Upheaval 1 (1/2)

A luxurious chandelier’s magical lights glistened off the rim of a white cup. The dish had been made in such a way so as to appear like a tall flower with five petals, not too dissimilar from a tulip. This was the creation of an up-and-coming Artist who was considered something of a prodigy when it came to all forms of sculpting. Which was ironic, because the plain-looking young man did not have an artistic bone in his body. The reason he was making a name for himself wasn’t due to something like an inborn talent or gift, but sheer hard work, mind-numbing repetition and a ceaseless drive to earn money. And much like the teachings of Goroth had promised, his honest hard work was rewarded with success, as the things he created through his endless cycles of trial and error were undoubtedly beautiful and aesthetically pleasing. A fact that was easily evident by the elegant lines and intricate engraved figures along that particular cup’s outer surface, making it more of a work of art than a drink container.

Which was precisely why it was such a pity that the cup in question fell against the hardwood floor, shattering into several large pieces and dozens of smaller ones as the aromatic tea it held sprayed in every direction.

“Keira?! Are you alright?” asked Rowana in a worried tone.

The two of them had been invited over for a spot of afternoon tea by the silver-haired elf’s parents at their mansion. The impromptu tea party had barely even had a chance to start when Keira suddenly froze with a shocked look on her face. The expensive cup in her hands had slipped through her fingers and fallen to the floor before she had even sampled the hot beverage within.

This was a blunder that was completely uncharacteristic of Xera. No matter how much she personally despised Rowana or her family, she would never allow her emotions to show in her face or body language. She took her job of maintaining her Master’s Facade very seriously so something like suddenly spacing out and breaking the Slyth family’s ceramics would never have happened under normal circumstances.

But, as things stood, the situation was anything but ‘normal.’

Your summoner has died.

You are no longer restricted by a soul-binding contract.

“I… Uhh… Excuse me…” she muttered weakly as she stood from the sofa.

Rowana, Doris and Samulus all watched silently as the catgirl made her way across the lavish sitting room and towards one of the large windows. She opened it up, climbed on top of the windowsill and hopped out of it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Keira!”

Rowana rushed to the open window in a fit of panic and looked around, but couldn’t see hide nor hair of her lover.

“What was that all about?!” asked Samulus in an annoyed tone. “Not only did she ruin my wife’s one-of-a-kind tea set, but she-!”

“Shut it, dad!” screamed the elf as she continued to peer out across the city. “Something was wrong with her! Didn’t you see the look on her face just now!?”

“I daresay I agree with our daughter, dear,” said Doris with a serious tone.

She grabbed the small bell from the coffee table in front of her and gave it a clear ring, signaling the head butler that his presence was required. The dignified old human entered the room moments later and took a small bow.

“How may I be of assistance, milady?”

“Get mine and Rowana’s coats,” commanded Doris. “We’re heading out immediately!”

“As you say, Mistress,” replied Ridgeworth.

She glanced at her daughter’s trembling back with a sharp glare. Doris would not have found it particularly strange for that free-spirited catgirl to casually leap from dizzying heights just for the thrill of it, but this was clearly different. The women of the Slyth family have always had dangerously sharp intuition, so if both mother and daughter sensed something foul was afoot, there was no way the lady of the house would fail to act.

“On second thought,” continued Doris, “fetch my old equipment as well.”

“PFFFFT!”

It was a fateful line that made her husband spit out his tea in surprise.

“Doris!” he protested. “You promised both me and your parents you’d leave that phase of yours behind!”

Although his wife was once an accomplished adventurer of considerable prowess, she was also an unruly, spoiled brat with a ridiculous temper and a total lack of common sense. It wasn’t until she had gotten pregnant with their firstborn that she gave up that way of life, even though vestiges of her violent past still reared their ugly heads from time to time. Granted, Samulus himself was not exactly the picture of serenity either, but he was definitely a positive influence on Doris. That was one of the reasons why Doris’s father had let him marry into the Slyth family in the first place, although the outrageous dowry he demanded from him in return still gave Samulus nightmares to this day.

“Besides,” he continued, “it may just be a Hero of Chaos thing, so let’s not jump to any conclusions!”

“Now listen here, Samulus,” said Doris, cutting him off with a razor-sharp glare. “Our daughter’s lover just left the Slyth household through the window with a glazed look in her eyes. This is an affront to me, my family’s name, and my child. I’m getting to the bottom of this, and you can either come with me or stand aside, but you will not stand in my way.”

“… Have a safe trip, dear,” he said with a defeated tone.

“I always do,” answered Doris with a nostalgic smile.

In the meantime, Xera had used her wings to cover much of the distance between the treehouse mansion and the column of thick smoke in the distance. It was coming from the direction of the slums, so there was no question in her mind that this was her Master’s doing. As for why she was headed to the site of Boxxy’s final battle, she couldn’t quite say. Nor could she explain the mysterious tightness in her chest that made it difficult to even breathe.

When she arrived at her destination she saw a scene of absolute carnage. Dozens of buildings wrecked, a gaping hole in the street, and a raging inferno of emerald flames that threatened to burn down the whole city, yet not a single soul was in sight. While it was doubtless that adventurers and guards alike were likely rushing to the site of the disaster, at that very moment the seedy slum was nothing more than a ruined ghost town. It was wrapped in an eerie silence, interrupted only by the rumble of shifting rubble and the roar of the nearby demonic flames.

As she flew over this monument to Boxxy’s capacity for violence, Xera suddenly caught a glimpse of something familiar. She flew down to the ground, landing near a grizzly scene filled with blood smears yet utterly lacking in any corpses. However, what had caught her interest wasn’t the viscous remains of some worthless mortals, but a black staff that had been left laying in the dirt. It was a grim-looking item, tipped with a horned metal skull with a crimson jewel in each of its eye sockets.

She knelt down on the ground and grasped the shaft with a look of disbelief on her face, which reflected her current state of mind. The succubus grunted with effort as she pulled upwards, but the metal item’s considerable heft mocked her pathetically weak body’s attempts to lift it. She gave it a few more tries, but the most she could do is get one end of it several centimeters off the ground before the smooth shaft slipped from her delicate fingers. To say it was heavier than it looked was an understatement, but it was a natural misunderstanding anyone would make once they saw her Master swing this thing around as if it were made out of plywood.

“Master…” muttered the succubus.

She had given up her pointless attempts at lifting Voidcaller and stared intently at the staff’s skull. Its crimson gems seemed to stare into her very soul, while the slightly open jaw silently laughed at her futile attempts to wield it. The inanimate object was mocking her shortcomings, and it was right to do so. For all her talk, all her posturing and all her convictions, Xera was proven to be unquestionably, unequivocally and undoubtedly useless.

“Yip!”

Just as she was starting to sink into self-doubt and despair, she heard a strangely familiar cry. She tore her gaze away from the staff in front of her and looked to her immediate right. Minic had somehow found itself in this place, and was currently bouncing around excitedly. The innocent creature knew nothing of Xera’s inner turmoil, nor of the significance of it standing in the place where its current owner and its estranged sibling had fought to the death. Its incomprehensible luck had merely placed it there, where it saw Xera’s fluffy form kneeling on the ground.

“Yap yap!”

Something ignited inside Xera. Like a match that had fallen into a powder keg, her anger was set ablaze. It burned within her like the heart of the sun, and she immediately shared it with the only thing nearby she could take it out on.

“Flamethrower!”

A jet of flames shot out of her palm, bathing the area around the innocent House Mimic with enough heat to partially melt the loose cobbles in the ground. She kept the deluge of flames up for nearly 30 seconds before she finally let up. She panted heavily with short breaths, as the fires of her rage dispersed to reveal Minic had been left completely unharmed, even as the ground around it continued to burn. That little gnat’s inexplicable quirk was something Xera should have been well aware of, but her mind could barely form a coherent thought due to the strange emotions welling up in her breast. Still breathing unevenly, she stood up and walked over to where Minic was standing casually, paying no mind to the flames burning away at her feet and ankles. She bent over, grabbed the animate jewelry box and hugged it tight against her bosom.

Minic actively snuggled against her massive breasts, positively purring in delight at having finally achieved its centuries-old goal. The thing had been trying to climb on Xera’s breasts ever since Tol-Saroth, her former Master, had first created it. Of course she was aware of the critter’s intentions. It was the same inherent desire that any sane man would have once they saw a pair of outrageous tits like hers. She denied Minic every single time until now, so how come she was suddenly giving in? Why in the world would she ever submit to the idiotic whims of a retarded box that didn’t even know left from right?

*Tap tap tap tap*

Droplets of clear liquid fell on top of Minic’s outer shell. The succubus looked down in confusion, only to realize said liquid was falling out of her own face. She had used this approach several times, as many of this world’s mortal men had a weak spot for a damsel in distress, but it was the first time they had come out without her say-so.

For they were her tears of sorrow.

On that day, for perhaps the first time in this world’s history, a demon wept. She cried furiously and unabashedly at the loss of the creature that had given her existence new meaning. Her sobs filled the empty street as she gave into the grief welling up within her, hugging Boxxy’s miniature substitute against her chest in a futile effort to seek comfort.

Xera was a succubus that existed solely to fulfill her selfish desires while preying on the wants and needs of others. Even after her twisted affections for her Master manifested themselves, she thought of nothing but how to feed it and derive pleasure from it for her own sake. None of this was strictly her fault, either, as her entire being was forged out of the lust, jealousy and envy of thousands of mortals.

Yet at that very moment, the only coherent thought her mind could form was a single, solemn wish. One made not out of some sort of selfish need for pleasure or enjoyment at the expense of others, but of a deep longing filled with truly selfless intent.

I wish Boxxy was still alive.

That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. If her beloved Master was still around, then that would be enough to satisfy her. Even if she was banished to the Beyond for all eternity, even if she was forever estranged and forgotten by the one she longed for, then it would all be fine, so long as Boxxy still existed somewhere out there. Of course, had she known that her Master’s soul was being forcefully pulled back into its dead flesh at that very moment, then what was about to happen next would not have happened at all.

But she didn’t, and it did.

The weather had been getting progressively worse over the last several weeks, and now that Xera’s magical flames had all but died out, she was made instantly aware of how cold she actually felt. The chilly breeze brushing against her mostly naked body made her shiver reflexively while goosebumps formed on her sensitive cerulean skin. The climate did not help her terrible mood in the slightest, and the succubus instinctively sought out something warm.

She dropped the thoroughly pleased albeit slightly soggy Minic to the ground and called out Smokey, her Molten Guardian. The unthinking, vaguely hound-shaped pile of living magma erupted from the ground with a loud crash. The terrified House Mimic let out a string of pathetic yelps as it ran for cover, while Xera’s magical construct stood still and silently waited for her to give it an order. But rather than do any of that, Xera simply walked up to it and hugged it. Smokey’s fiery body burned away at her flesh, flooding her body with both the heat and the searing pain she thought she yearned for.

But she was wrong. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t it.

Xera let go of Smokey and stood back, allowing her singed and disfigured skin to shapeshift back to its flawless state on autopilot. No matter how hot or painful her body felt, it was her spirit that was suffering the most. That’s why she clung to that little jewelry box despite her aversion to the idea. That’s why she found herself walking over to where the skull-headed staff remained on the ground, kneeling down, and placing her hands upon it one more time.

“Warm…” she muttered with a sad smile on her face while tears refused to stop spilling out of her eyes.

The item had recently been flooded with her Master’s magic - the same power that had given form to the body she inhabited.  Whether it was because of that, or because of her own delusions didn’t matter to Xera. The important thing was that the Artifact-grade Voidcaller felt comfortingly warm to the touch. She grasped it once again and tried to pick it up, but could barely even budge it. Not willing to just give this suddenly precious memento up so easily, she resolved to bring it with her at any cost. She stood up and stepped over to stand above the demonic black skull. She grabbed the very end of it and pulled upwards. Grunting with effort, Xera’s meager muscles managed to apply just enough leverage to lift the staff’s head off the ground and into the air while its lower end dug into the ground. Straining like she had never strained before, the succubus somehow or another managed to place the grim ornament on her shoulder and began walking forward while the butt-end of it dragged along the ground.

After exactly three steps, however, she realized she was being an idiot. Those nosy mortals would no doubt start sifting through the surrounding wreckage any moment now, so this was clearly not going to work. Besides, just because she wanted to safeguard her master’s shiny thing didn’t mean she necessarily had to do the heavy lifting.

She dropped the nigh-indestructible item to the ground with a heavy clang and ordered Smokey to carry it. Being a mass of living rock and flame that was a few times heavier than a person, the unthinking magical construct was able to easily pick the item up in its lava-drooling jaws. Satisfied with her moment of clarity, the two of them began walking rather briskly towards Ambrosia’s tree trunk. Xera wasn’t sure how the dryad would react now that they no longer shared a Master, but she felt confident Boxxy’s soul would not want to share its collection with anyone. And what better place to store it than in a hidden room in a dungeon which was inside a self-aware Hylt tree?

Strictly speaking, the dryad’s cooperation in this matter was not up for debate.

As the pair walked by the scene of Kora’s self-destruction, Xera found herself captivated by the green flames that still raged on. Much like the warmth on the staff, this too was a remnant of Boxxy’s power. A mark it left upon this world. She unthinkingly walked closer to it with short, uneasy steps that gradually grew more deliberate the closer she got.

The succubus kept approaching the raging, unquenchable inferno. Sweat poured out of her body, her eyes complained from all the light she was forcing upon them and her skin caught fire once again as she walked right into the emerald blaze. But she didn’t mind any of that one bit. In fact, she was actually enjoying herself as her HP steadily fell. Wrapped up in her Master’s last act of chaotic destruction upon this world was perhaps the ideal way to return to the Beyond. Sure, she would give up on hiding away Voidcaller, but she no longer cared about some fancy metal stick. Not when she could instead quite literally burn this sensation into her memory, and then-

…