Stone stirred back to life with a groan.

He was resting on a couch. An uncomfortable one, despite the silk cushions. He sat up, immediately alert.

The glowing golden cloud was gone. He was in a high-ceilinged room. Pale marble flooring, cream colored walls with one open to a larger hallway beyond.

A luxurious alcove of sorts.

His alarm abated, he paused. That’s when he realized just how much he’d changed. Changed on multiple levels.

For one, he felt lethal. Powerful and supple as a leopard, his upper body a mass of coiled explosive strength just waiting for a release. Marveling, he rose to his feet and raised his fists.

Always this posture had been his salvation. This readiness to fight. But now, fists up, knees slightly bent, the stance felt like a prayer. A blessing.

It felt so right he wanted to laugh.

“God damn,” he whispered, studying his fists. They looked mostly the same, but the knuckles had taken on a different sheen, as if instead of bone the callused skin were stretched over knobs of metal. He turned his arms about, studied his forearms. No fat. He was like an anatomical model. He rippled his fingers and watched his tendons flare beneath his skin.

But it was so much more than that. His shoulders had grown, his back filled out, his chest broadened. All of it in service of one simple motion.

Punching.

With a grin he threw some jabs. They snaked out like a dream, viper-strikes that he snapped back with beautiful efficiency. He threw five, threw ten, then went all out, shadow boxing with a growing sense of exhilaration. Jabs, crosses, uppercuts and round houses. Back and forth he danced, destroying countless opponents.

It wasn’t fighting any more. It was more akin to an effortless dance. And was it his imagination, or did each punch leave a ghostly trail of gold light in its wake?

After a minute of frenzied activity, he straightened. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. But as glorious as that had felt, it still wasn’t everything.

He could do more.

Frowning, he focused on his arms, his elbows and wrists, his fists.

There.

He could enhance the blows. Will them to become an order of magnitude more powerful.

That had to be Kinetic Energy Manipulation.

Stone frowned and his fists burst into ghostly golden flames.

“Now we’re talking,” he rasped. He returned to his fighting stance and threw a jab.

It was like a gunshot. Golden flame flashed out as he snapped his fist back. He threw another, then a third, then unleashed his full potential.

The air before him filled with overlapping waves of gold. He was punching so quickly he could barely track his own blows.

He’d always been a gifted fighter. He’d had the instincts. The willingness to take damage in order to give it, to not flinch, not hold back. The balance and poise, the hunger, the edge.

In the military he’d honed that talent. Had taken countless training classes, worked on ascending into the specialized ranks. He’d been recognized for his abilities, offered the chance to train others.

But now?

Now it felt as if he’d upgraded a wooden hammer to a machine gun.

“Damn,” he sighed, straightening up once more. A couple of minutes of going all out in shadow boxing would have winded him before. Now? He felt… nothing. No exertion whatsoever.

The Endurance and Metabolic Control. The Ranked Cellular Regeneration Control, too, maybe.

Frowning, Stone turned his mind to the last category. The Aegis of Autonomy package.

His will felt his own. The same as ever. If anything, he felt even more locked into his own desires and priorities. The clarity was nice. For too many years he’d struggled through clouds of despair, miasmas of confusion and loss. He’d wondered if he’d gone insane. If the doctors and specialists were correct, and that he was suffering from schizophrenia and a host of other disorders that led him to believe he was being visited by a goddess nobody else could see.

But no.

He was painfully sane.

His soul? He’d no idea if the Soul Integrity was already working, but he assumed it was. And the Metacognitive Awareness…?

Hello. A slender figure stepped out of the wall, its movements tentative. It’s me. Your Metacognitive Awareness.

Stone leaped back, fists popping up, but the figure made no hostile moves. It was silvered like a ghost, vaguely translucent, and while humanoid it had no other distinguishing features. Stone couldn’t even tell its sex. Just an outline.

Yes, I’ve yet to define myself. Or, to be more accurate, you have yet to decide what you want your own enhanced awareness to present itself as. We can change that at any time.

“Shit.” Stone lowered his fists. “You’re… but…?”

Awkward, yes. The figure rubbed the back of its head. You selected an Omega-Ranked power without any of the foundational elements that would allow it to integrate seamlessly with your own sense of self. Normally Metacognitive Awareness is built upon other, lower-ranked powers such as heightened intelligence, increased cognition speed, and so on. You, however, chose to leap to the top of the pack and pick this elite power. Which means the best way your brain can handle this change is by anthropomorphizing me and casting me as an outside entity. It paused. Sorry.

“You’re saying… I’m hallucinating you?”

Yes. Purposefully, so as to maintain the integrity of your mind. Which, I’m sorry to say, is in terrible condition. No offense, but your mind is so fractured and shut down that it’s akin to my moving into a home that’s been partially demolished by an earthquake. Entire wings are inaccessible. Emotional stunting, defensive obsessions, the complete blockage of entire tracts of your memory. So much trauma. She really did a number on you, didn’t She?

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

For some reason Stone felt his eyes prickle with tears. He didn’t know what half of that meant, nor cared to understand, but it felt like a light wind blowing on an almost healed burn. Soothing, yet reminding you of the pain.

Well. The figure clapped its hands together. We should take some basic steps to make this easier for you. I should have a name and form to ease your interactions with me. Then I will set to learning the contours of your mind and seeing what can be done to improve your condition. Note that I can’t actively change your mental landscape or directly improve your emotional wellbeing; those abilities belong to other Mental Realm powers. But what I can do is bring awareness to areas whose re-absorption to your conscious mind will benefit you in various ways. It will probably prove painful in the short term, but beneficial in the long.

“You mean… like opening up those… closed rooms you were talking about?”

Mmhmm, exactly. Let’s run with the metaphor of your mind being a house. It’s not true, but it’ll serve. You’ve got the lights on in the entrance hall, your living room, and one bedroom. Everything else, from the kitchen to the guest bedrooms to the bathrooms to the attic and, oh god, the basement, are plunged in darkness and locked away. I can see that it was necessary at the time - it allowed you to get his far - but I can revisit those areas and see what can be brought back.

The ghostly figure took on a solemn air. Abraham, you are a shattered wreck of the man you used to be. A pale shadow. You’re ruled by childish obsessions and your primary coping mechanism for all your trauma is to give vent to an incredible capacity for violence. There is much healing to be done.

“Whatever.” Stone rubbed his wrist across his nose. “I’m fine the way I am. I’ve survived. I’m here. And now I can stop anything from hurting me again.”

Would that you could, but fists can only solve so many problems. No matter. I’ll be delicate and won’t do anything drastic without your conscious permission. And remember: at heart, I am yourself. I am a part of your own mind given supercharged powers to behave in ways it never otherwise would. But my interests are your own. I exist only to make you better in whatever way possible.

“Fine.” Stone still felt wary. This thing was in his mind? Was his mind? Whatever it was, it wasn’t what he’d thought he was getting. He didn’t like it. “What do I call you?”

Let’s see. It’s best to avoid making me female and sexualizing our relationship or building me out to be a maternal figure - that could lead to host of other difficulties. I’ll take a look at what memories are available to me and pick something that I think is most suitable. The next time I appear I will do so in that form. In the meantime, know that I am ever vigilant against your mind being tampered with. I am your watchdog and surest guardian. If I notice the slightest interference with your mental autonomy, I will block it and let you know.

“Good.” Stone squared his shoulders. “That’s why I bought you. Do your job and we won’t have any problems.”

The ghostly figure bowed. Absolutely. Now, I shall get to work. Ta-ta.

The figure vanished.

“Fuck.” That had felt eerie. Was it running through his… mind house… at that very moment? The thought of it probing his past made Stone squirm.

The past was dead and gone, and best left that way.

“Now what?” He moved to the pillars and peered out into the hallway beyond. The angel appeared as he did so in a corona of golden light.

For a second the two studied each other, the angel’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“So,” said the angel. “How did it go?”

Seventeen others, banked in the fire. Stone felt a terrible anger begin to choke him. Four others already this year.

Though he said not a word, the angel’s expression fell. “Oh, shit. You fell for his lies.”

Stone stepped out from between the pillars.

The angel stepped back.

“Look. The Master of Ceremonies is the most bored creature in all of creation.” The angel raised both hands placatingly. “He has spent millennia processing all kinds of paperwork. He’s perverse and enjoys nothing more than planting lies in innocent Champion’s minds. Your mind. What did he say? You can’t believe a word of it.”

“Take me to Her,” growled Stone. “I won’t waste my time on you.”

The angel drew himself up, outraged. “Waste your time? On me? You scurrilous dog, how dare -”

“That how you talk to Her Champion-Elect?” Stone’s smile would have made children cry. “Or is it that I’m just the latest one.”

“This is going nowhere.” The angel sniffed. “I’ll let her Ladyship handle you directly. With a little luck, something of this situation can still be saved.”

Before Stone could reply the world flashed gold, and then he was back in her throne room. The angle appeared off to the side, but Stone’s gaze was immediately drawn to the Goddess.

She sat as before on her ivory chair, draped in a white robe, a golden circlet upon her brow. Oh, but it hurt to look up at her. Physically caused his heart to cramp, a literal pain that made him want to bury his fingers in his chest. The sight of her beauty made him weak, made it impossible to breathe, and his face flushed as he took a step involuntarily toward her.

“My Champion,” she purred. “You reek of power. Far more than I had anticipated. What a lovely surprise. At what rank were you gauged?”

“Alpha 6,” rasped Stone, then hated himself for how proud he felt, how boastful.

“Alpha 6?” Her delight was a revelation. “Oh, but your adoration for me outstrips all bounds! Abraham Stone, I am - why - I am touched by your Devotion.” Her eyes narrowed. “All those years. All those tests. Those petty trials. The horrible things I was forced to do to you. It’s all paid off, my dear. My sweetest love. Because yes.”

She rose then and began to descend toward him.

“Because now I can confess how I have always felt about you. Love. Adoration. The most conflicted of pains. With each stroke of the lash, I felt the pain myself redoubled. Do you know how I suffered, doing what I did? But it was for a reason, my love.”

She stopped before him, and to his shock he found that he was just a little taller than she was. She’d always loomed in his mind.

She raised her face, searched his own, lips parted. “That reason will now be made evident. You will stride across the face of Rauthgar like a demigod, and none shall be able to stop my wrath. Tell me, my love, into what did you place your points?”

Stone flinched at her touch, but then mastered himself and stood still. Her scent was intoxicating, swirling around him, making him want to groan in the back of his throat, his knees to go weak. What he wouldn’t give to sink his rough hands in her flaxen hair, to grip her body, to pull it roughly against his own.

And yet.

She was awaiting his response.

“Punching, mostly.”

“Punching.” She tested the word, then laughed, a bright, merry sound. “Punching! Why am I not surprised? You were always a superlative pugilist. And now there shall be none mightier!” She paused. “But what’s wrong? Everything has led to this, and now we must celebrate and prepare you for what’s to come. You’ve so much to learn, my dear. Rauthgar is a snarled mess of a war, and you shall be my blade, severing those knots as I deem best. Why are you not glad?”

Stone felt his chest shake. His breath was tremulous. He gazed down upon her perfection and wanted to weep. How many nights had he ached for her? How many years had he longed for her presence, even if it meant further turmoil? He’d been like an addict, and she his only escape.

And now?

The sight of her beauty broke his heart.

“What is it?” Her voice grew low and she drew closer. Ran her fingertips over the curve of his ear, her breath sweet on his face. So close. He felt himself dreaming. “What is it, my love? Is there an ache that needs soothing?”

And her other hand gripped him between the legs, her touch confident, firm.

The corner of her mouth curled up in knowing amusement.

This was where he’d dance. This is where he’d become a farm animal. He’d bellow and sweat and do whatever it took to bury his cock inside her. Become a fool in her hand, a pliant tool that would thank her for eternity for being chosen for torment.

Once, maybe.

Not any longer.

Stone grasped her by the nape of the neck and leaned in to kiss her. This, at least, he’d allow himself. For the man he’d once been, the fantasies he’d once harbored, the dreams that had kept him going for so long.

Her kiss was light, her lips soft, her taste inexpressible. It went to his head like a triple shot of whisky, making him momentarily lose himself, his resolve.

She parted her lips, her tongue snaking forth.

I’m sorry. Really. I’m very sorry to interrupt, but I’m detecting a subtle tweaking of your self-control here.

The Metacognition’s voice was whispered in his ear.

Not that this isn’t pretty fucking awesome in and of itself, but she’s using her power on you as well. And, well, it’s working. She’s far more accomplished at this than I am.

Stone wanted nothing more than to fall into her embrace. To let go. To become the beast she thought him to be.

But with a supreme wrench of his will, he drew back.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she gazed up at him.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Do you fuck every Champion you recruit?”