Azrael’s body turned to ash in front of her.

Blowing past him, the fireball smashed a hole the size of a train car through the tower. The gaping, fiery cavity was the straw in the camel’s back—the tower began to bend in slow motion, caving forward, until Momo’s top-floor room was at a right angle.

She screamed, falling straight through the hole she created. Her bed, her furniture, her sketchbook—they all descended upon her, rocketing down to the ground like explosive shrapnel. Azrael’s disintegrated corpse took flight in the air around her, a million specks of black dust lighting up the sky. Simultaneously, an audio courier began idly chatting in her ear.

Congratulations! Assassinating a fellow necromancer, wow, now that’s new! He wasn’t only a necromancer though, but technically a Lesser God. Don’t worry, his soul is still sitting pretty somewhere in the Nether, but even defeating his human form is a formidable task. We asked Morgana what she thought of this action of yours, so that we could reward and/or punish you appropriately, but she just barked at us to get out of her room and slammed the door. Let’s just say she’s a bit preoccupied these days. Heh heh.

So, consequently, we—the Nether Association of System Administrators—together agreed on an independent decision. Administrator Valerica tried to influence this decision considerably, like she has done with all of our decisions since ascending to lesser godhood, but we are an independent body and, for the last time: we cannot be bought. Nor suggested, nor goaded, nor threatened. So, in the spirit of fairness, we will list the cases of judicial precedent we considered to come to this call…

“I don’t have the time for this!” Momo screeched, air buffeting her clothes as she plummeted towards the ground. She pounded at her ear until the System stopped reading out the message, declaring it would Send Decision By Mail Due To User Error.

“Thank god,” she cried. “[Polymorph — Nether Imp]!”

Her body transformed mid-air. Wings sprouted from her shoulders, her legs receded into her chest. Soon enough, she was flapping around wildly, catching her breath and watching as the tower slowly crumbled, floor by floor. Escaped government officials were pooling frantically at the base of the tower, but they were only a small group compared to the vast number of employees that were still stuck higher up. The building’s many staircases had crumbled, and the elevators had lost their power source, leaving hundreds of officials trapped and screaming.

“Shit,” Momo said, calming her rapid breathing. “I need to help them.”

Evaluating the state of the quickly crumbling tower, Momo’s mind ventured back to Nam’Dal—to when Sera had constructed a tower of pure Nether. Back then, Momo could barely conceptualize the level of power it took to do such a thing. But now… She looked down at her red, Nether-stained palms, and formed them into fists. She began to cast [Eye of the Nether Demon], calling upon the surrounding Nether to flock to her.

As the black energy congealed around her, she heard a fresh round of screams. A group of dwarven janitors had slid off the side of the crooked tower. The staircase they had been descending had collapsed and fallen to the wayside, now looming like a gangplank over a hundred foot drop. Their hands gripped the rock for dear life, but the crumbling staircase looked at any moment like it might break off the central mass completely.

“Hold on!” Momo yelled. With enough of the Nether now floating around her palms, she thrust it forward, slinging it like webs around the dangling platform. She then flew upwards rapidly, her tiny wings straining as she tried to heave the platform upwards. Agh. She cried out. It was too heavy. She had very low Strength even at her normal size, and even less in her imp form. She couldn’t reattach the platform to the main building without growing ten times in size.

“By the gods, my mum was right when she said I should’ve never left Deepgrove,” one of the dwarves cried out, his gloved fingers shaking as they held onto the crumbling stone. “Be a good man of the Ironloaf clan, she said. Learn your craft and hone it here, amongst your people, where’ll you be safe, and loved, and won’t have to go climbing no fancy towers or tending to no nasty chickens. But I just had to go and be ambitious, god damn it—”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

With a deafening creak, the staircase splintered off the side of the building. The dwarves began hurtling downwards, screaming.

“No!” Momo yelled, diving for them.

She transformed from her Imp form to the Merlin, rapidly increasing her aerodynamicism. She dove ahead of them, turned around rapidly in the air, and summoned all the Nether she could manage, flooding the pavement below with it. Morganium’s citizens scrambled as the black liquid flowed from her like a river, creating a buoyant, ball pit-like padding on the ground.

She could feel her Mana being utterly sapped from her, her bones aching. She was forced to break her polymorph, falling to her knees in an awkward, bloody fumble. Catching her breath on the pavement, she watched with horror as the dwarves descended upon the pool of Nether.

“Please,” she begged.

They hit the ground like meteors. Only they didn’t explode on impact—they bounced. Bounced like beach balls. Momo lit up as she watched them bound off the Nether surface and smack into each other. It was like watching a group of floating toddlers, their limbs thrashing around madly as they tried to right themselves. After a lot of grunting and wailing, they eventually rolled off of the mat, disoriented but alive.

“By Kyros,” the dwarf from before exclaimed, wobbling unsteadily across the pavement. He was hugging his body, checking to see if all his limbs were still there. “I’m never testing fate again. I’m taking these unloyal legs and walking straight home to Deepgrove, mum be merciful—”

“Momo!”

Momo turned. She was immediately met with the crushing weight of Sumire’s body. The woman wrapped herself around her tightly, nearly toppling her back onto the pavement. She wheezed, her heart swelling and her lungs constricting. The wind was already knocked out of her from before—this was just the potentially-lethal cherry on top.

“Sumire—you’re—choking me.”

The pirate eventually relented. Sumire was panting, her cheeks flushed. She had obviously been running for a long distance. Standing behind her was an equally exasperated group of others: Teddy, Viktor, Grimli, Radu, and Nyk. Momo didn’t take the time to stop and greet them.

“We need to save the people in the tower,” she grunted, her ribs aching as she straightened herself. “I—I think I can do it, but I’ll need help.”

“We are at your full disposal, your highness,” Grimli said, saluting her. The rest of the ragtag group agreed, each displaying a differing degree of dedication.

“Teddy, I’m going to need you to get the people at the bottom of the tower out of the way. Lead them somewhere safe. I don’t care if you have to polymorph into a dragon and intimidate the piss out of them to get the job done. Just put as much distance between them and the fire as possible,” she explained.

He nodded, and immediately started drunkenly jogging towards the mass of frenetic citizens.

She then turned to Sumire. “Mire—that skill you used on me back in the day, during that one fight where you were trying to kill me. The giant tidal wave? I need you to use that on the tower. Grab Nura if you can, and anyone else with other water-based abilities. We need to control the fire inside as much as possible, especially if Sera tries to strike it again.”

“Got it, Mo.”

As Sumire dashed off, the sky crackled with lightning once more. The hail was still falling aggressively, shooting like a railgun onto the pavement. It left stone-sized dents in the street. Momo thought the storm would end after she took care of Azrael, but it seemed to be the opposite. It was only raging louder. Evidently, Sera was pissed. It wouldn’t be long before she started dropping atomic thunder bombs on them.

Momo needed to find a way to get Morganium’s citizens underground.

“Viktor, the temples you've had erected for Baryte and your insane chicken religion—they all have underground chambers, right? Kind of like bunkers underneath Morganium?”

“Indeed, your majesty. It’s also where we keep the eggs. They’re Baryte’s royal nurseries.”

“I don’t need the details, Viktor. I just need you use to use whatever influence you and the undead bird have to try to get everyone underground. Got it?”

“Actually,” he said, throwing up a finger. “Not to disagree with you in times of crisis, your highness, but I think this megastorm would actually be the perfect opportunity for me to try and harness some of that nether-lightning to further power the Chickenductor—”

“Viktor. Get. Them. Underground. Now,” Momo growled, glaring at him with the intensity of a rabid, demonic chihuahua. “Or I will put you in the Chickenductor.”

“Got it!” he squeaked, turning bright red and backing away quickly. “Underground they go!”

Next to her, Nyk chuckled.

“I like this side of you, shortstack.”

Radu had run off to join Viktor, rightfully skeptical of the man’s ability to keep on-task, leaving only her and Nyk to face the music. The wind howled once more, causing the tower to careen from side to side. No matter which direction it toppled, it’d crush dozens of apartment buildings, not to mention the people still trapped inside of the crumbling stone needle—accountants and janitors, financial staff, childcare workers, chicken keepers and fowl administrators.

Turning towards Nyk, the adrenaline left Momo’s body. The entire campaign trail, she had been trying to convince this nation—these people—that she was worthy of being queen. That she was the singular person that could protect them from harm. That was the job description. Now, here it was, looking her straight and boldly in the face: the opportunity to prove it.

And going by her poll numbers, what might be her last opportunity to prove it.

“Nyk,” she said, lip trembling. “This has to work.”