don’t see how things could have turned out any other way. I’m not saying that as an excuse for any of the things I did or as if it makes them any less bad, but having taken the first step, things just kind of kept happening.
It started at work. I won’t say where.
We were testing methods of remote information transmission that didn’t rely on explicit outputs or inputs. Basically communication that bypassed the barriers outlined in models like Berlo’s SMCR: Instead of relying on language to convey meaning, our aim was to find a way to convey meaning itself directly from one mind to at least one other.
Again, with the benefit of hindsight, the implications were obvious, but we weren’t concerned with whether we should, we just wanted to see if we could. Classic hubris of the scientifically minded.
And it turns out we can. Or more specifically, I can. I’ve made sure all traces of the research material has been scrubbed from any database; every hard drive degaussed, every memory stick smashed into tiny pieces, every document shredded and the whole lot set on fire just to be safe. The technology is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.
Yes, like mine. It turns out my hands are also the wrong hands, but I didn’t know it at the time. I thought if I just kept the research to myself and studied it in secret, I could find a way to use it to make the world a better place. I guess I can still do that. Maybe it will make up for the bad that I’ve done, which on reflection isn’t even that bad.
Sure, I accidentally corrupted the free will of a fellow human being and inadvertently turned them into my loyal assistant and sex slave, but they’re happy. I know they’re happy, because in a lot of ways, they’re also me.
That helps, right?
*
Everyone was very excited. It was something worth being excited about. Transmission was old tech and measuring changes in brain waves was old tech, but reliably translating knowledge as it was being recalled into data, then being able to implant that data into another mind was a big fucking deal.
Other departments in other labs were specialising in mechanical transmission - robotics and cybernetics, for replacement or auxiliary limbs or remote work in hazardous environments. Useful stuff, but not nearly as delicate as what we were trying to achieve. They were trying to transmit a signal to a robot hand to gently hold an egg: We were trying to pull a single thought out of one mind and stitch it seamlessly into another.
Our first major breakthrough was impression: Not the conveyance of explicit knowledge or of a specific message, just a vague sense experienced by the broadcaster transmitted to the receiver. It had to be a strong sense, which meant staff with intense phobias being the broadcaster knowing what objects were beneath a series of cups, and the receiver choosing a cup at random based on the impression being transmitted to them.
It wasn’t a hundred percent accurate, but the results fell well outside of what would have been possible on pure guesswork and we were pumped to fine tune the technology to see what it could do.
I say “random,” because even though it wasn’t, even though we knew it wasn’t and even though the receiver knew that a successful test would be proof that it wasn’t, they still felt as though they were choosing randomly. At no point did they feel like they were under someone else’s influence or receiving information externally; in every single instance, they were convinced that the experiment had failed and they were just choosing at random.
That should have been our first warning.
We advanced from cups viewed from two positions to mazes navigated from two positions, and then from mazes to simple guessing games like battleships and go fish. Again, no explicit information, but impressions that still left the receiver under the illusion that they were just lucky guessers.
From simple games we moved on to more advanced guessing games like celebrity heads and poker. This was a significant step forwards, but we were still relying on impressions that could be rationalised by the receiver as guesswork and luck. At no point was anyone being fed information that they couldn’t have conceivably deduced, remembered, calculated or bumbled their way into naturally.
That’s when the second major breakthrough happened. One of our broadcasters, Jackson, had gotten tired transmitting the correct answers to his receiver and had started feeding them deliberately incorrect answers. Nothing obvious - just answers that were close enough that they could make even someone who already knew second guess themselves. His receiver had a post-it note on her forehead with “Tiger Woods” written in permanent marker on it, and she had been given the clue “Golfing champion.”
By now, everyone had gotten used to Jackson’s shenanigans, so we grinned or grimaced as poor Lena rattled through every wrong answer she could be compelled to try.
“Tony the Tiger. Michael Jordan. Walt Disney. Santa Claus. Mickey Mouse. Bullroarer Took. Babe Ruth. Heisenberg. Wait, who the hell is Bullroarer Took?”
She didn’t get an answer, as the lab immediately exploded into questions and exclamations and people generally just freaking out. We’d done it, and somehow completely by accident: An entirely new, explicit piece of information had been seamlessly added to a receiver’s brain and it wasn’t until a few seconds after they’d actually said it that they even realised it wasn’t information from their own brain.
That was our second warning.
The third warning came quite a bit later, but by pure chance, I was the only one who noticed and when I did, I acted immediately.
Jackson’s shenanigans had inadvertently opened up new paths of inquiry. By randomly but deliberately poking at areas of knowledge specifically unrelated to the task at hand, we were able to isolate the neural activation patterns associated with conscious knowledge independent of emotional belief.
What followed were several successful instances of transmitting discrete pieces of data from broadcaster to receiver, however we then ran into the new problem of getting the receiver to distinguish between their own thoughts and the information being fed to them. Furthermore, when asked to explain the reasoning behind the transmitted answers, receivers became dismissive, evasive and sometimes even agitated, later explaining that the information just “felt true,” a sensation that applied even in instances where the receiver had been deliberately fed incorrect data.
With mounting dread, we realised the danger of the technology we had created.
The true horror sunk in during a coffee break, when by pure chance I saw Jackon’s reflection making an odd hand gesture over the drink of a coworker whose back was turned. I had to force myself to turn around slowly, watching Jackson converse casually without his eyes leaving her face. It wasn’t until she took a sip that he seemed to relax and noticed me by the coffee machine. I did my best to betray nothing, placing my own coffee onto the table in front of him and moving as though to sit when I “remembered” to get cream from the fridge.
This time when I turned I saw his hurried motion plainly in the brushed metal door, and it took all the self control I had not to confront him or punch his lights out. I returned to the table, adding the cream without sitting before returning it to the fridge. I picked up my coffee and was about to walk out of the room with it when Jackson called out to me with some innocent question about my department. It quickly became clear that he was stalling, waiting for me to drink, so I feigned a casual sip with tightly pursed lips as we spoke and he seemed to relax. I took the opportunity to leave with my cup and as soon as I was out of sight went straight to the micro-observation facility.
We had initially aimed to use physical chips implanted in the subject’s brains to establish a connection, but the risk of accidental damage compounded by multiple intrusions in the case of faulty hardware or the replacement of redundant units made this untenable. Thankfully (or perhaps not), we were assisted by our sister department in nanotech, who had developed a biomonitoring system using carbide nanites that could enter the bloodstream through the digestive tract. To test for successful nanite absorption, we just needed to take a blood sample and insert it into an observation case. And it didn’t just work on blood.
I felt my stomach drop as the coffee reading came back positive. A concentration high enough that even a mouthful would fully colonise a body within hours. I felt sick as I entered a vial of my own saliva, and when that test also came back as a weak positive and rising, I almost fainted.
That fucking bastard.
I had to stop myself from running to the configuration deck and came to a sudden halt halfway there. There’s no way Jackson could have done anything underhanded on one of the terminals without someone seeing him. The room, the equipment and change was constantly monitored as a security measure. If he were going to do anything without being detected, it would need to be somewhere private where he could still access the server and the network. He wasn’t authorised to be anywhere near the site’s core infrastructure, but it was the only place where he would have everything he needed.
I didn’t know how I was going to get access to the server room when I arrived - it’s not as if I had access either - but it turned out that I didn’t need access and neither did Jackson.
Lena had access, and she had left the door unlocked.
She looked up at me owlishly from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a laptop on her knees.
“Oh, Hi Marcus,” she said, parroting Tommy Wiseau’s infamous line as though we were meeting in the break room.
“Lena?” I asked cautiously. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, I’m just making sure that anytime a new host comes online, they’re set to receive only,” she said, as though she were just filling out her calendar. She turned the laptop so that I could see the screen and pointed at the second of two dots on a map of the facility. “See? There you are right next to me. You came online just a minute ago, so I’ve already made you a receiver.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because Jackson told me to.”
I stared at the unquestioning innocence in her eyes.
“And you have to do what he says?”
Lena rolled her eyes at me. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated. The silence was broken only by the steady whine of cooling fans.
Eventually, Lena shifted uncomfortably. “So, what are you doing here? You’re not IT.”
Not wanting to alarm her, I said the first thing that I could think of. “No, but Jackson sent me.”
The way Lena’s face lit up at his name made me feel ill.
“Does that mean you’re working for him too?”
“Yes,” I lied. Like a man laying down rails for a moving train as he’s riding on it, I grabbed blindly for any string of words that might work. “And he told me to come get you for something important. He’s… outside in the parking lot and says you need to come straight away.”
Lena’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, but I have to stay here for stage three. I’ve just finished getting everyone online.”
“That’s fine. He told me to take over. I have to do what he says, remember? You’ve finished stage two, haven’t you? He says you’ve done a very good job.”
Again, the look of bliss that took over Lena’s face twisted my gut.
“Great! Where can I find him?”
“He just told me as he was walking out,” I said, letting Lena stand up and hand me the laptop. “You’ll have to go look for him. He’s keeping an eye out for you.”
“Okay!” I watched Lena leave the room and closed it behind her, making sure to lock it this time. We shared our parking with three other departments across eight floors, so unless Jackson really was there already, that would keep her out of the way.
She’d been right. Jackson had worked his way through the entire department’s staff and I had a live view of every single person in the facility. Watching the glowing dots meander around the map gave me a truly terrifying glimpse into the future we had made possible.
What caught my eye was something that didn’t exist in the standard interface. We had created individual controls for the kind of transmissions we wanted and the direction we wanted them to go in, but Lena had added a new input without a label.
Clicking on it, a text field appears in which the name “Enfield, Lena” was already populated followed by a yes/no switch.
I pressed “yes” and blacked out.
*
I was in the parking lot, on the blue level by bay two-zero-two. At first I wondered how I had been suddenly transported when I realised how strange I felt all over - my body, my clothes and my hair all felt wrong somehow.
I looked down and felt the strength leave my legs as I saw a woman’s body stretching out below me. A woman’s body in a pair of black Mary Janes, matching pencil skirt, white dress shirt and a lanyard whose ID read “Lena Enfield.”
I stared at myself in shock, having fallen to my knees and began running my unfamiliar hands over my unfamiliar body, trying to confirm that I wasn’t somehow dreaming.
“Lena!” a voice echoed across the concrete, causing me to jump in a mix of fear and guilt. I turned in the direction of the voice and felt my heart quail at the side of Jackson striding towards me, his face contorted with fury.
In that instant I felt an overwhelming sense of panic take over and I wanted to be absolutely anywhere except anywhere near him, and in that same moment I felt myself dragged back into the cool air of the server room, sitting on the floor with Lena’s laptop on my legs.
We had theorised that it was possible, but had never been arrogant or stupid enough to try it. The psychological risks and ethical dangers it posed were beyond our ability to rationalise and well outside the original scope of the project, though there were rumours that it would eventually be turned towards a similar end.
But I didn’t have time to marvel at the development. Jackson would interrogate Lena, Lena would tell him the truth, and he would run straight here. I had to act fast.
Jackson would head straight for the server room once he realised what had happened.
I could head straight for the director’s office, but there was no guarantee that she wasn’t also in on his plot. I checked the map again: She had her nanites installed and despite her rank in the organisation had also been set to receive, as had every guard on her floor. Jackson really intended to just dominate everyone in the building. I had all the proof I needed to expose Jackson and have him arrested.
We would need to deprogram Lena. Shit, assuming that was even possible. God only knew how badly Jackson had been screwing with her brain, or for how long. And there was always a chance the higher ups would find out and do what higher ups always do when they have the opportunity to take even more wealth and power.
I fretted for much longer than I should have under the circumstances. Maybe there really was no other way, or maybe I was just deliberately backing myself into a corner. Whatever the case, the sudden jangle of keys at the door alerted me that I had run out of time, and that within seconds, Jackson would be in the room to steal back the laptop, or possibly even frame me, now that he’d been discovered.
I’d considered the option and dismissed it as immoral. Self-serving. A road too dangerous to even consider walking down. But having failed to take any other action, it was the only one I had left.
It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. When the chips are down and the pressure is on, the only person you can depend on is yourself.
I dragged my own icon into the super broadcaster position, and hit “execute.”
*
There wasn’t any sudden rush of sensation. There never had been: Broadcasting just took the data you wanted to impart and transmitted a copy to the target. But for some reason, I still expected something.
What did happen was the sound of keys hitting the floor outside, followed by a hollow groan of absolute despair.
I unlocked the door and opened it to find Jackson, grey-faced and swaying with his hands covering his face. Lena was behind him, looking pitiful, but not nearly as distraught as Jackson.
“Hello, Jackson.” I said flatly.
“Don’t…” he moaned through his hands.
People had begun to file into the room, ashen-faced but with a mix of anger, all of them staring at Jackson as he tried to hide behind himself.
I’d used the nanites to broadcast two things: The knowledge of what Jackson had tried to do, and my overwhelming disgust at him for the attempt.
Now everyone knew what he’d done, he knew that they knew and he shared their hatred for himself because I had copied it directly from my mind into his.
“Nobody hurt him,” I said, seeing the balled fists and shaking hands around me. “Nobody let him hurt himself, either. Get him out of here.”
Four men approached Jackson, who didn’t resist as they grimly marched him away. I turned to Lena, who was running her hands through her hair, wide-eyed and shivering.
“H-he was-s in m-my head…” she stammered.
I didn’t have any words of consolation for her. Least of all, because not moments ago I had also been inside her mind. The only reason she knew about Jackson was because I had “told” her. I motioned for another one of the staff to take her away.
“Alright, everyone,” I said to those who remained. “I want an all-hands meeting in the break room. Tell everyone you see, and someone head upstairs to find…”
I trailed off as I realised how much time would be wasted finding everyone in the building and telling them where to go, and then more wasted simply having the meeting itself, and that was assuming nobody disagreed with what I was about to say.
Well, neither of those things were problems anymore, were they?
I activated my transmitter and broadcast a new set of instructions.
“The project is to be terminated. Nobody can be trusted with this power. Destroy all hardware, all documentation, strip the building down and wipe everything.”
The effect was instant: People began moving with an almost frantic purpose, delegating tasks to themselves or people nearby as files began to be pulled out of drawers and shredded, computers wiped and machinery disassembled. I had intended to join in, but found myself at sea in a centre of bustling activity, so instead walked myself out to my car to lie down and clear my head.
Had I done the right thing? Yes. Absolutely. Any other decision would have exposed everyone to the risk of Jackson regaining control, or the project being compromised by a figure in authority. Even if the director was of sound moral character, her superiors might not be, or their superiors above them. Someone, somewhere in the organisation would have tried to take advantage, just like Jackson did. Better to destroy everything and pretend it never happened.
I watched numbly as a procession of staff began to file out with armfuls and boxes of shredded documents, leaving trails of confetti in their wake. Like ants, they threw their boxes into one of the massive steel containers used for waste disposal. Some others had started fussing over the nearest cars, and it took me a while to realise that they were siphoning the petrol.
My initial alarm was quelled somewhat when they left the containers of fuel to one side instead of lighting it immediately. Any kind of fire would alert the emergency services, who would no doubt try to stop what was happening once they arrived.
It was actually kind of peaceful, sitting apart from the action and just watching it unfold. Almost like watching an ant colony cleaning out a lunchbox: All of the inside bits got broken down and taken outside until all that was left was the shell.
They had filled all six bins and four of the cargo trucks by the time they were done. Everything had been reduced to the smallest parts it could be torn, cut, unscrewed, unplugged or just smashed into. There was no cheering as fuel was added or the flames lit from a safe distance. Just the quiet relief of a terrible future averted.
Someone coughed near me and I turned to see Lena and a few other members of staff with a single trolley loaded with some equipment that hadn’t been destroyed. Confused, I turned to Lena.
“Aren’t you going to add it to the pile?” I asked.
“Not this stuff,” Lena said cheerfully, apparently recovered from her earlier breakdown. “We figured it would be a shame if we destroyed literally everything, so we’ve saved some of it. And because you decided to be mister lazy-pants while the rest of us were hard at work, we’re giving you the job of taking care of it.”
I couldn’t stop my brow furrowing in confusion. “I never told you to do that.”
Lena scoffed as the others began loading the equipment into my car. “Good. We’re not here to do what you tell us. The vote was unanimous: We’re all getting out, so you get to babysit the last remnants. Hide it, destroy it, do whatever you want. This is your share of the responsibility. Maybe next time, do your bit instead of wandering off for a nap, okay?”
And with that, they left to join the rapidly dispersing crowd as everyone jumped into their cars or hitched a ride from the others. A column of black smoke reached up from the facility, and it would be a matter of minutes before the firefighters arrived. Just by virtue of the work we were doing, the cops wouldn’t be far behind.
Without time to get everything out of my car and into the fire, I jumped into the driver’s seat and made my way out with the rest, racking my brain furiously as I tried to avoid speeding on my way home.
I never told them to set aside any equipment for me. No, I never CONSCIOUSLY told them. That really was the only explanation: There was no way that - after being given the artificial impression that the entire project needed to be burned to the ground - they would somehow conveniently decide that I should be trusted with the last pieces of evidence. Not just any evidence, either: At a glance I could tell that I had been left with everything I needed to manufacture and configure the nanites myself, just on a much smaller scale.
Despite my best intentions, some small part of myself had subconsciously implanted the addendum that one way or another, I should have the power to continue the project privately.
Fine, then. I’d get home, pack up what little I could fit and get the hell out of the city, state, maybe even country before finding somewhere I could safely destroy the last remains of a terrible mistake.
That was almost two years ago.
I never did get around to destroying that equipment.
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Chapter by
Rainreaper · 17 Aug 2025 -
The start of the story
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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?)
Next Chapters