Kill them all!

Lightning growled; no, she would not give in, especially not after they’d done this to her. She threw out wave after wave of fire, channelling all of her anger into the spell.

“Screw you,” she shouted, incinerating three as four more were summoned. “Screw your summons. Screw your aero magic. And screw this damn dress!”

In her anger, and in the heat of battle, she couldn’t even afford to push her skirt down after a rush of wind went between her legs again, sending it flying up.

She just threw fire, and slashed her sword at any that dared come near.

Two dove at once; she struck down the first, and sidestepped the second. It only succeeded in hitting her skirt as it billowed up; it twirled to correct itself as Lightning stepped away-

There was a tearing sound that made her flush as almost the whole skirt was caught in the dryad’s grip. She struck it with her sword but, too late, the entire skirt fell, yanked away, with it.

And the still-burning corpse of its ally landed atop it; Lightning could only stare as half of her dress was incinerated.

Seriously?! Heels she couldn’t run in, a skirt she could barely walk in without it tearing, shoulder-straps that limited how she could move her arms and that tore like paper, and on top of that the dress imbued with fire magic was that flammable?!

It felt like a sick joke from Bhunivelze.

Channelling as much embarrassment as she could into rage and into fire, she lashed out again.

Her magic periodically ran low, and as the fight wore on the dryads started to know that. They, and their seemingly endless reinforcements, got wise. When she was throwing fire they ducked behind old, damp trees; and when she was momentarily weakened they all surged out as one.

The first few times their sheer number caught her by surprise. She slashed, sidestepped, letting her instincts rule; instincts that first got her other shoulder strap torn and, as she had to use both hands to fight the flurry, her tits suddenly exposed.

One got far too close and grabbed what remained of her shoulder straps; she shouldn’t have been surprised when her attempt to kill it let it make off with another shred of her dress.

Lightning, too, got wise though. As she got caught up in the heat of battle she almost forgot about her embarrassment, focusing on tactics.

She sent out a weaker, but brighter fire spell; the dryads retreated. Then, moments later, emerged again, expecting her to be dry-

And she incinerated them with a stronger inferno she’d kept in reserve. It was that which turned the side, and with a flying leap she cut her way through the handful remaining.

Then, panting, Lightning collapsed for a long few seconds.

She didn’t look like a warrior, not now. Her dress was in shreds; all that remained of her skirt was a jagged strip that only went down to her mid-thigh, and even then only covered the side of her hip. Her ass, her cunt, and a tiny patch of pink fuzz above it were all to visible.

A band of violet wrapped around her abdomen, but it was thin, tattered to varying degrees, and offered nothing that even had a hope of hiding her tits. The only place there was any sizeable amount of fabric was her back, a scrap that almost reached her shoulder blades if it wasn’t flopping back; and even folded down like that it couldn’t cover her ass.

Panting, Lightning sat up, coming back to herself after the haze of battle, and immediately gave out a girly, very unlike her shriek, crossing her hands over her chest, then her ass, then settling on her chest again, crossing her legs.

Damn it. Fuck. She was going to have words with Hope about that dress.

But first…

She focused to change garb, drawing on the power of a different outfit. It might not be capable of the same magic as that ruined dress, but she was not going to walk around dressed in that.

She opted for the armour she’d worn when she’d served Etro. It had worked well for her, long boots, a half-skirt of feathers that did nothing to restrict her movement, and armour. Real armour! She missed how that felt.

The light around her faded and she looked down, and her eyes widened.

Instead of the more dignified armour she remembered, she had a tight metal belt, a few shreds of a tunic that didn’t come close to even reaching her tits, a couple of leather straps falling uselessly over her ass, and a pitiful-looking patch of feathers that barely went halfway down her thigh.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The damage between garbs was transferred. She probably should have figured that; she was the same person in all of them, drew on the same basic power she had, just harnessed in different ways. If one was torn, they all were.

And if one was hopelessly ripped to shreds…

“Fuck!” she muttered, red-faced; then hastily looked up, afraid the sound either of her word or of the fight would draw others to this clearly.

Damn it, this wasn’t good.