by Sean Davies
Constance smiled and pointed at Genie’s gang tattoo. “What about Lucius and Xavier?”
Genevieve chuckled. “Their wives wouldn’t let them leave the afterlife, even if they wanted too.”
“You believe in that sort of stuff?” Constance asked. “I mean, I suppose with everything that’s happened in the last few years it wouldn’t be the craziest thing to be true.”
“I went there once, I think.” Genie stopped to hiccup. “Or part of me did, I don’t know. I almost died when the Golden Fangs put me into combat for the first time, and I was in this endless void but it was filled with floating bits of incomplete machinery, and even some buildings and creatures…”
“Really?” Constance asked, feigning ignorance as a cold shiver ran down her body. She was drunk and confused, and all she wanted to do was escape the mystery of what awaited her, but the world wouldn’t let her get away from it.
“This endless field of blue grass appeared,” Genevieve continued, struggling to describe the experience whilst intoxicated. “It’s hard to explain, but Annabelle was there, and it was all so vivid and real!”
Connie forced a smile and a pleasant expression onto her round face, but inside her stomach felt like it had been tied in knots. There were too many similarities cropping up in everyone’s weird visions and experiences to be coincidental. Unable to cope with the grand scheme of things in her current state, Constance grabbed a thin flute of absinthe and necked it.
“Wow, you’re really going for it,” Genevieve slurred, thinking that the Book Wielder was simply getting in the party spirit. “All thisshh talk’s getting me down a bit—think I need a pick-me-up!”
The Vampire Nightclaw opened her cream leather purse and pulled out a tiny plastic pouch of pink and red powder. She opened it up and snorted a small pinch, shuddering with satisfaction as the drug hit home.
“That was Rushdust, wasn’t it?” Connie said, rolling her eyes. “That definitely isn’t legal here.”
“Don’t tell anyone then,” Genevieve whispered loudly and theatrically behind the back of her hand.
“You’re not going to try and talk me into trying it?” Constance asked.
“Hell, no,” Genie said, shaking her head side-to-side. “I don’t want to see what hyperactive nagging looks like, thank you very much!”
The young Book Wielder grumbled and finished her meal.
Genevieve and Constance exchanged random banter as they waited for their plates and empty glasses to be taken, and then ordered a large amount of dessert along with another selection of drinks. The waiter filled their table with sweet delights and powerful drinks, as the sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon and made way for the night’s sky and the soft glow of the twin moons. The balcony was well lit and warmed with external heaters, so the two drunken girls barely registered the transition
“I’ve gotta ask,” Genie said after finishing her black forest gateau and moving onto a wide slice of chocolate fudge cake. “How come a gal like you is single?”
“What-cha mean?” Constance replied as coyly as she could while struggling to aim her fork in the direction of her vanilla cheesecake. She knew what Genevieve was asking but she wanted to hear her spell it out.
“You know—you’re smart, sexy, you’ve got butt for days… and I imagine some people must see past the nagging?” Genie added with an evil grin.
Constance pursed her lips. “I don’t nag that much. And I dunno… I suppose I’ve always been engrossed in my studies.”
“You must have tried though?” the Vampire pressed.
“Well, yeah, course I’ve tried,” Connie replied. “They just never worked out or amounted to anythin’. Felt like I was waiting for the right person, so I pushed ‘em away, but now…”
“But now?” Genevieve asked with a sly look, adding a bit of flirtation into the mix.
“Now it feels like I won’t have time,” Constance said gravely.
“Oh,” Genevieve replied, dishevelled. She’d thought the Book Wielder was going somewhere completely different. “That sucks.”
Connie grabbed a bottle of champagne and popped off the cork with her force magic. “Fuck it, I don’t wanna think about it. Let’s just enjoy the night.”
“Well, we do have the room,” Genevieve offered cheekily, trying her luck.
“Oh yeah, we’ve only got the one room,” Constance gasped. “Maybe we can book one of the others.”
Genie scoffed. “Yeah, maybe.”
Constance shouted for the waiter and enquired about the other rooms, but her hopes were soon dashed when she discovered that Veronica had reserved them all for herself.
“Whatever she’s paying, I’ll double it!” Connie cried as the waiter walked away.
“I’ll just run back if it’s that much of a big deal,” Genie shrugged. “I don’t like to brag, but I’m one of the fastest Nightclaws around. Comes in handy for all sorts,” she added in a jokingly seductive tone.
Constance blushed and brushed passed the end half of her sentence. “Nah, don’t leave on my account. Maybe I could get a taxi or something.”
“Do you want to fuck me tonight?” Genevieve asked bluntly.
Connie hesitated for longer than she should have. She was completely smashed and couldn’t deny the fact she was tempted by the blue-haired babe, but she wasn’t prepared to lose her virginity while she was drunk out of her skull on mixed drinks.
Genevieve took her expression as the answer and continued. “Then I’m sure we can share a room without screwing all night.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Constance said with a smile, realising she’d overreacted. She’d crashed with plenty of people before without crossing the line.
Genie returned the warm look and then tried to tackle the problem of what alcohol to pick next.
The mood continued to lighten as the drinks flowed freely, and Connie and Genie managed to interact for longer and longer without an argument as the alcohol made them merry, ditzy, and easily amused. At some point they both retreated to their room, but they weren’t sure when, and they both staggered to a halt when they saw what Veronica had done.
The room’s large central bed had been sprinkled with rose petals, and several incredibly revealing outfits had been laid out lovingly on the white sheets. Lining the bedside tables, coffee table, and chest of drawers were a mind-blowing selection of brand-new massage oils, sex toys, whips, handcuffs, and lubricants.
“Veronica isn’t very subtle, is she?” Constance said, staggering into the room.
“She’s really outdone herself this time…” Genie grabbed a threateningly long purple dildo and wobbled it at Connie. “I reckon she’s not getting any on the home front.”
Constance cracked up laughing and flopped onto the bed. “Mind if we go straight to bed? I’m fucked!”
“Sure,” Genie said, launching the sex toy across the room and turning off the light.
“Some first day,” Connie mumbled to herself as she passed out.
✽ ✽ ✽
Through the night, Genevieve drifted in and out of sleep, and often thought about rolling over and snuggling up to Constance. The alcohol had made her horny and a little lonely, and as the light of a new day shone into the room Genie decided to just go for it. She moved across the bed and rubbed herself against Constance’s behind, and when the Book Wielder pressed back into her, Genie ran her arms across her amazing—if surprisingly cold—body.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Genie-girl,” Veronica chided playfully. “I gave you everything you needed for a good night, and you blew it.”
“Veronica!” Genevieve yelped, sitting bolt-upright to see that Connie was long gone and the cheeky Vampire Bloodmage was lying in her place. She looked around the room, but the Book Wielder was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s already back at the Amphitheatre, studying away while she waits for her inductor to sleep off her hangover,” Veronica said, answering her friend’s thoughts. “Luckily, I brewed yo
u both a cleansing potion to help with your next round of bonding.”
“Don’t you have a husband to keep you busy?!” Genevieve said in frustration.
Veronica groaned miserably. “Yeah, unfortunately, and he’s got something extra special planned for today.”
Chapter 4
Judge, Jury, and Executioner
Lord Imperator Alice Eve and Veronica Reynolds stood silently in the Imperial Box overlooking the arena floor. Raindrops streamed from the cloudy sky far above them and ran down an invisible barrier protecting the opened-topped section of the Conclave Amphitheatre, as though the heavens themselves were weeping for the prisoners below. The mood was bitter, and the atmosphere was tense and thick with trepidation, but Winston Reynolds seemed merrier than ever as the prisoners were marched towards him at gunpoint.
Both Veronica and Alice gave each other an understanding glance. The unofficial Empress had little sympathy for criminals that had murdered innocents (human, Alt, or otherwise), but she had no love for malicious cruelty dressed up as justice. Alice shared the Vampire’s sentiments, and in her opinion the death sentence should’ve been carried out long before Winston had sated his strange, ever growing desire for pageantry.
Winston leant over and rested his elbows on the box’s ledge, his white eyes bulging with excitement as he addressed his captives. “Who do we have here then?” he asked with a smile as he stroked his smooth chin.
There were nine prisoners in total; two women in their fifties, two men of the same age, and five men in their twenties. They were all dressed in normal casual wear that had been ruffled during their transportation and incarceration. Some looked down nervously at the white sand beneath their feet, while the others stared at Winston with unbridled resentment and defiance burning in their eyes.
“Answer me please,” Winston purred like a predator toying with its prey.
“Speak up, scum!” one of their Justiciar escorts yelled, prodding them aggressively with his large rifle.
Alice bit her lip in frustration. Her Justiciars were slowly being usurped by Winston, and she wondered how many of her people now pledged themselves solely to him.
The prisoners rattled their names off one by one, even though Winston was fully aware of who they were and what they’d done already. There was the stout Harry and Maria Cotsworth, and their two sons Iain and Brian. Beside them were James and Louise Steiner, their son Steven, and Glen and Wolfgang who were two cousins that had been taken in during the War for Reality when their parents were killed.
“A family trial, how wonderful!” Winston said, clapping in a slow and intimidating fashion. “Tell me, guards, what are they guilty of?”
Another Justiciar stepped forward and removed his shiny black helmet. “Sire, these individuals have been found guilty of murder and arson—”
“You can’t murder what isn’t human,” Harry Cotsworth interrupted.
The Justiciar went to strike him, but Winston gestured for him to stop and back off.
“According to the law, they are,” Winston said in a patronising voice while tilting his head to the side.
“Fuck your law,” Louise Steiner said angrily. “You’re just a kid. We don’t have to obey you, and neither does anyone else!”
Winston nodded, so slightly it was barely detectable, and one of the Justiciars batted Louise in the back of the head with the butt of their rifle. The woman fell to the floor, and her husband James went to intervene but stopped in his tracks when a gun barrel was pressed against the top of his spine.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Winston chuckled whilst shaking his head side to side. “Firstly, you’re being rude—I don’t like that. Secondly, I’m far too old to be a kid, which you should know from your own poorly raised brats, and lastly… I’m far too powerful to be disobeyed.”
Veronica could see Alice’s white eyes looking in her direction, beckoning for a silent exchange, but she kept her own gaze focused down at the prisoners. What had seemed like a slight identity crisis spliced with an unhealthy dose of power-mad behaviour only a few months before, was now quickly blossoming into something tyrannically psychotic. She could barely recognise the persona occupying her husband’s body, and it terrified her. Veronica wished she had disobeyed Winston’s summons, and tagged along with Genevieve and Constance instead.
The unofficial Emperor resettled himself, casually resting one leg upon his knee before carrying on. “Now, you vicious villains gunned down a group of seven Alternatives and then proceeded to set their farmhouse on fire, with the wounded Alts locked inside. That is truly unforgivable. That farm was not only a symbol of our peoples’ cooperative future together, but a source of many Gloom reagents needed for potions—”
“And drugs!” Maria Cotsworth yelled in a disgusted tone.
“I prefer the term ‘alchemically enhanced narcotics’…” Winston replied cheerfully. “No, not really. I just call them drugs,” he added, looking off in the distance.
Alice gave up trying to get Veronica’s attention the easy way, and deliberately weakened herself so that the Vampire could penetrate her usually well-guarded half-Archmage and Book Wielder mind. It was a natural defence that she wished worked against Cherriesa, who was the most powerful Bloodmage on the planet and could read Alice like a toddler’s story book.
The Lord Imperator pushed what she was sensing from Winston to the front of her mind; an intense magical power was blossoming inside the young man, and Alice hadn’t felt anything that strong since her fateful battle with the Archmage Omniosis. The Lord Imperator also forced her inner monologue to point out that the slight change in the Primary Regulator’s personality had seemingly avalanched into a full-blown personality disorder. In the few hours that had transpired since the Conclave of Nations, Winston had transformed from an expert—albeit greedy and calculating—politician, to a frightfully unpredictable entity. She had seen him angry and she had seen him cold and sadistic, particularly during his arena games, but what she was witnessing now was pure distressing madness paired with a swelling magical power. Alice knew that something would have to be done, and soon.
Veronica shuddered, pulling her shawl over her thick black dress even though the chill had nothing to do with the gloomy weather. She knew that Alice was right, but she didn’t have a clue how to break through to her husband. Veronica had already exhausted her tactics several times over, and the look of disgust in Winston’s eyes had made her stomach churn in heart-breaking agony as though she had swallowed a reel of barbed wire.
“You know why you brought us here,” Harry Cotsworth shouted, “so just get the fuck on with it, you little pansy prick.”
Winston called off the guards before they could strike stout Harry, and began clapping slowly. “Such courage in the face of your impending death is admirable, truly it is, Mr. Cotsworth. Do the others in your little… entourage feel the same? Are they prepared to meet their maker just as bravely as you are? Even your precious children?”
One by one, the prisoners stepped forwards and declared that they were in it together and would stand by each other until the bitter end.
Again, Winston clapped, seemingly impressed by their resolve. “Such courage, such bravery, it would be wasted with a gruesome execution. So, how would you like to fight for me? Join my gladiators, take part in my grand games, and all will be forgiven!”
The prisoners gave each other confused looks, as did Veronica and Alice.
“We’d rather die now, than work for you and die later, you lunatic!” Louise spat angrily, whilst rubbing the back of her sore head.
“Such fire,” Winston said appreciatively. “What a waste.”
The Primary Regulator stared at his captives for two minutes, moving his head as he thought about what to do with them, but didn’t blink once during that small eternity.
“I know!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “I have a game that you’ll like. I’ll come down there and you can all fight me, and if you land a hit—just one hit—I’ll let you go!�
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“What?” Veronica gasped without thinking.
“Don’t worry, my sweet,” Winston said with a calm expression on his handsome face.
“We’ll take that deal,” Louise yelled from below.
“Guards, bring out the weapon racks!” Winston declared jovially.
“Primary Regulator, you should let us handle these matters,” Alice advised.
Winston gave her a scowl. “I’ll let you ‘handle these matters’ when you’ve apprehended the terrorist and the miserable excuse for an Archmage scientist. Until then, watch and learn.”
Alice bit her lip and clenched her fists, as the Justiciars below wheeled in some wooden weapon racks filled with every variety of melee weapon conceivable to man.
“I want a gun,” the young man Wolfgang demanded in a thuggish tone. “So do they,” he added, gesturing to his brethren.
The older prisoners gave the lad a stern look, worried that his demand would shatter their hopes of a seemingly easy pardon and release.
“That seems a little unfair,” Winston smiled, “but I’m feeling extra generous today… so why not? Guards, hand over your rifles.”
The guards did as they were ordered without question or hesitation, and the young men looked at the Justiciars’ multi-purpose rifles with awe.
The unofficial Emperor began taking off his enchanted rings of protection and placing them on the box’s ledge, until Veronica grabbed his wrist.
Winston had a total of four rings that would protect him from a reasonable amount of damage (a magical attack or bullet, for example), essentially giving him four more lives. As more magical artefacts were discovered after the merger, the Primary Regulator had begun to dish them out amongst his favourites. In the early days of the Conclave he had given Veronica an especially powerful protection ring which she now wore next to her ruby wedding ring, but as time went on Winston stopped sharing and began hoarding the extremely potent and priceless items all for himself.
“Don’t you trust in my abilities?” Winston asked, apparently hurt. “Of course you don’t—that’s why I wanted you here, I wanted you to see what I can do!”