Inara was well aware of her limitations as an immortal ifrit - most notably, her frustrating entrapment within and connection to her lamp, as well as an irritating compulsion to disclose her true nature to her users before she began granting their wishes - but she'd made peace with those long ago. She'd had millennia to get used to these irritating restrictions, after all. She'd only considered it a matter of time before she'd seduced or tricked some mortal into breaking her free of those restrictions, one way or another.
And yet. Here she was, hoisted by her own petard. Outfoxed by a mortal that she'd corrupted and ensnared by the bevy of sexy sorceresses he'd had never had at his beck and call without her help.
Trapped in a complex matrix of spellwork within the mystical liminal space called Limbo, Inara felt Peter Parker's wish ring through every fiber of her being like vibrations through a gong that had been rammed by a motorcycle.
"I specifically wish that you - Inara the Ifrit, whom I now see before me - would transform herself into a genuinely good, kind, helpful and dim-witted bimbo genie who just wants to make everyone's life better, loves obeying every wish and command given to her in the spirit it was intended and will never hurt anyone unless so commanded!"
In a normal scenario, she would have ages to consider how to best warp any wish into something sinister or sinful that would benefit her tremendously and punish the wisher for their hubris. Slowing down time was nothing for a magical being of tremendous power like herself and what seemed like seconds of contemplation to the mortals could be weeks or month of thought to her. But this was hardly a normal scenario.
Four distinctly separate types of magics and the power of the Soulsword were being used alongside her bond to her summoner to control her, cage her, confuse and confound her. Just trying to think right now was agony, much less do anything besides grant this stupid, insulting wish that would modify her into some simpering, obedient bimbo genie. Each syllable of each word in the wish was like a hammer to her skull and every second she didn't grant it was pure agony.
"A genuinely good, kind, helpful and dim-witted bimbo genie" - just the thought made Inara see red. That rage was all that was granting her these few precious moments that remained before she would transform herself into something antithetical to her nature. She was fire and smoke and seduction made into sinful flesh, not sparkles and stardust and simpering obedience! She HAD to figure out a way to warp or wiggle her way out of this wish! But how?
Perhaps she could make a copy of herself to repair herself later? She reached out with her power to try and duplicate herself back on Earth, only to find her own power reflected back at her, first as it struck the walls of her magical cage and then again upon hitting dimensional barrier of Limbo. She lost precious seconds as her own power left her stunned.
"Fucking limp dicks!" Inara hissed in an ancient tongue as she panted heavily and rallied. "Let's try another way. If you're trapping me, then you must be using your full power, which should leave you open to subtle counter attacks. Let's possess or corrupt these dry cunt sorceresses bitches!"
She sent her consciousness out into the lattice of spellwork surrounding her. The goal was not to break the bars of her cage, but rather, to patch into the power of the spell itself and sneak her own energy into theirs - a subtle infiltration with the intention of either overwhelming their minds or replacing their souls with a copy of her own ifrit essence.
Inara **** herself to use up the last of her considerable will to reach out and take control of at least one of them and-
Agony! Mind-destroying pain after only knowing century upon century of sinful pleasures.
A peal of mocking laughter, deep and lusty, came through across the void as she felt her essence begin to burn and freeze at the same time. Barely able to move, Inara turned to the side to see a smirking Satana blow her a kiss. The message was clear - she had done exactly what the daughter of Satan would have tried to do in her circumstances and triggered a trap within a trap. Inara's own effort to escape had now entwined her own power into the engine of the spell itself. She felt herself being drained away into the vortex of the spell. Every second she went without granting that disgusting wish was now a another second that took away her power forever.
For millennia, Inara had never imagined herself powerless, but now she knew true fear. Only the rage at the core of her fiery being was allowing her a few last, precious moments to try and plan her next moves. HOW could she ruin this wish? What was her last, **** move to stay true to her evil, seductive self?
After a space of a heartbeat, the answer became obvious. Inara the Ifrit . . .
[Apologies for the abrupt cliffhanger! I'm going to explore a few branches from this point forward. Thanks for your patience!]
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