Diagnostic

Rose flickered between Gil, Keilnei, and her own body. She hadn’t really had the opportunity to work extensively with Gil in the past, but she couldn’t help but feel like this made sense. There was just something about the man that made the world feel as if it were about to teeter upon the edge of disaster.

Alas, Rose was in no state to assist most of them. She didn’t have much energy left, and Gil seemed largely aware of where his enemies were. Candress was wading into a tide of foes without backup. She checked on her own body once more, confirming that she was still tucked quietly into her bed and sleeping unhindered, and then flickered back to the rally. She swept her eyes across the people present, and concluded that Candress was completely beyond help. Not only was she walking away from the woman actually carrying Rose’s anchor, she was surrounded by obvious and dedicated foes. She might be able to redirect a few of the more **** attackers, but… no. Not enough to matter.

Keilnei, however, presented an interesting possibility. A young woman that was nearly paralyzed with fear and clinging to the tall demoness. She’d be no effort at all to enter, though Rose doubted she could **** any given course of action if the girl didn’t desire it.

••••••••••

Othala clung to the chocobo, keeping her mouth shut and the bird’s flesh indestructible. The insects from that plague of a woman kept trying to burrow into her ears, her nose, her eyes. She edged as far from the player as she could without slipping off the saddle, hoping that she still had time.

She wasn’t sure yet whether this was a good idea; the Undersiders didn’t usually shoot to kill, but if the Chosen of Fenrir were driven out of the area of operation, she’d be reassigned to a different test anyway. No real difference from ****, other than the lack of pain.

Nomad claimed to be a “tester,” but that was just another kind of player from what little she knew. She was in incredible danger for as long as she stayed anywhere near him. Players, especially males, seemed drawn to her many incarnations. Narcissa Malfoy, Fox Xanatos, Isabella Von Carstein, Sally Whitemane, Delilah Briarwood, Nisha of Lynchwood, Tanith, Nohime, P’Li, and so many others. Always beautiful, always intelligent, always happily married to a powerful and ruthless man, and always the prize to be taken.

Nomad claimed that he didn’t have a binding, but she knew a parasite when she saw one. Not to mention the fact that he had apparently been keeping a blindly obedient pinup girl in a magic ball on his belt.

Othala knew for a fact that depending on what he had on hand, she could end up bouncing merrily on his cock in a matter of minutes. Maybe he had some kind of love potion in his bag, or maybe every time she agreed to do something for him she’d become more compliant. Maybe she’d be fully aware without caring, or maybe she’d be convinced it was all her own idea.

In one of the stranger lives she’d lived, she’d been an undercover agent and absolutely nothing had ever seemed like a valid reason to break character after infiltrating the player’s team. Only now, looking back with lifetimes of hindsight, did she recognize it as another part of the pattern.

The insects suddenly stopped biting, leaving her merely covered in the disgusting things. She opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. She’d lived several lives where flight was a common occurrence, but that didn’t make the sudden sight of a deadly plummet any more pleasant. She clung even harder to the invulnerable feathers, letting out an involuntary squeak.

“Careful,” the player said, “We aren’t out of the woods yet. We’re moving in a straight line to make some distance, but there are only so many places we can go. A blind man could track us.”

The bird hopped from building top to building top, fast enough for Othala’s hair to stream behind her. Probably too fast for her to hop off, even if they were at ground level.

“Hold on!” Gil yelled, “We’re going back in.”

The bird slammed into the side of an apartment building, kicked off of it, and the insects that were still coating Othala started biting again.

Fucking players.

••••••••••

Candress loosened her muscles and edged along the wall as best she could, keeping her back to it and her bat at the ready. She had a plan, but she wasn’t going to simply charge in immediately. Skidmark had said with perfect, if crass, clarity that he did not care if someone entered late in the process. She needed only to stand back and watch, so as to see if another likely champion would emerge.

A good thing, as well, because the bloodshed was not limited to the designated arena. Even at the edge of the crowd, slipping past the doors into dedicated shops, men emboldened by the rampage saw her and perceived prey. An easy mistake to make, but an unwise one.

Candress was not a great warrior. Levi’s strength had been greater than hers, but even he had been a poorly fed teenage boy. No, it was not her strength of arms that made her deadly to those who saw a pretty redhead and decided to take their chances. It was her defense.

She wore elven leather armor and boots underneath several layers of rags, which alone would have blunted the **** from the blades and improvised clubs favored by this mob. Her frost armor, however, was what really protected her. As strong as a sheet of chain mail, far better at dispersing ****, and more than able to give anyone who attempted to grapple with her near immediate frostbite.

Most of them, when they felt the shock of supernatural cold, pulled back as if struck by a cobra. In their shock, they dropped what little guard they had; at that point a quick blow with Candress’s bat was more than enough. For those with more staying power, she tapped into the materia embedded in her bracer and struck them with a blast of conjured ice. Far quicker than a frost bolt, if a bit flashy.

She cursed under her breath when she realized Keilnei wasn’t with her, but she couldn’t dwell on that. Not when there was so much delicious magic to breathe in, and breathe out as armor these rubes could not hope to pierce. She was a conduit through which the magic flowed, and she intended to use it.

Her frame was, however, still fragile underneath the protection. She could certainly face **** today if a large enough person with enough **** of will pinned her down and focused on beating her to ****. For now, she needed to wait until an opportunity presented itself, and hope that the frost covered men and occasional women piled up around her served as an adequate deterrent.

“Hey, looks like we’ve got a hopeful here!” She heard from above. “Alright, girl! Approach the stage!”

Candress looked up and saw that the dark skinned man, Skidmark, was looking right at her. He was smiling cruelly, as were the men and women flanking him. He was still standing next to the case, his hand resting gently atop it.

She did as commanded, pushing her sunglasses up her nose and adjusting her hood.

“Alright, you’ll need a name,” Skidmark said, “if you’re going to join the upper circle.”

There was a threat mixed in with his words. Candress suspected that she wouldn’t last long if she didn’t agree to join this “upper circle.” She felt a flash of utter disdain. She’d done nothing to earn her position and she qualified for upper circle just because she had magic? Idiocy.

“Candress?”

The Merchants laughed out in derision, with the busty blonde draping herself over Skidmark’s shoulder seeming particularly amused.

“Not your real name, you dumb bitch!” Skidmark said, and scratched at his chin. “Alright, you’re Snowblower now. Get your fine ass up here.”

Eyes locked on the metal case, Candress did just that.