Alchimia Rex (054 & 055) (Patreon)

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[054] [Rapid Oxidation]

Steam hissed, the chemicals churned, the compressor growled like a beast, hungry for more. Maidens came and went, only staying as long as their efforts were needed, not one of them being allowed to see or know more than absolutely necessary.

Working with maidens was quite an experience, one that had led Rick to completely reassess his estimations regarding how long it would potentially take to create and improve small-scale industrialized production of chemicals.

Did he need a glass condenser that would have taken hours of work in the real world, involving specialized tools? The local glass-blower could have done it in minutes, using the same kind of magical-like powers that allowed her to heat the glass up to then turn around and cool it off faster, without affecting the quality of the result.

This approach applied to just about everything else.

Did he need a purpose-built custom metal pipe? If he had the metal available, the smith, a Barghest, could take it and use her bare hands to heat up, bend, and hammer away. The only reason she used a hammer at all was that their hands didn’t lend themselves for making flat surfaces.

Did he need something assembled? The Mousegirls worked like a living-breathing assembly line. Did he need a leak found? A Doggirl's ears and nose would pinpoint it within seconds.

It was both frightening and exhilarating. The only thing slowing him down was the constant testing and tweaking of the process. Pressure could be controlled with the compressor, it was enchanted to allow maidens to pour their energy into it, effectively working as its power source in a more indirect way, but he did not know enough about that for it to be something he could utilize.

Meanwhile, his most reliable source of high-temperature was Sheel. She was skilled at the task, but she was no machine, and just like any human, the maiden needed to rest and recover. That, and she was not immune to error, a simple sneeze had caused her output to fluctuate wildly enough to ruin the batch… and a segment of the pipe.

Having maidens be a convenient energy source was a design flaw he intended to fix as soon as he found an economic way to do so. However, removing dependency on the technical expertise of Rollo's workforce was a long-term goal, nothing that could be tackled right now.

The heat in the workshop remained sweltering more often than not, but it wouldn’t slow him any. Formulas, tweaks, tests, and more tests. He would rotate through maidens, making sure that if they weren’t amongst the ones he’d bonded, then their work would remain within the portion of the warehouse that was separated from all else.

He was sure his security was lousy, but setting down the baselines for compartmentalized information would prove crucial for when the need to work with more dangerous things emerged.

And every time he faltered, every time he felt like he could rest or sit back down, his thoughts would invariably steer to the two maidens who would not wake. Their bonds felt numb, like something stuck in his teeth that he could not remove with just his tongue.

It made his blood boil.

After days of toiling, of paper filled to the brim with scribbling that any unfamiliar with the notation would find incoherent, of revising and double-checking formulas… he had succeeded.

His first batch was ready for a demonstration.

Which was why he’d called over Yasir, Whitneye, Urtha, and Sheel.

"This… is it?" The Orc frowned as she looked at the slightly brown granules in the container. There was roughly half of a basketball’s worth inside. "Smells like piss."

"That would be the ammonia; there were a few leaks." He covered the wooden container carefully. "I figured out how to make some low-grade ANFO out of the nitrate. We might not have diesel, but vegetable oil is a usable substitute." His lips stretched into a grimace. "It's definitely not at the quality level you'd find in my world, but this is just the first batch. The process will be perfected."

They’d made several barrels of ammonia and a few more of nitric acid. Rick would’ve preferred not to have the raw ingredients just laying around, but they only had one compressor. For now, they’d need to make things in batches, cleaning the machine before switching it from ammonia to acid to nitrate. With ANFO being carefully mixed by hand.

The process was slow and clunky, but that was to be expected when they were still polishing the ins and outs. Rick couldn’t help but feel an almost vindictive satisfaction at the thought of how much further things could be pushed once he found a way to incorporate the magic of this world in a more formalized way.

"And this is dangerous?" The Orc held the container to look closer, unconvinced.

"Pound for pound, it's a bit more destructive than black powder."

Next to him, the Hobgoblin let out an appreciative whistle. "Hear that, Urtha? You might get hurt."

The Orc laughed. "Father, if your plan is to use this against maidens, you should try it out against me first."

His response was instantaneous. "No."

"There is wisdom to be had in her words, my Lord." Yasir piped up from the corner, eyeing both Urtha and the container as he stroked his ever-impressive beard. "Hobgoblin firewood is known to be more potent than black powder by weight, especially when properly charged. And I’ve known Elder Sheel to not hold back in her spars with Spear Urtha."

“Damn straight.” The Hobgoblin nodded.

"You've seen me lose an arm and grow it back." Urtha glanced at him, patting her left shoulder. "Do you not trust me?"

Rick clenched his jaw. He too had seen Urtha's spars, and he’d seen more than one maiden trying to stab her or wreath her in fire, to little actual effect. But as much as he knew Urtha was knife-proof and open-flame-proof, he wasn’t entirely sure whether something like a shockwave could cause damage internally.

"Half." He relented after a moment, snatching the container from her grip. "And you focus on protecting the rest of yourself."

The Orc rolled her eyes. "Men."

While he went back into the warehouse to carefully split the container's payload into two separate containers, Urtha got herself one of the Orc-wood reinforced shields she'd made for the laboratory. She’d even gone so far as to add a few carved lines to the design to keep it from looking too plain.

"I'm betting she'll have to grow back a finger," Sheel whispered as Urtha walked down the pier, the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore.

Yasir nodded slightly, mischief in his eyes. "Two."

"I can hear you!" The Orc declared. "I'm betting no fingers!"

"No reinforcing," Sheel called back. "I'll know if you do!"

Rick just stood there, tapping his foot, arms crossed, glaring, chewing the inside of his cheek, and trying to mentally remind himself that there wasn't such a thing as an Orc being crippled by an injury.

They either survived and would get back up within a few days or weeks… or die.

Not exactly reassuring.

She hefted the shield between herself and the explosive, reaching around while holding a small wooden disk of firewood. Sheel had made a few of those to work as detonator caps when snapped.

And it was when he saw Urtha inserting her hand into the box that Rick remembered one crucial fact.

In his world, black powder had historically been filled with impurities and poor understanding of the ideal ratios, leaving its effective explosive rate nearly half that of the chemically pure variant.

BOOM

In a ball of fire and smoke, Urtha toppled over, falling into the water.

The force of the shockwave rattled his bones, the area where the explosive had been placed now entirely gone, leaving behind only splintered wood and a gaping hole a meter across. As if some creature had taken a bite out of the thing.

Rick rushed ahead, feeling an inkling of pain through the bond, and saw the splashing, the Orc grasping the pier with one hand to pull herself up.

Alive, good.

Urtha glanced down at her other arm, grimaced, and kept the limb submerged. "See? I'm fine," she spoke up at him, the water dripping from her hair was like a cascade making its way down a mountain. "It had more of a kick than I expected."

"Show it."

He crossed his arms tighter.

"In a minute."

His brows lowered, gaze turning into a line.

"Now."

With a petulant nod, the maiden lifted her right arm. Where the hand should have been, there was now a mangled mess of burnt flesh and bones. A mess that was cracking and popping as it was already underway to fix itself back up, it wasn’t even bleeding anymore.

"You're an idiot," Rick proclaimed magnanimously.

"And a lesson was learned," Sheel gave a good look at the wound, then at the damaged pier. "Father, your tricks are getting quite dangerous."

He let out a huff. "Do you think you could do something similar?"

"It's not worth the effort," she replied. "I could make a large block of firewood, fill it up with my fire, and if I spent a few hours at it, it would certainly do worse than this. But at that concentration… it would lose half its potency within the day. If I wanted to unmake something with this much force, it would be better with my own hands."

"There are ways to slow down the loss, enchantments carved into the wood, for example," Yasir stroked his beard, looking intently at the destroyed pier. "The pirates of the Sapphire Sea have one such arrangement. They use cannons with firewood for the first wave of attacks, that way their fighters are fresh and unspent for the ensuing battle."

"And there's the risk that putting too much firewood in one place could cause it to go off on its own," Sheel added.

“ANFO has a few advantages in that regard.” Rick nodded along. "It won’t go bad so long as it remains dry. You can put a mountain of the stuff in one place and it won’t go off unless you throw fire or shock at it,” he shrugged, glancing at Urtha as she pulled herself out of the water with just one hand and then proceeded to dry up. But it was Yasir’s expression that caught his attention. "You seem troubled."

"The issue is of distribution, you see," he stroked his beard. "How complicated would it be to create another such workshop in a new city?”

He frowned in return, why would he make another facility and further risk others learning the process? "I don't seek to sell this. Even if I did, I'd just distribute the nitrate rather than set up another facility."

Yasir's dark skin creased, the man closing his eyes for a moment. "I suppose it would make sense, that a world without ferals would see the biggest challenge to transporting goods be the logistics of the scale and distance, rather than the threats along the way." There was an undertone of jealousy in his voice. "Unfortunately, without heavy protection, moving between villages or cities is a great risk. Not just any product would be worth the trip.” He raised a finger. “It is for this very reason that black powder is not commonly used outside of cities that have the materials readily accessible."

That was something Rick hadn’t considered. Sure, he was aware of ferals making anything outside population centers a risk, but for it to be something that straight up made it an economical alternative to just make a new factory at the destination?

He could see more than a few issues with the approach.

But it certainly made the radio tower Astunes possessed that much more impressive.

"Guess it's good that this process mostly only needs air and water." There was also the platinum catalyst, that would be a pain to obtain in larger quantities. "I think that the ideal configuration would use three compressors. If everything’s smoothed out, then the output should be roughly six or so of those bombs every hour."

The bearded man sputtered, eyes bulging as he focused on Rick. "My Lord, I... forgive me, but I find such a thing hard to imagine."

Urtha, nursing her hurt hand, frowned. "That's... six... every hour." Her brow furrowed.

"Imagine if every feral in that Mousegirl horde had two of those," Sheel stated with a cold look, glancing at Rick.

The Orc looked at her hand, then at the damaged part of the pier that was missing. "That would've been a pain... hm... doable, but a pain."

In Rick’s mind, the math checked out in a different way. If one explosive nearly blew up the hand of someone like Urtha, then a full day of production should be enough explosive material to guarantee someone as tough as an Orc would become a fine mist.

Urtha remained deep in thought, scratching her chin with her good hand while watching the mangled one readjusting itself into something that resembled a hand missing all its fingers. He could sense a mild curiosity welling deep within, as if trying to solve some impossible puzzle.

"Oh, before I forget, Yasir."

The man put his contemplative expression away, replacing it with a placid smile. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Some of the chemicals that are created in this process, though dangerous, are also usable in the dyeing process.” Rick grinned. “I thought your wife might be interested in experimenting to see what can be done in that regard.”

The man's face lit up with a smile. "Certainly! I will make sure to share the news with my dear Ahina, she'll be ecstatic.” His gaze flickered towards the city.

“The demonstration’s over, feel free to go inform her.”

“Right away, my Lord.” He bowed. “May the Goddess fortune smile upon your endeavors.”

“That’s as good a signal for me to leave for mid-sun meal as any,” Sheel said, giving a bow of her head. “Tomorrow at the same then.”

That only left Urtha, the Orc was still caught up staring at the chunk of the pier that’d been bitten off by the explosive. He could almost hear the grinding of the gears in her head, perhaps trying to work through scenarios that involved bomb-armed Mousegirls.

It was just fine for him. Rick went over to the warehouse, inspecting and double-checking inventory, removed the catalyst from the reaction chamber, and confirmed everything was nice and inactive before he started to lock everything up.

His own mind had a few things it turned to.

Now that he’d managed to create the explosive, the doors were starting to open, new tasks to consider. He needed to streamline production, and also figure out ways it might be implemented on the field. Using existing battlefield uses for Hobgoblin firewood looked like the best starting point before they started branching off to things like shaped charges or mines.

Firewood was highly flexible, the explosive rate being adjustable by the maker, an advantage that ANFO did not have. There would be time for experimentation once they had more available for use.

Something caught his attention, a mild feeling of urgency.

At first he thought it to be his own, or maybe Dia’s, but as he focused on the source, his gaze shifted towards the northern sky. It took him a moment, but he found a shape that was slowly approaching, coming from one of the weaker bonds.

It was a Neigix, the maiden flying with apparent desperation, headed straight in his direction. Urtha noticed pretty quickly, taking position near him and watching very intently.

“She’s one of ours.” Rick commented, watching.

The maiden got closer and closer, until she turned her flight into a glide, descending down over the houses until she landed a few feet in front of the Orc. “My Lord!” She spoke, slightly out of breath, lowering herself to one knee and tucking her wings. “I am Cliba, from long sentry duty sector three.”

So one of the maidens they’d put into keeping an eye over more remote areas of the forest. “Speak.”

“I spotted ferals acting oddly, moving together, Doggirls mostly, but there were a few others.” She lowered her head further. “As per your command, I came back right away.”

Rick wanted to swear but held back, turning to the maiden who had the most experience in matters of warfare. “Urtha?”

“It might be the real thing. We don’t know how they gathered the horde the first time, this might be the sign we were looking for,” The Orc nodded. “If they’re hunting for a new rush to throw at us, then they must be spreading themselves thin.”

“It seems our enemies aren’t going to wait for us to be fully ready,” Rick muttered somberly. “If sentries stop reporting back, we raise alarms immediately.”

“I’ll have some of the sneaky ones try and linger near the forest edge, in case they send anything close.” Urtha stated, to which he could only nod. “We should call everyone, start preparations.”

Monica was out until her treatment finished, Kiara was not waking, and the production line was not fully set up.

This was bad.

[055] [Plans within plans (Eva)]

"We know their champions are, at the very least, a Warlock and the Archangel," Eva stated. “There may be powerful ferals, or not. We know they might have taken ferals from the deepest parts of the forest, but we can’t be sure.”

"How are you certain there's a Warlock?" Whitneye asked. "The last recorded one was nearly a century ago."

Eva straightened herself; this was familiar territory, she remembered the days when she’d participated in the strategy meetings her father would drag Evans to. They were times where other nobles and people of import would use to impress whoever happened to be in charge.

If whoever was in charge happened to be smart, they would value sound reasoning above status or feelings.

“Right before the assassination attempt, a powerful scrying spell was detected. Alongside this, both the Archangel as well as the surviving Dark Elves were teleport-pulled out of the fortress. Seeing how Warlocks are one of two possible forms a Dark Elf can ascend to, the likelihood is high.” She pointed at the map before them. "Warlocks are powerful ritual casters. Their threat cannot be understated, their curses and hexes are second to none, and their range and power can be compared to an Elementalist.”

Protocol would’ve required Whitneye to acknowledge whether he agreed with this assessment.

Rick interrupted, uncaring for such things. “How dangerous are we talking about?” His gaze was fixed on the map.

“It is hard to say. A maiden who has reached the peak of their genus will possess such a wealth of experience that each individual is their own case.” Whitneye shot a small glare at Eva, twirling his mustache. “But if there is one thing to be sure, Warlocks in particular are infamous for their skill with hexes specifically. One could target a few Orcs and render them little more than oversized Mousegirls, while another may cast over a large area and deny the tribe their vaunted regeneration.”

"Everything a Dark Elf can do in terms of curses and hexes, a Warlock can do better, larger, more powerful, and from further away," Eva added, straightening herself to keep her tone controlled and neutral. "They are, however, extremely frail. If anyone were to reach the Warlock, they would be an easy target."

“No one gets that powerful without accounting for the weakness everyone knows of,” Urtha stated with a scowl. “The attack will likely be here in two, three days maximum. We received confirmation of one of our scouts not having returned as scheduled.”

Eva nodded. "Our expectations are that the Dark Elves will be working as support to the ferals, hexing individual targets from safer locations."

"And Mat… I mean, the Archangel?" Whitneye inquired, coughing a little to cover for his slip-up.

No one wished to acknowledge it, but the monster had once had a name, a life, she’d been a part of this city for years. In such a small place, there was no doubt even someone like Whitneye would’ve had plenty of opportunities to at least know of the maiden tangentially.

In a sense, it made sure the man brought up the Archangel as a question rather than by admitting how much contact he’d had with the now traitor.

Eva hesitated. "I don't know," she admitted. "Archangels, by the book, are maidens that prefer to strike from afar. Anything they see, they can hit with their radiant lightning. Swarming them is the suggested approach, but…"

"But she's a tentacle monster that can slaughter anything that gets too close," Rick's face twisted into a grimace. "If she still has those ranged powers, there is no reason for her to come down." His expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "No reason but me."

There was no uproar, no arguing, no complaints, or rebuttals. Eva glanced at Urtha, then at Dia. They shared the same look with one another, the same thoughts: No matter what he planned, no matter what he ordered, they would not let the monster get to him.

Not a second time.

Not ever.

“Surely healing your Sabertooth…” Whitneye muttered, his voice trailing off.

Dia hesitated, glancing at Rick for permission, as was protocol. He nodded a little. “Monica’s situation is not that simple. The parasite is well rooted, and forceful removal could not only threaten her life, but potentially permanently cripple her.”

“Surely you can understand the danger of the situation we are in.” The man pressed. “The risk would be worth-.”

“Sir Whitneye,” Rick’s voice held a cold edge to it, his eyes fixing on the constable with the severity of a barely contained storm. “The current approach is the optimal one, it cannot be hurried.”

There was finality in his words.

Eva knew the hours he’d spent poring over the different options. Their biggest problem was that Kiara was the one whose powers they needed the most. If they could just guarantee the parasite was drained of power, then they could strongarm it without fear of permanently harming the Sabertooth.

A Succubus that had not woken, no matter what they tried.

If they at least had a greater number of skilled healers and not just Dia, then they might have the combined capacity to handle more severe consequences.

“Keeping the walls as they are right now will prove impossible against a flying enemy that can just shoot at us from the horizon,” Rick broke the silence, stirring the conversation to proceed.

“Our best bet would be to build protections. Orcwood is durable, and though it wouldn’t be able to survive sustained attacks, it could prove invaluable against her.” Eva nodded in agreement.

“And the farms?” Dia asked, concern in her eyes. “Our food supply is barely stable; another rationing…”

“They can’t turn this into a siege, not if they're coming at us with some crazed feral horde,” Rick replied. “We’ll empty them and leave them be. If they want to destroy them, they will, if not, then better for us once this is over.”

“And they know they can’t just stall. Now that the rush is over, the kingdom will not stand idle.”

The nobility would move to eradicate the Dark Elves; they would not tolerate such a force having grown right under their noses in such a way. If there would be one thing to unify them, it would be the shadow of a second rebellion.

And that same shadow would spur them to turn their blades at Rick immediately after.

Placating the kingdom would be a dangerous game.

"Going back to the issue at hand," Eva tapped the table. "Our own forces constitute the tribe and the militia. Hobgoblins and Orcs make for our most consistent strength, they would make for the most effective force against the ferals themselves, with the militia serving to give them support.”

“My knights’ enchanted armor is still in good use,” Whitneye declared. “They should be well protected against the kind of hexes Dark Elves might use.”

“Not to boast, but I would count as a champion.” Urtha stated, sensing the little boasting and maneuvering being carried out.

“We already consider you worth ten Orcs.” Rick stated without missing a beat. “What about Rollo?" His shift in subject earned a slight petulant look from the taller maiden.

Eva couldn’t help but feel a little larger.

"It is illegal to possess a maiden skilled enough in combat that they would be considered equivalent or superior to a standard knight in full regalia. Not without a noble title,” Whitneye declared. “If Rollo were foolish enough to possess such a maiden, Lord Thorley would have taken them away.”

"And things like that are why human nobles make no sense.” Urtha rolled her eyes, but did not add further commentary.

Rick’s gaze sharpened. "The Earl of Balet didn't comment about any such law."

"Earl Vitchatt was likely seeking to groom you into a position of minor nobility," Eva replied without missing a beat. "The safest way would've been for Monica to earn her way into proper knighthood. Between that, your status as an otherworlder, as well as being a pureblood, the court would have begged him to throw the title of knight-protector at you."

"That's... nevermind. Contact Rollo anyway; I don't expect him to fight, but we might need his help with the preparations." His shoulders slumped. "Though I dread the bill we'll get out of it."

"We still do not have a way to stop either the Archangel or the Warlock," Dia pointed out.

Eva's fangs dug into her lower lip. "My powers should allow me to slip through and seek her out."

Just how she'd done with the Vampire, attack them while they were half-way through the ritual; if it was just that, then maybe...

“Denied." Rick didn't even hesitate, eyes focused on the map. "If they have any sort of protection, which they will, you’d be toast." He frowned. "Maybe if we put together the Hounds and... actually, wait." He reached out to pick up the map and turn it around, his frown deepening. "Doesn't this seem odd?"

Urtha leaned closer to look at the drawing, the others following suit. "What is?"

"Let's say they win." His finger poked at the drawing of the wall. "Their horde of ferals launch an attack and overcome the walls, killing everyone that might be able to stand up to them. The city is left in their hands, defenseless. What do they do then?"

"Kill us all," Whitneye declared.

"They could've done that way before the tribe showed up," Rick poked at the map again. "They want this city as intact as they can get away with, they seek to rule it, not turn it to one giant pile of rubble." His finger tapped the paper. "So, they win... what do they do with their 'soldiers'?"

Eva blinked, leaning forward. "Oh."

The Lord of Sinco straightened up. "We're going to be on a very tight schedule."

/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/

With Urtha and Dia preoccupied with their respective parts of the preparation, Eva had been left to keep an eye on Rick. She was the bodyguard, but as the Rapha had pointed out, the real muscle were the Orcs that kept a tight watch over the Father of the tribe.

Her real work was to keep an eye on him. They’d all sensed that simmering anger that had poured out at Whitneye’s comment. And the last thing anyone needed was for him to plan or do something that might put him at risk.

So she quietly trailed after him. Once Rick had gone about the place explaining the parts of the plan to every relevant party, he should’ve had little more to do other than wait and supervise it all.

But the man had refused, taking to the streets. House by house, door by door, he knocked, finding the occupants to nervously greet him, stumbling over themselves with apologies over the sorry state of their abode or some other inane attempt at placating him.

They weren’t greeted with anger or force, but with kind words. "Sinco needs your help. May I come inside?"

Each time, it commenced the same way—those same eight words. Entry was never denied; after all, he was the Lord, accompanied by five intimidating Orcs who stood menacingly around their tribal leader.

"The ones who caused the feral rush are coming to attack the city," he would explain, and they would listen. Who could doubt the Lord that had visited their homes personally? "The ones who assassinated Miss Donohuei and placed a curse on my wife seek to impose their will on Sinco." His expression would contort with grief and anger, and there was truth to those feelings. "The city needs every bit of help. It doesn't matter if you cannot fight; every bit of help counts. You do not need to decide right now, but know that time is of the essence."

Some would stammer through apologies, others offering insincere platitudes, a few quietly glowering, fewer still would question him, while a handful went so far as to ask him to leave then and there. Regardless of the response, Rick would answer, thank them, and move on to the next house.

Yet many of them would come outside, watch, ask around, and join in the effort.

In just a few hours, word had spread. When he knocked on doors he wouldn’t be greeted by a singular family but an entire neighborhood of faces, more ready to ask questions, more attentive to his words, quicker to spring into action once he left.

Eva could understand why that was. It was an astonishing thing to consider, the Lord of a city stooping low just to converse with commoners. To ask for their aid, in fact, rather than merely take it.

To these people who’d lived under Lord Thorley’s heel, the act itself was impossible.

But it was just as impossible to deny it was exactly that.

House by house, hour by hour, the number of hands that joined the efforts swelled. Ropes were made and raised, planks set down, rooftops connected, streets hidden under cloth and wood. The very plaza where the Lightning-vault had been in was nothing but flat cobblestone, the debris completely removed.

"I feel slimy," Rick confided in Eva during one of their breaks. "I've turned into a politician." He spoke the words bitterly as he sipped his water. "If I keep this up, I'll end up talking about how we need to invade some tiny country or another."

She wasn't sure what he meant exactly, but she could understand the sentiment. "The city is rallying to your call, my Lord."

"I’m just doing the shitty things I complained about others doing back in my world.” He shook his head, taking another gulp of water from a tin cup and getting back to his feet. "But it needs to be done, I guess. Let's keep going."

The Fledgling quietly bowed, returning to the comfort of his shadow. Watching him take to the job with such unwavering determination, Eva felt Dia’s words tease her. It made her keenly aware of just how much time she really spent looking at their surroundings rather than focused on the form of the man who’d become the ruler of a city.

A man who ruled not because he had been born with land or servants or titles, but because he’d built his power out of nothing. He’d conquered his way to this very position. Many nobles liked to claim they’d earned their way to the top.

But after having lost it all, it had made Eva aware of how few of those nobles could truly back up the claim, having been born into an advantageous position of considerable power from the very beginning.

Some part of her insisted that the reason why she watched him so closely was out of a desire to learn. The other part kept thinking back to those times he’d ensnared her with that strange and inexplicable… something.

The hours oozed their way through, and with the setting of the sun, the human reached his human limitations. His voice hoarse, his focus wavering, he returned to the humble house that’d not been meant for a Lord to live in.

It was only there, in the privacy of the house, having forgotten the maiden currently in his shadow, that the mask slid off and Rick showed his true thoughts, his true self.

The part of him that only she got to see in these rare moments where he’d forgotten of her presence.

When Dia returned, he would recover and show a different side of himself. But in the quiet darkness of the common room, his breath trembled and the cool composure and self-control broke away.

Rick stood as a statue, gaze peering directly into one of the walls, as if able to see through it. Eva knew he was staring in the direction of Monica and the Succubus. The two maidens had been sequestered and hidden away from both the citizenship and Rick. They would make for too tempting a target for anyone seeking to hurt him.

His lips curled, fists clenched.

Eva choked on air as a fiery heat exploded through the bond and into her. A crushing fury that burned everything else away, cutting her air and wrenched her gut as if she’d been struck.

Her body was wracked with the overwhelming desire to explode, to lash out and break everything in the room and to scurry deeper into the shadows and curl into a ball, all at the same time.

And with it came a delicious scent of blood that trickled from his fists.

The heat wrapped with hunger, and more instincts warred for control. Hunger, and the witnessing of a fury that was both not hers, yet she felt as vividly as if it were her own heart being rent to pieces.

She whimpered, the sound drawing Rick’s attention in a snap.

For a moment, their gazes met, emotions swirling naked in his gaze. In the blackness of his eyes she saw a world reduced to ash, a flicker of sapphire betraying the influence from the Sabertooth.

And a moment after, it was all gone.

Concern, naked and honest, reached out to her. “Sorry,” he said in a whisper, pulling out a chair to sit. “You must be hungry.” The inflexion of his voice was as casual as if he’d just been roused from reading a boring book. “Come.”

He reached out to her with his bloodied hand, palm held in the air.

There was neither hesitation nor room for thought, Evangeline emerged from the shadow she’d been hiding in, taking half a footstep before falling to her knees. Her heart raced faster as she leaned closer.

The instinct to consume was drowned under simmering sweet powerlessness. Despite the growing thirst, Evangeline found herself not able to consider attacking Rick, the lingering anger she’d felt from him having cowed the predatory hunger.

“My Lord,” she whispered, taking his bloodied hand into her grip and leaning forward, lapping at his fingers and palm. A gesture that would be nakedly reverential to any onlooker, but that she could not register.

The taste was as pure as freshly melted snow after traversing a desert. It made her heart flutter into a hum, sending shivers through every part of her body. She moaned openly, there was nothing but bliss, nothing but Evangeline the Fledgling.

Every part of her body became alive, her senses sharpening and leaving her acutely aware of everything.

Her own heavy shaking breaths mingling with the slavishly wet lapping of her own tongue, with the Lord’s grunts of discomfort punctuating delicious shudders. Her skin was alive and constrained against the rough cotton, every inch of her sending little jolts of pleasure, from the pressure of being on her knees to the lightning that came from her chest.

Finding no more blood from the wound, she pressed her fangs against his wrist, piercing through with ease. The scent of his sweat mingled with the exquisite nectar, practically branding into her a new facet to this ritual.

His fingers gently stroked her silky black hair, coarse caresses she nuzzled against as if she’d been waiting exactly for this.

“Evangeline.”

The voice rumbled through her, ruby eyes rising to meet his own. There was no longer rage or comfort, she found his eyes filled with something else, something sickeningly sweet and hot. A part of her warned her of the danger hidden right there in plain sight.

But with a gentle tug of his fingers, he removed his wrist from her lips and she whimpered, following it like a lost puppy.

It led directly to his lips, and that damnable scar he could’ve healed but hadn’t, a constant reminder of… of…

“Evangeline.” He spoke again, and she took to the kiss.

She was high on sensation, she didn’t think, couldn’t; her eyes fluttered closed as her hands teased at her own thighs, wishing to reach out to him. Evangeline didn’t even register she was not drinking from him, furiously making out and unable to do anything but be led.

But Rick pierced his own lip against her fangs and she was rewarded with ambrosia, the Fledgling drank, shuddering deeply, melting into his embrace. He became a part of her in a more intimate way than anything she could’ve experienced.

It was as if she were becoming an extension of him, a limb that would follow without thought, too drunk on the overwhelming sensation.

“Breathe.”

Too soon did he break away, leaving the maiden kneeling, breathing ragged, fluttering eyelashes peering up and silently begging for more.

“Breathe, Evangeline.”

His command was cruel when every inch of her wished to drown in him. But Eva inhaled, filling her lungs for the first time for what felt like hours. The extreme relaxation seeped out of her, awareness of their relative positions, with her kneeling and him seated jostled her.

Eva pulled her hands away from his thighs as if scalded, more thoughts meant deeper awareness of what they’d been doing, and what she’d felt, what she’d wanted to do. It burned through her mind and sobered her up instantly.

“M-My Lord,” she said, jumping to her feet, unwilling to meet his gaze or the likely amusement she knew she’d find there. The maiden bowed, avoiding eye contact entirely rather than risk becoming entranced a second time. “You need to rest.”

“You as well.”

His words pulled at a very recent memory. “Just a bed-warmer,” Dia had said. In that very moment she knew what it was that Rick was implying, what he was offering, and it made her bolt into the shadows and out of the house.

Exactly like that time on the beach, running away.

But the fear was just a little bit duller, just a bit slower to come, her mind just a little more willing to indulge that deliciously dangerous question of “What if?”.

It was a honeyed poison. She knew the next kiss would follow the trend, she’d be a little less hesitant. Little by little, drop by delicious drop.

She ran through the shadows, avoiding everyone she could avoid, eyes darting through the crowds, searching for the only person she could think that could help her put the coherent mess in her head into order.

The massive green Orc was carrying an equally impressive slab of stone up to the wall.

“Urtha,” Eva called out, finding herself without breath as she shot out of the shadows, staring at the maiden with wild eyes. “I want to fight.”

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