Ransomware

Gil brought out Silky and directed her to guard the door with Othala. The insects weren’t coming in a single tide; in fact, they were starting to amass in the ventilation if the buzzing was anything to go by. They weren’t swarming out, yet, which told Gil that they were waiting. Probably for some kind of pincer attack. This room wasn’t safe.

Nessa was basically catatonic, having experienced a mind melting, magically enhanced orgasm after edging for half a week, and was only slowly regaining awareness. Even worse, the Seru-based parasite she was wearing looked smooth and shiny, but seemed to be made of living stone and was exactly as heavy as that implied. She’d make things difficult if she came fully awake, but Gil wasn’t about to leave her here on the floor. The symbiote enhanced villainess was far too valuable; he needed to at least make the attempt.

“I can get us out of the building.” Gil said. “Can you do super strength? The process will be easier if we can carry her.”

“Yes.” She said. “I can only do one power at a time, though.”

She touched Silky again as she spoke. The former moth didn’t overthink the situation, adapting to pyrokinesis as quickly as she had materia. Gil belatedly realized how badly this might have backfired if he’d turned Silky into some kind of hybrid. Thankfully, the only vestiges of her former life as a bug were psychological and Skitter had no power over her.

“Gil.” Menja said, her voice slurred but audible. “They’re in the building, coming straight here.”

Rose had already expended quite a bit of energy forcing Nessa to fight her allies; presumably it was slightly easier to hijack a semiconscious woman’s vocal cords than to manifest her voice directly. Nessa’s new career as a medium was short lived, however, as Rose’s spirit left her immediately to husband her little remaining strength.

“Alright,” Gil said, pulling out a door of light, “I can activate this in about four seconds and it only makes a portal for thirty. Silky, the next time the fire runs out, shout and pick up the blonde woman and carry her through the portal. Othala, make sure she can manage it.”

Othala looked at the glass rod with suspicion, but thought better of pulling out of their alliance while surrounded. The crashing and sporadic gunfire, now identified as the approaching Undersiders, grew closer.

“Now!” Silky yelled, turning her back on the door and snatching at Nessa.

She didn’t budge. Othala reached out and touched Silky, and the faintly comedic attempt became a reality in the blink of an eye. Gil finished carving the archway and Silky charged through the glowing gold doorway to safety. That’s when things went sideways.

Skitter’s bugs apparently took the disappearance of two targets as a signal to move up the timeline, as a wave of wasps and flies flooded out of the vents and cracks in the walls. The wave enveloped Gil and Othala, and only Gil’s enchanted bodysuit saved him from his own lizard brain.

The Bikini Armor, especially when paired with the small black tiara he’d gotten in Noa’s dungeon, enveloped his body in invisible ****. It was barely thicker than aluminum foil, but provided him with complete coverage. There wasn’t an insect alive that could pierce the field, but that still left him as a man completely enveloped in impotently aggressive bugs.

Othala was not so lucky, and in her reflexive panic fought him tooth and nail. By the time he could drag her to the wall, the golden door had faded. Gil didn’t have a second door on hand, having distributed them to each of his companions when he’d deployed them on their own missions.

“Fuck.”

Othala thrashed at the bugs coating her, but she seemed to have at least calmed down to recognize Gil as her ally.

“Well then. Time to get creative.” Gil said. “Hop on my back. Let’s go.”

••••••••••

Keilnei kept the tablet out, using it to orient their movement by quickly checking it whenever she had the slightest bit of breathing space. It was risky to expose the tablet to the hungry eyes of the Merchants, but Gil could summon it back to the Skyblock, even if one of them managed to steal it. That didn’t stop Keilnei from driving her fist into two separate noses as she and Candress navigated across the mall towards the lesser of two objectives.

Five women stood upon a raised stage, doing a strange dance that alternated putting on and taking off various articles of impractical clothing. Four of them had the glazed expressions of people not entirely aware of their surroundings; Keilnei didn’t know whether that was due to the strange magic of this world or simple ****. The last, a plump young woman with straight dark hair, was either immune to the effects or too terrified to care. Tears glistened on her cheeks, she flinched at any sound loud enough to be heard over the music, and she always seemed to be a few steps behind the other women.

Keilnei checked the tablet, and confirmed that this woman was Charlotte. It was nearly a formality when the line picked her out; seeing the girl in such distress was painful to the Draenei. The Prophet preached non-interference where possible, but Keilnei was far beyond the point of that being a viable strategy. She might have been able to maintain distance if she had no justification to take the risk, but this woman had been specifically pointed out to Keilnei. She was locked in from the moment that she could see the victim.

“Is she there?” Candress yelled, startling Keilnei out of her focus. “I can’t see past this crowd.”

Candress wasn’t a particularly short woman by human standards, but Keilnei was nearly six and a half feet tall even after her disguise reduced her height. She could see over the heads of the crowd of aroused men catcalling the “performers,” and hadn’t considered her companion’s line of sight.

“Yes.” She said. “She is here.”

“Shut up, bitch!” One of the men nearby called, “I’m trying to watch the show.”

“I merely saw someone I know.”

“I don’t care if one of your slut friends got a new job!” He yelled, then leered at Keilnei. “Unless you’re planning on joining her.”

The idea should have been incredibly offensive to Keilnei. But a spark in the back of her mind flared up. It was possible, if only just, that she could get what she wanted by using her own sex appeal. Her eyes, for the barest fraction of a second, caught the light and seemed to glow pink. If she could save a life by flashing some skin, wouldn’t that be the moral thing to do?

Given their animalistic hooting, the men in this crowd seemed likely to be the ones posing a threat to Charlotte in the first place. As long as she could keep her weapons, she’d be more able to protect the girl, indeed all of the girls, if she was on that stage with them. It only seemed logical.

“Maybe!” She yelled back, surprising the drunk and his friends, “Do you know who is in charge of this show?”

Candress glared at her.

“You can not be serious!”

“I’m just going to talk to him!” Keilnei said. “I imagine the payoff will be good.”

“What about our plans!” Candress demanded.

“If your friend is ditching you, I can take care of you!” A clearly **** man nearby shouted at Candress.

She glared at him over her sunglasses, letting him see the glow of her eyes. He backed off; between her appearance and the glowing eyes, she was probably a cape.

The two women glared at one another, not willing to discuss their plans while surrounded by a sea of potential hostiles. Keilnei patted her revolver and her club.

“I won’t dance if I don’t get to keep these.” She promised.

“You’ll be leaving me alone.” Candress hissed, inaudible over the music. “Surrounded by these!”

Keilnei didn’t actually hear her, but could guess.

“Only if you run off.” She said. “Stay nearby, and I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Hey Sisterfuckers!” The cacophony of strange music cut out, replaced by a single deep male voice.

The man speaking was barely visible from this distance, despite being a tall, muscular sort. His skin was very dark brown, with a tight blue outfit. He was flanked by several handsome men and beautiful women, all in ragged clothing that might generously be called minimal. They stood out like a beacon among the dirt-caked masses, even without being on an elevated platform.

“You quim-jockeys up for tonight’s main event!? They don’t get any better than this!”

The masses cheered for this man, who held himself as their leader. Not with any dignity, but he had a certain confidence that lent him charisma through sheer audacity. Candress heard a few voices in the mix yelling “Skidmark,” which she took to be his name.

Skidmark extended his arm, and shimmering energy flooded out of his one exposed hand. It settled onto the ground, and over the next few minutes he repeated the process until he had enveloped nearly half of the crowd in a massive square. Candress couldn’t see the effects well, but she could tell that something was happening. More importantly, she could smell something she’d assumed she’d never encounter in this world.

Magic. That man had created a massive field of magic. Magic she could take and use for herself, she was sure of it.

“You piss-licking losers know what the red armband means!” Skidmark crowed, “Bloodshed! ****! We’ve got ourselves a free for all brawl!”

The crowd roared, eager for bloodsports.

“Last five standing in the ring get a prize! No rules! I don’t give a shitstained fuck if you jump in at the last second or if you use a weapon! Anything goes!”

Candress’s breath hitched. She couldn’t understand why a man fighting a war would do such a thing. It made no sense. Then, however, he made a gesture and a lovely young woman with hair that went down to her waist handed him a metal case.

Skidmark withdrew five canisters from the case, and flashed a smile filled with slightly yellowed teeth. He presented them before him.

“Before, we gave our winners the pick of the pick, the best stuff our boys and girls have been able to grab from the rich assholes with their fancy-as-fuck houses and jobs!”

So he was trying to select champions. That made some sense, if still foolish.

“But tonight is fucking special, because we won the lottery when we found this shit!”

He withdrew a stoppered glass vial from the canister and gripped it in his right hand. With his other hand, he held the stainless steel canister. He thrust both hands over his head, each object clenched tight.

“Superpowers in a can!”

Candress’s entire world narrowed to a single path. The play was obvious. They needed to win that brawl; they had enough advantages that they could certainly manage it with some judicious tactics. Candress breathed deeply as she stepped forward, filling her lungs with mana from the arena wall. It bled away quickly, but she had easily enough time to shape it into frost armor.

“Back me up.” She said, and stalked forward, laying about herself with her club as the general melee began.

Keilnei didn’t hear her; she was too busy plunging through the crowd of horny men and demanding that Candress back her up. Several in the audience had decided that, while a strip show was nice, they wanted a more hands on performance. Once everyone was distracted, they’d surged towards the stage and the five women.

The men haphazardly struck one another primarily, knocking each other over onto a floor strewn with broken glass. The first of the **** women to be grabbed by an arm was immediately knocked over as her assailant was tackled by another man overcome with envy. The performers’ overseer, an elderly man with a shotgun, killed two and injured a few more before being overtaken and trampled to ****. A strange, fragile, self defeating accord was reached: they would act as one in pursuit of their goals, then tear apart any man who actually touched a woman successfully,

Charlotte shrieked, petrified with terror, as Keilnei barreled up onto the stage and slammed her club into a man’s temple.

“Stay with me,” Keilnei said to the young woman, “I will protect you.”

She prayed to the Naaru that she’d be able to keep that promise.