Chapter 444 - Reign of the Crowned X
Chloe gulped as she stared down the imaginary jittern. Even just looking at it was enough to deter her and mark the act of rebellion as one of utmost stupidity, but it could only play second fiddle to its aura of death.
Every few seconds, the pug’s face distorted. Its jaw grew longer and its teeth more jagged. Its big, round eyes warped into a trio of narrow slits. But then, the warped facade would vanish, just as it finished burning itself into the back of her mind.
She wouldn’t have known how to approach it even if it hadn’t carried the special trait. The guards had effectively defeated themselves, and she highly doubted that the same trick would work on a warrior prepared for battle. Still, she knew it was better to try. There was no other way she could possibly defeat an enemy above level 4000 in a proper duel.
A flash of inspiration coursed through her as soon as she made up her mind. The jitterns clearly liked their ladies veiled, and Chloe had just the thing.
Pulling a pair of her mistress’ panties out from within her skirt, she unraveled the exquisite garment from its scent-preserving wrap while her opponent watched suspiciously and tied it around her face.
Her whole body shuddered as the musky, briney scent flooded her lungs. She could practically hear her heart thumping out of its cage as her body temperature began to rise. For the briefest of moments, she nearly forgot that she was about to engage in a battle to the death. And when her senses returned, she found that she had fallen to her butt with her thighs squeezed together and her tail slowly sneaking its way under her dress.
The heart-shaped mark etched beneath her navel—the tattoo that ascertained her identity as Alfred’s chosen champion—came alight, almost glowing through her clothes as she lost to the urge to moan.
An urge from which her observers were anything but exempt.
They leaned forward, throwing themselves off balance to hide their reactions. Her face was red, but she could tell through the slits in their veils that theirs were even redder.
Again, her racial ability was primed.
And again, she opted for activation.
All of the dog-men were charmed. Even some of the onlooking women that she hadn’t quite meant to target were placed under her banner and made to obey. Giggling, the succubus turned into mist before appearing again beside the monarch. She placed his hand on her chin and lifted it, looking into his eyes as she traced her lips with her tongue.
She could tell.
His soul was about to be hers.
But just before the process completed, just before she claimed his life, she found her plans disrupted.
There was a feral howl as the ink-made pug shoved his sword straight through his loins. Impaling his own genitals, he weakened her control and launched into a staggering rush. The combination of her spell and his metal crutch threw him completely off balance and drained the majority of his speed. But even then, he was fast enough to threaten her off his master.
She backed away immediately, but the pug closed the distance regardless and drove its fist towards her throat. She thought to dodge, but it didn’t seem possible. There wasn’t enough time for her to pick up enough speed to get out of the way.
If not for her griffon, which swooped in for a full-body tackle, she surely would have been struck and slain. The ink-pug was driven through the building. He plummeted to the building’s ground floor, crashing through all sorts of pillars, supports, and pieces of furniture on the way. Still, his body refused to yield to the cat-bird’s rush.
The two pugs that Chloe had enthralled and slain rushed onto the scene as the griffon flapped away. With one of its limbs broken, it couldn’t quite take off, but it stumbled out of the doorway regardless and returned to its master’s side.
At a glance, it looked like Chloe’s servants held the clear advantage. Drawing their swords, they charged through the storeroom and prepared to end the fallen ink monster, but he rose from the rubble as the first closed the distance and countered its swing with a bob and a weave. His fist tore straight through the thrall’s neck and removed its spine, but the vampiric servant kept moving. The satyr was long dead. It felt no pain, and none of its commands came from its logical center. The corrupted blood that filled its veins compelled it to continue attacking.
And yet, it was ineffective.
The ink dog grabbed it by the wrists and twisted its sword from its fingers, stealing the weapon just in time to cut down its approaching partner. Even off balance, even stumbling and disoriented, the warrior continued to serve.
And that was precisely why he fell to its knees.
Finally, the poison naturally secreted from the griffon’s talons had worked its way through his body.
Blood clotters. Muscle relaxants. Heart stoppers. Nerve wreckers. A full array of the deadliest substance the dead cat-bird could possibly produce.
Even combined, they failed to kill the ink-dog outright. He still reacted when the griffon swooped in. With a heavy overhand strike, he split the thrall in half and ended it in a single blow. But again, his competence guided his failure.
The bottle that the griffon carried in its chest was also split in two. And its contents spilled all over the false pug’s body.
His chest practically exploded. The ink monster’s pectoral muscles vanished beneath an eye-popping layer of fat. His newfound breasts measured over three meters in every direction. The monster was strong enough that the extra fifteen thousand kilograms of body weight wasn’t enough to throw him off balance.
Or at least that would have been the case had his feet still touched the floor.
Alas, his pug-based nature rendered his limbs too stubby.
He immediately got to tearing at the massive lumps of excess fat, but not before Chloe leapt on his back. His flesh was surprisingly malleable for something so high level. With just a little bit of effort, she managed to work a dagger through the back of his neck. Chloe continued to strike at the monster’s head, thinking that he might regenerate, but much to her surprise, the initial stabbing had already secured its death.
Out of breath, she leapt back up onto the roof and faced the jittern king, who had watched over the battle in something of a trance. She started walking towards him as she considered all of the experience his death was sure to yield. She immediately reprimanded herself for the thought—she wasn’t Claire—but still, she found herself falling victim to temptation. If she exterminated the jitterns, if she cleared out their population, she would have a solid chance of acquiring her next ascension and earning the strength she needed to protect Arciel from the hunters.
She felt a tug on her dress just as she psyched herself up to make an honest attempt. Looking towards it, she half expected another pervert hoping to see her legs, but all she found was Panda.
“Relax,” he said. “Greed gets the rug pulled from under your feet, and he isn’t going down so easily.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Chloe forced a laugh as she put her daggers behind her back and hid them beneath her skirt. “Sorry.”
Still smiling awkwardly, the succubus undid her charm as Panda vanished and watched the warriors snap out of their stupors. It wasn’t like they were strictly free from her seduction. The racial ability was predicated on the presence of lust. It was precisely because she aroused them that she could seize her enemies by the balls.
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What returned with the ability’s undoing was the half of their mind that presided over logic and restraint. Allowed again to put their brains to work, they finally recalled that their lives held purpose beyond serving the demon before them.
All sorts of reactions arose from the unchained warriors. Some looked at her in horror, their faces pale and their blood free from their loins. Some collapsed where they stood and emptied the contents of their stomachs. And some continued to stare, still, or perhaps even more entranced despite knowing that she had nearly stolen everything they had to offer.
There was an oddball who fell to his knees and prayed, as well as another who stared intently at the bulge between his pants and slowly lowered his maw. One particularly strange figure even started bashing his face against the roof while two relatively sane servants stopped a sobbing lady from plunging a knife into her neck.
The crowned warrior was the only one who retained his dignity, casually rising to his feet and approaching Chloe with a glint in his one visible eye.
“So tricked were our loins, by the lure of thy nectar, thy true vorpal blade.” The white-robed pug laughed as his words blended reality with verse. “Though potent thy scheme, though mine crown was presented, thy mercy shone through.” Removing his hat and exposing his ugly, flattened face, he pressed the headwear to his chest and bowed. “Theodore I art, sovereign of this hallowed land, seventh of the crowned.”
“I’m Chloe,” said the maid. “Loyal servant to the queen of Vel’khan. I simply wish to pass through.”
“A fervour like flame, a will as strong as struck steel, a heart pure as gold.” The pug smiled one more time before returning his hat to his head. “To thou will I yield, and offer thee mine blessing, a tranquil night’s rest.”
Chloe shook her head. “I really appreciate the gesture, but I don’t have the time. I need to keep going, quickly as I can.”
“Worry not thyself, for with mine gift bestowed, the quickest of steeds. With hooves like thunder, swift as a coursing river, and soft as a cloud.”
The maid hesitated at first, but after noting that Panda was not appearing to advise, she reluctantly went with her gut and accepted the jittern’s offer.
___
Olethra lazily shifted her eyes towards the corner of her vision and confirmed the system’s time as she continued to wait in front of Flitzegarde’s door. The line itself had long been vanquished. It had been three full days since the old, owl-like fellow in front of her had wrapped up his business and gone his merry way. But the portal showed no sign of opening.
She had no choice but to sit around and wait, completely bored out of her mind with little to do but watch as her companions worked themselves to the bone. Every once in a while, she stepped in, and offered her assistance by either repopulating the monsters in the areas around them or mapping out their optimal patterns as determined by the system. She leveraged that same system to pump the mountains full of variants, an act that drove many of the weaker predators southwards in turn. Though not exactly Vella, nor really capable of giving a growth-relevant blessing, she had dramatically bolstered their rate of advancement.
Had she the ability, she very well may have bolstered their levels directly, but Flitzegarde, the system’s creator, was the sole entity with the requisite authority. All of the other gods had to go through the quest and achievement systems, all of which would actively validate that the payouts conformed to the usual guidelines.
As dictated by the goddess of order, risk and reward existed in strict proportion. There were but two acts that allowed for the rule to be broken. The first was for a god to grant a boon—a blessing that would empower a mortal of choice. Its sole cost was a smidgeon of divinity, with the precise amount depending on the strength of the blessing. Though the divine energy was sure to quickly regenerate, and though there was no strict requirement, most gods preferred to avoid the exception and demand a task from the blessed.
The other method was to crown a champion, but it was widely considered to be riskier and more restrictive. Given the costs, one did not simply thoughtlessly empower a mortal. Or at least, that was the expectation. Olethra herself had engaged in such tomfoolery just a few months prior, though she was fortunate enough for her champion to have fallen over immediately—it was by remaining active that a champion proved most expensive.
Each marked creature would temporarily lock out a portion of the god’s divinity. The precise value scaled with the amount of power bestowed upon the individual in question. At the very least, the mark had to be strong enough to double the target’s overall proficiency, and if too weak, it would grow proportionally without any input or permission from the god in question. One such parasite was the strict limit for any who thought themselves sane.
It was impossible to remove a mark without express approval from the goddess of order, and a mistake in one’s judgement was not on the list of acceptable justifications. It only made sense. After all, marking a target was effectively no different from sharing a piece of one’s dominion. In the odd case that the deity had less power remaining than any of the blessed, it became possible for a champion to wrest control away from their patron and seize their might for themselves. The phenomenon was more typical when a god was spread much thinner, and fortunately, all marks would expire from those who turned from aspects to celestials, but there had been a few odd cases back in the day where as few as two particularly powerful servants proved potent enough to topple a weaker deity.
Not even Olethra was quite as weak as the deities in question, but neither was she delusional enough to rank herself much higher. She didn’t dare mark the party, especially after going so long without fulfilling her role.
Everyone but Sophia was on the verge of becoming an aspect. Another few days, and they would be eligible to take on their patrons’ trials and transition into the realm of the quasi-immortal. Though, it was difficult to say how they would fare. Lucius was especially reliant on his god-given gear. His deity was unlikely to flip the switch lest he proved himself worthy.
The others were a bit better off, but Olethra was under the impression they still needed to put in a fair bit of effort if they wanted to cross the line. They simply lacked the raw power, and even if they had it, they remained entirely devoid of divinity. They would be weak, pitiful aspects without any chance of further ascension—a stark contrast to the man they would be sure to anger by hunting the prey of their choice.
It was right as she began to contemplate their success that the door in front of her finally opened. A sigh of relief on her lips, she quickly informed her companions of a brief absence, closed all of her menus, and stepped into Flitzegarde’s domain.
The tanned, feline goddess awaited her not in the sort of temple in which she often greeted her mortal visitors, but a random spot in the middle of outer space. She was surrounded by panels on all sides, all of which were populating with data at an impossible speed. Olethra could barely enumerate the panels, let alone decipher their contents and appropriately fill in all of the necessary responses.
“Olethra.” Flitzegarde’s voice was quiet, robotic, almost completely devoid of energy. It was only natural with the pity amount of work still left on her plate. “I see that you have filed for a request to arrange for arbitration with a hostile party. Please understand that it is not within the realm of my ability to approve any requests outside of the system’s prerogative for bad actors who forgo their duties. You have neglected yours for the past 9619 years, 4 months, 47 days, 14 hours, 7 minutes, 25 seconds, 1 millisecond, and 14 microseconds. Please spend at least this amount of time diligently performing your duties before making your request again.”
The goddess of weights and measures winced. As expected, Flitzegarde was unwilling to compromise.
“Please also be aware that your arbitration request falls under section 14.963, article C, revision 8. Arbitration may not be leveraged with the intention of justifying an attack when you are aware that you are actively working against a hostile god’s interests. You may file the request again under a standard request for negotiation, though, you should be aware that it does not demand a minimum level of cooperation. The other party will not be obliged to respond to your request or otherwise attend any appointments not mutually agreed upon.”
“I understand,” said Olethra, with a sigh. It was a shame, but she had long figured that she would be unable to convince the goddess of the flow, even if she were to bring her suffering to the table.
It was starting to look like avoiding retaliation would prove impossible.
“Thank you, Flitzegarde.”
“You’re welcome.”
Olethra sighed and began to head out the way she came, but a vector tugged at her back before she could go.
“Please wait,” said Flitzegarde. “All common algorithms for future sight anticipate that you are likely to attack the individual known as Claire Augustus regardless of whether you are able to earn Flux’s approval.”
“I am,” said Olethra. “What of it?”
“I strongly advise against this course of action,” said the holy housecat. “In the circumstance that your assault proves to be successful as you have envisioned, your actions are likely to trigger a larger-scale conflict.”
The duck-billed dinosaur opened her mouth, but Flitzegarde continued before she could so much as voice her question.
“At this time I am unfortunately incapable of elaborating in any meaningful manner without exerting any influence on the outcome,” she said. “However, I will state that it is in both of our best interests for you to return to your duties posthaste.”
“I’ll think about it once we accomplish our goal.”
Flitzegarde narrowed her eyes. “I will not be swayed by the pretense of possible labour, Olethra.”
The younger goddess forced a smile. “It was worth the attempt.”
“I would rather you refrained from wasting my time.” Her older counterpart shook her head and sighed. As she had previously computed, the goddess of weights and measures had failed to grow. Even allowed to venture as she pleased, her understanding of time was still bound by its once-mortal lens.