Not fast enough...

Miera hisses out a guttural syllable and casts her hand forward, hurling a ball of swirling light straight at you! You finally start to move but it was moving too fast, you'd never get out of the way in time! As your life starts to flash before your eyes a spider leaps in front of you, legs spread eagled in a heroic dive, and catches the ball directly in its thorax. There's a flash brighter than the sun itself, a tearing SNAP, and the spider simply vanishes, its shadow imprinted against the blackened ground before you.

You don't waste the opening and surge forward, batting the horrified witch onto her back, where you plant a tendril on her chest and Absorb. You shudder as you gulp down the liquid energy, a painful burn crawling up your vine. Miera lets out a wordless cry of rage and frustration, struggling against your hold to no avail. She was obviously still weakened by your attentions, you barely felt her resistance despite her body shaking from the strain of trying to push you off. You wrap her tightly in your tendrils, lifting her off the ground, and resisting the desire to crush the deadly creature before she was the end of you.

That wasn't smart witch. I give you pleasure, allow you to keep your life, and this is how you repay me? She spits at you, still weakly struggling against your grasp, Looks like you need to be taught a lesson! Movement catches you eye and you realize the spiders have gathered in your clearing, scuttling around in awe of the sight before them. You hear them whispering, "-Great One ssubdued the desstroyer!", "-took away her power!", "Ensslave her!" That last cry is taken up as a chant by the swarm, "Enslave her! Enslave her!" and you smile wickedly.

Miera takes notice of the spiders for the first time and stares in horror at the growing horde assembling in the clearing beneath her. You whisper snaking tendrils across her naked flesh, up her legs, across her back, down her neck, and bring her close to your petal-wreathed face. The masses call for action, who am I to deny them? She shudders at your words and gasps at your touch, the faint strokes recalling the much stronger sensations of this morning. She gives you a fearful look, almost pleading, before she reasserts her self control and grimly sets her jaw, "you can't break me weakling, I am the consult of gods."

You have to admit, she had more courage than anyone you'd ever met but that wasn't going to stop you. Softly brushing the hair out of her face with a pencil-thin vine, you delicately trace the line of her jaw, I don't see that helping you much today witch. But if you're lucky, you might yet become the consort of a god.