[Intermission] Touchable

10:21PM
Seaside Outskirts of Tukwada
Tukwada, Gujarat, India

The waxing moon hung high over the quiet beach, and the ocean was set aglow with its dazzling light and accompanying blanket of stars. Tukada was a quiet village with little light pollution, and so here one could see all the Heavens on such a near-cloudless, breezy night. The cool sands, natural and mostly unmolested by the locals, were a welcome break to the bare feet of a woman who had gone bounding and leaping across the massive, fertile nation she called home.

But national pride was not befitting of a warrior of her station. She fought for humanity, not Indians; she battled the evils of the Abyss, not neo-colonialism or a caste system that would throttle her to the dirt of society if not for her gift.

The sky was clear indeed, and the sands were almost ethereal in how easily they were kicked up to dance upon stiffening sea winds. The woman giggled. She was only 24; she had the right. Her hair was unbound and danced in the wind as she danced upon the sands, her body twirling half-naked as she laughed. A new sister! How eager she was to meet her. Her gauntleted hands touched the sands as she cartwheeled and continued her whirling celebration, throwing circles and puffs of grainy earth as her breasts quivered in the loose grip of her brass-ribbed corset and brazier. She loved the sensation of sand on her breasts; she had worked up quite the appetite on her way here, and so every bit that touched her bare thighs, stomach, and chest was enticing, grinding, irritating in a welcome way. She thought to dive into the ocean and swim the whole rest of the way.

But no, that would take far too long.

The swarthy stranger touched the small pendant that snapped into its holster over her left breast. It flashed briefly... and grew into her birthright as it filled her hand. The massive shaft of silver and brass blossomed into a circle of jutting blades at its tip, the nine-foot-long weapon terminating in a snaking kris with serrated, alternating edges. The massive weapon could inflict horrific wounds even on misses... but this young woman was not here to miss.

She tapped the shaft once and saw it morph into a four-foot javelin, its monstrous end melting down into a single, aerodynamic tip. The silver guards shrunk and merged into the brass core of the spear and, with a small, metal noise of the core of the holy weapon settling, the transformation was complete. She bounced it in her grip and, pleased with the weight, eyed a large cloud that slowly drifted before the moon to darken the glittering sea.

She kept both eyes open as she chose a guiding star and, even as it was engulfed by clouds, locked onto it with the guidance of her goddess. "[Right... there!]"

She began her run at the ocean, her feet dancing and eventually leaping into more cartwheels and flips as she laughed through a ballet that barely translated her excitement. Sweat glistened on her limbs and chest. The javelin kicked up more sand as she became a miniature storm. The waves receded just as her foot anchored itself into seawater-infused sands. Her laughing ceased. She clenched her teeth. Her casual arm suddenly stiffened and surged with rippling muscles as her abs flexed with inhuman might. With the form of an Olympian, she twisted her body, moved with enough **** to suddenly suck the kicked-up sands into a vortex. Her foot barely twisted in the grainy, pliable earth as her entire body went into the twist-

... and launched her birthright.

The oncoming wave crashed against the air pressure of her throw... and was broken across ten yards. The sand before and behind her blew away in long craters where they were not sucked into a tornado left by the spear's wake. The artifact became a dot, and its continuing existence was confirmed only by the meddling cloud suddenly exploding and scattering into nothing, leaving the moon shining on the glittering ocean once again.

Laksha Singh watched its path... and nodded as she found it satisfactory. The waves, now reformed, crashed against her shins as she shivered. With a glance to her left, she saw him: the old fisherman on a stroll. A civilian. One who was not meant to know of the world she inhabited. On closer inspection, Laksha suddenly realized he was an Untouchable. His white beard, thick as it was, could not hide his slack-jawed awe as he looked upon this scantily-armored goddess, and so he fell to his knees to bury his scalp against the sand as she approached. Laksha laughed heartily as she came skipping up to the prostrating elder. "[Why are you bowing?]"

"O-O-Om dum d-d-durgayei... n-n-n-nama-"

Laksha reached down and grabbed the Untouchable by his pits. Effortlessly, she lifted his frail frame and held him aloft like a baby. She stood nearly six feet tall and towered over the bent old man; he was worn and wrinkled, and he stunk of the fish he no doubt worked since the day he could wield a knife. She set the man back down, letting his own bare, mangled feet touch the sand near hers. "[Enough prayers, old man! I'm no goddess!]"

Her disrespectful tone was not unwelcome; the old man had grown used to it. But it was spoken as an equal, in a commoner dialect... and to hear it from this glittering spirit nearly made the man faint. "[I-I am not worthy- please, do not be upset: I am Untouchable.]"

Laksha looked into his glittering, tearful eyes. He was terrified and enraptured. He feared retribution from a goddess or noblewoman whose touch he could never deserve. This was the way of things in villages as remote as this one.

The young woman took the man's bearded, once-handsome face in her calloused hands and kissed him upon his sun-scorched lips. Her tongue darted into his baffled mouth; his tasted of the sea, and hers of spices he never knew, never could have known, existed. Her breath was hot in his mouth, and it filled him with such an energy as to transport him to his confused, groping youth of time spent with a girl he had hoped to marry, but never could. "[The Goddess bless you.]"

The old man fell limp in her arms... and Laksha giggled as she set the man to sleep peacefully by the sea, clear from the touch of the waves.

"[May I tell you a secret, elder?]" she whispered as she sat down to lay by his side and keep him warm. Her body laced over his wrinkled, time-mangled body, now relieved by her touch as she hugged him lovingly. "[I'm leaving for a bit... just for a small while, I promise, and I'll be right back to keep fighting,] she urgently whispered.

The man said nothing and simply smiled as he dreamed the dreams he never could after his love was taken away.

Laksha planted another kiss on his cheek, if only to set him grinning. She grinned in turn. "[I can't wait anymore... I want to meet my new sister. I wonder: will she like me? My other sister doesn't like me much...]" she grumbled with a pout.

The old man said nothing.

Laksha leaned in, letting the smell of the sea and of sacred oils, of the top and the bottom of the castes, mingle there on the clean sands of India's coast. "Moira Brighton," Laksha said with a giggle, "[what kind of sister will you be?]"

Laksha Singh, Warden of the Spear, closed her eyes and hoped for the best.