Gaining Support- The Right Way

I rise from my seat with deliberate grace, letting my skirt settle around my thighs as I step into the aisle. Salem— no, Selene Grimwald now— continues her approach from the opposite direction, black hair swaying with each measured step. The remaining students flow around me both like water parting around stones, too absorbed in their own excitement to notice the charged tension crackling between two seemingly random first-years meeting in the middle of an emptying auditorium.

We meet halfway, close enough that her amber contacts can't quite hide the ancient intelligence burning beneath. She's chosen her disguise well— the black Beacon uniform with red trim fits her eighteen-year-old body perfectly, and the shoulder-length black hair frames delicate features that could belong to any pretty student. But the way she holds herself betrays millennia of existence compressed into youth. The slight tilt of her head, the assessment in her gaze, the dangerous curve of her smile.

"Hello," she says, voice pitched higher than her normal register but still carrying that honeyed danger. "I'm Selene. Selene Grimwald. Transfer student." The lie rolls off her tongue with practiced ease. "You look... interesting. Gothic lolita? Bold choice for Beacon."

My 'In Control' power pulses beneath my skin, making my presence feel larger, more commanding. Students passing nearby glance my way with **** deference. Even Selene's amber eyes widen slightly— she feels it too, the subtle shift in power dynamics.

"Synn Jordan," I reply, letting my voice drop to something more intimate. "We should talk. Privately."

Her pupils dilate despite the colored contacts. "Should we?" The question sounds rhetorical, but I catch the genuine curiosity underneath. She wants to understand what I did to the timeline, and wants to measure the extent of my abilities. "I suppose we have... much to discuss. Where did you have in mind?"

The 'Corruption' power flairs unconsciously, making me feel it slide through my awareness like silk. It's her gift to me, and the irony of using it on her makes my smile sharpen. The power works subtly— no visible effect, no dramatic transformation— but I sense it beginning to erode the edges of her already complex ethics. Making me more important. More central. More necessary.

"Follow me," I say, turning toward a side exit that leads to the less-trafficked administrative wing.

She follows without hesitation, black skirt swishing as she matches my pace. The auditorium empties behind me as I lead her through a marble corridor lined with portraits of past Beacon graduates. The morning light streaming through tall windows casts geometric shadows across polished floors. I pass a janitor's closet, an empty classroom, then I find what I’m looking for— a small conference room with frosted glass doors and a lock.

I open the door, gesture for Selene to enter first. She does, amber eyes scanning the space with tactical precision. The room is simple: a round table with six chairs, a whiteboard on one wall, windows overlooking the courtyard. Private enough.

The lock clicks behind me.

Selene turns, leaning against the table with calculated casualness. "Clever. Now then, little anomaly—" She pauses as I close the distance between us in three strides, backing her against the table edge. Her breath catches. "What are you—"

I cup her face with one hand, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The 'In Control' power lowers her inhibitions, makes her body respond even as her mind calculates. The 'Corruption' power works deeper, making this moment feel inevitable, right, necessary.

"You said we have much to discuss," I murmured, leaning close enough that my breath ghosts across her lips. "But I think we understand each other better without words, don't we?"

Her hands come up to rest on my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress. "You altered reality itself," she whispers, and for once her voice carries genuine wonder instead of calculation. "Made me young again. Brought me here. Why?"

"First, I didn’t bring you here, you were already planning on coming. And second, I made you young again because you're mine," I say simply, and claim her mouth.

She kisses back with fierce hunger, ancient desire compressed into eighteen-year-old urgency. Her hands slide up my back, pulling me flush against her. I taste cinnamon and something darker, older— immortality wearing a mortal mask. When I break the kiss, she's breathing hard, amber eyes glazed.

"Take off the uniform," I command, and the 'In Control' power makes it nearly impossible for her to refuse.

Selene's fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for the buttons of her jacket.

My hands slide the black jacket from Selene's shoulders, letting it fall to the conference room floor with a soft whisper of fabric. She doesn't resist— can't resist, really, not with the 'In Control' power lowering every inhibition, making my commands feel natural and right. Her fingers fumble with the buttons of her white shirt underneath, amber eyes glazed with desire that wars against ancient calculation.

I catch her wrists gently, stilling them. "Let me," I murmur, watching her trembling fingers and she shivers at the authority in my voice.

The shirt parts beneath my fingers, revealing pale skin that remembers centuries compressed into eighteen years of youth. Her breathing quickens as I trace the line of her collarbone, feeling the rapid pulse beneath my touch. The 'Corruption' trait pulses through the contact, invisible but inexorable, beginning its slow erosion of her morality.

"I want something," I mention, guiding her back against the conference table until she's sitting on its edge. I step between her parted knees, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. "Something ambitious."

Her skirt rides up as I press closer, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs. "Tell me," she demands, though it comes out more plea than command. The ancient queen of Grimm, reduced to breathless anticipation.

I capture her mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing her gasp as my hands explore newly-young flesh. She responds with fierce hunger, nails digging into my shoulders through the gothic blouse. When I break away, she's panting.

"I'm going to turn the most powerful huntresses on Remnant into my obedient harem," I say conversationally, even as my hands slide beneath her skirt to find bare skin. "Glynda Goodwitch. Pyrrha Nikos. Winter Schnee. The Schnee matriarch. Every woman with power and skill, bending to my will. Following my orders. Serving my pleasure."

Selene's eyes widen— genuine shock breaking through the lust for just a moment. "That's... audacious."

"Would you like to help?" I press my advantage, fingers finding the edge of her underwear. "Imagine it. Salem, queen of darkness, assisting me in corrupting Remnant's greatest defenders. Using your knowledge, your resources, your centuries of experience... to help me build something extraordinary."

The 'Corruption' power digs deeper with every word, every touch, making the idea feel not just acceptable but desirable. I watch the shift in her expression— calculation giving way to genuine consideration, then interest.

"What would I get?" she asks, voice hitching as my fingers slide beneath fabric to find wetness waiting.

"Me," I say simply. "My attention. My favor. A place at my side instead of in the shadows. And watching the world's strongest women kneel before us both."

Her hips rock forward involuntarily. "Us," she repeats, tasting the word. "Partnership instead of servitude?"

"For now," I say honestly, removing her underwear with practiced efficiency. The 'Corruption' power will change that eventually— I know that, and maybe she feels it to a degree— but honesty serves better than lying with someone this old. "Help me, and I'll make it worth your while."

Selene considers this for perhaps three seconds before grabbing the front of my dress and pulling me into another kiss. "Show me first," she growls against my lips. "Prove you can handle even one ancient immortal before you start collecting champions."

I accept the challenge eagerly, hands working to divest her of the remaining uniform while she tears at my clothing with equal urgency. The conference table creaks as I press her back against its surface, morning sunlight streaming through windows to illuminate pale skin and black hair spread like a dark halo.

'Corruption' burns through every touch, every kiss, every moment of intimacy. I can feel it working— subtle but relentless— making me more necessary, more central to her existence. Salem's goals remain her own for now, but with each thrust, each gasp torn from her throat, those goals begin orienting around me.

"Yes," she moans as I drive into her, eyes rolling back with very mortal pleasure. "Gods, yes— tell me more. Tell me your plans."

So I do, punctuating my ambitions with movement that makes her cry out. Glynda Goodwitch brought low. Pyrrha Nikos worshipping at my feet. Blake and Kali both, mother and daughter devoted to my pleasure. The vision spills from my lips between kisses, and with each word I can feel the 'Corruption' power sink deeper hooks into Salem's psyche.

By the time we both reach climax— her first, me shortly after— the immortal witch is gasping my name like a prayer.

I collapse beside her on the conference table, both of us breathing hard. Selene turns her head to look at me with eyes that have witnessed civilizations rise and fall.

"Alright," she says finally. "I'll help. This will be... entertaining."

I separate myself from Selene's warmth with ****, sliding off the conference table to gather my scattered clothing from the polished floor. My dress feels slightly heavier than before as I pull it back on, fabric settling around my thighs while I adjust the silver trim at the collar. My fingers work through the buttons with practiced efficiency, though I’m hyperaware of amber eyes tracking every movement from behind colored contacts.

Selene sits up on the table's edge, black hair cascading over one bare shoulder as she watches me dress with an expression caught between calculation and genuine satisfaction. She makes no move to cover herself yet, seemingly content to let me drink in the sight of pale skin and elegant curves illuminated by morning sunlight.

"Going after one of your early targets?" she asks, voice carrying that dangerous honey-sweet quality. "How delightfully ambitious of you. Should I be jealous?"

I cross back to her in three strides, capturing her face between my hands. 'In Control' pulses through the contact, reinforcing my dominance even in this tender moment. "Never jealous," I murmured against her lips. "You're helping me build this, remember? Partnership."

The kiss I give her tastes of cinnamon and centuries-old desire. She responds with fierce hunger, nails scraping lightly against my clothed sides as if trying to pull me back into bed— or rather, back onto the table. When I break away, her pupils are dilated.

"I'll contact you later with my Semblance," I promise, retrieving my glasses from where they'd been carefully set aside earlier. "We have much to discuss about strategies."

"Mm. Yes." Selene's tongue darts out to wet her lips, tasting the lingering ghost of my kiss. "Go collect your target, little anomaly. I'll be... thinking about you."

The way she says it makes heat coil low in my belly, but discipline wins out over temptation. I unlock the conference room door and slip into the administrative wing hallway, closing it softly behind me. The corridor is blessedly empty— most students are still exploring the main campus areas.

My boots click against marble as I navigate through the administrative wing toward the main courtyard. Morning sunlight streams through tall windows, casting geometric patterns across polished floors. I pass the janitor's closet where I'd noted its location earlier, an empty classroom with chairs still arranged in precise rows, then emerge into the grand entrance hall.

The courtyard beyond is alive with activity. Clusters of first-years explore the grounds with varying degrees of enthusiasm— some examining the Huntsman statue near the fountain, others testing the training dummies set up along the eastern wall. I catch a flash of red cape that might be Ruby Rose, hear Yang's distinctive laugh carrying across the space, but I don't pause to investigate.

The landing platform lies beyond the courtyard, accessible via a wide stone path that curves around Beacon's main structure. I follow it with purpose, gothic lolita attire drawing occasional curious glances from passing students. The path opens onto the platform just as an airship begins its final approach, engines humming with that distinctive Vale-tech whine.

My internal clock suggests it's approximately 9:30 a.m.— right on schedule. The airship settles onto the platform with practiced precision, landing struts extending smoothly to absorb the impact. Through the viewport windows I can just make out passengers moving inside, preparing to disembark.

The hatch hisses open, and my heart rate increases slightly in anticipation. Kali Belladonna is about to step into her new reality— eighteen years old again, the same age as the daughter she came here to find, and completely unaware that I orchestrated this miraculous transformation.

Passengers begin filing down the ramp. A family with two young children. An elderly Huntsman with a cane. A nervous-looking boy clutching what appears to be a violin case. Then—

Kali appears at the top of the ramp, and my breath stops for a moment.

She's stunning. The regression has transformed her in ways even mental preparation couldn't capture. Long black hair falls past her shoulders in glossy waves, catching sunlight and throwing off hints of blue-black iridescence. Amber eyes— wide with barely-contained anxiety— scan the platform with feline intensity. Her cat ears twitch nervously atop her head, black fur gleaming. The modest blouse and skirt she wears somehow emphasize her figure more than revealing clothing ever could, and simple gold jewelry glints at her throat and wrists.

But it's her expression that strikes me the most— the way her hands tremble slightly as they clutch her Scroll, the uncertainty in her posture despite maintaining that maternal grace, the visible shock still processing behind her eyes as she touches her own young face with wandering fingers.

She spots me almost immediately, amber eyes locking onto my figure with **** relief. "Synn," she breathes, descending the ramp with quickening steps. "Synn, I— gods, I can't believe—" Her voice cracks. "What's happening to me?"