I had been a sci-fi buff all my life. Laser guns, ranging from make-shift garage-assembled proto-packs to ones that looked so hyper-sleek they barely seemed functional, were practically hard-coded into my DNA. So forming a mental image of one was easy. Forcing that image into reality was something else entirely.
It isn’t reality, though! I admonished myself over and over. It’s a dream.
But it did not help. No matter how often I tried to see the club in our hands as a laser rifle, it simply refused to cooperate. There was just something in my head that insisted upon its current shape and function.
Why is it fighting me? Why does everything feel so stable all of a sudden? Everything had been in flux before.
Then I had a thought.
Our surroundings had only solidified into this frozen glacier when we had picked up that club. We could feel the impact of that environment, too. The frigid air of the cave around us was caressing our exposed skin, and the floor beneath us had become a fine layer of powdered snow over layers of ice and bare rock. Prior to that, the hall had felt… undecided as to what it wanted to be.
But why? Xhinn’s influence? Perhaps. It was definitely doing something to us.
But if we rewound even farther, we had been in another stable area: our bedroom. We did not know why it had been stable, but we could ignore that for now. The important thing to note was in the events that followed, in how they played out. It made sense for a well-to-do girl’s bedroom to empty into a Gothic manor, and the hall we had been moving through had been perfectly content to remain as such for a while.
But we had gotten preoccupied. With fighting. Conversation. Simply existing in this body. Even the clothes we were wearing! The clothes, though…
The clothes were key. They had been a mismatch. Something that did not belong. A distraction. Distractions could be dangerous in dreams. They could make you lose the plot before you could blink. Then, you look around, trying to take stock of your situation, but everything has gone fuzzy on you. Suddenly, you realize you are wearing a fur bikini and holding a club. That must mean you are in the middle of some primitive Quest for Fire, and things pick up from there.
Right. Context! Context is everything…
So then, how do I recontextualize the situation to our advantage? Imagining myself in a completely different scenario would be too much. I knew that almost by instinct. Dreams did not just pivot on a dime. They worked off a flow state. Situations might well merge from one loose, metaphorical association to the next, but they were at least tangentially related.
So we need a simple change. Something that would allow nothing else to be different, save the weapon in our hands.
The solution came to me in a flash. It was not one I was proud of, nor was it something I was keen on seeing played out, but… needs must.
Our eyes opened with a look of resignation painted over our face. Nothing had much changed visually. We were still surrounded by ice on all sides. The door in front of us was little more than a flap of hide hanging from a string. We were still wearing our far-too-revealing furs. But the club was a laser rifle, just as ordered.
“You see?” our lips informed us. “We can do it.”
“Yeah… just don’t blame me for what happens next.”
“What does that mean?”
We could only sigh. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
And without another word, we pushed our way forward.
“There you are!”
We had been disoriented for a moment on stumbling into what was clearly supposed to be a bustling city street. People were passing by us in little groups, mostly bundled from head to toe in furs to protect themselves from the cold, though the reptilian and Minotaur denizens had their heads uncovered. There were a few people nearby hawking what might have once been fruit or other indescribable foodstuffs, but it had all long rotted. Nobody seemed interested in buying one. A glance upward revealed that the frozen cave we had been in had widened out into a much larger tunnel, but it was too regular to be anything natural, likely a mine or similar construct. And the various pipes, wires, and unexplained puffs of steam strewn about only cemented that impression.
But when I say it was ‘supposed’ to be a street, it is because nothing was quite as it should be. The electric cables and corrugated pipes were just… sort of there—placed with neither rhyme nor reason and leading nowhere. The walls looked more like cellophane than ice. And the features of the bestial denizens had a frozen, lifeless quality that I knew all too well. The place looked… cheap.
I wished I was surprised.
“Donum, did you hear me?” Someone grabbed our arm and jerked us into a side alley. “I’ve been looking for you ever since I heard you were in town, terrified the Grulites might have snatched you, and here you are, standing slack-jawed in the middle of Central Market!”
We could only stare in confusion. Whoever this was, they were wearing a thick woolen coat with a fur-lined hood and their voice had been muffled by the mask over their face, so I could have misheard them, but…
The Grool-ites? No… no, no. Surely not. They wouldn’t be that lazy.
It did not occur to me that the ‘them’ in this instance was my own fevered mind.
Our second personality was quick to take advantage of my distraction to speak on our behalf. “What is this? Unhand us, ruffian, lest we strike the eyes from your sockets!”
The other person chuckled as if they had been waiting for us to say that very thing. “Come, now, Donum. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten an old friend.”
In a smooth, choreographed display, they pulled their mask and hood back, revealing gray eyes, full lips, and a long tumble of perfectly coiffed hair, which they shook out in gratuitous slow-motion.
The violins might have been a bit much, though.
Our eyes widened in recognition. She was just as I remembered her. Freckles and all.
“Stevie?”
Our eyes widened even further. “Stevie?!”
“Hello, lover.”
And with that, she pulled us into a kiss.
I am sure it was meant as a wonderful, even poignant reunion, but for some reason, my field of view had snapped to one side, where I could get a clear look at our breasts pressing together. Her coat had vanished from one camera angle to the next, leaving her dressed much the same as we were, in a barely there fur-lined top and loin-cloth with colors chosen to highlight her own auburn locks.
Obviously, the director had chosen artistry over continuity.
Snarling, Mia shoved the other woman away, her eyes dancing about until they alighted on me.
“No, you don’t!”
Her hand darted out… and then we were looking through our eyes again.
“Take it easy, Donum,” Stevie muttered indignantly. Her voice did not quite align with the movements of her lips… nor did it at all sound like her. The Stevie I remembered did not have an Italian accent. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but you didn’t have to reject me that hard.”
“Reject you? Ha!” We sneered. Or Mia did. I was still trying to get my head on straight. “We know your origin, and thus your nature. You are impossible! Merest phantasm. How can you be but another illusion meant to distract us from our task? Away with you!”
“Is that what you think? That I’m just some Grulite trick?” she shot back, her voice breaking with sudden tears. The overacting was out in full force, I saw, but adding in the orchestra every time she spoke kind of helped sell it. “Then tell me, how would I know you were feeling sick when last we met? Hmm? You could barely put two thoughts together, and yet, you did everything you could to play the proper hostess.”
“You wouldn’t know that,” we observed dryly. “We never told you.”
I had also been a dude at the time, but we were dealing with dream logic here. There was no point in getting too caught up in the details.
“Well… but…” She shook her head uncertainly.
Before she could think to say anything else, some clanking footsteps from the other side of the market interrupted us, and she hurriedly pushed us into the shadows of the alley, her hand over our lips. We waited there for several breathless seconds, while the strings sawed away at a muted tremolo.
It occurred to me that we could again feel her pressing against us, but there was no accompanying perspective shift this time. Perhaps the lighting was not good enough here to warrant the extra cheesecake shot. But before I could get too excited about the sensation, a pair of what were clearly supposed to be robots stomped into view.
And they were just as clearly not. They looked like a couple of guys wearing silvered hazmat suits with cardboard boxes over their heads. The blinking lights were a nice touch, though.
One of them turned into our alley, marched a few steps forward, and stopped.
“SECTOR 3. 6. D,” it proclaimed in a stately monotone that had been granulated to make it sound more robotic. “SCANNING…”
A squiggly band of light quickly flashed from one side of the alley to the other, the end of which looking like someone had drawn over the film reel with a marker to make it look more high-tech. Before we could think to duck, the light flashed right over us.
The orchestra swelled dramatically.
“WARNING! BIMBOTIANS FROM PLANET LESBOS DETECTED! BIMBOTIANS FROM PLANET LESBOS DETECTED!”
I could feel ourselves stiffen indignantly. “I beg your pardon?!”
“It’s the genre, Mia, don’t worry about it,” we shouted, and with a quick shove, we created some distance between ourselves and Stevie, pulled our rifle to our hip and fired.
The red bar that lanced across our field of view went well wide of our target, as they always did in these pictures, instead exploding in a shower of sparks against the glacier wall. The robot fell over anyway.
“Ooh! We made a nice staff this time!” we exclaimed, before leveling the weapon at the second robot, but our next shot passed harmlessly over its shoulder, too. The shower of sparks hit somewhere in the nearby market, prompting several of the extras to fly off-screen on wires. We scoffed with offense. “Maybe we spoke too soon.”
“DESTROY INTRUDERS!” the robot bellowed. It lifted its lifeless hands, which hinged downward to reveal a pair of Gatling guns.
“L’occhio ci preservi!” Stevie yelled, whipping us around. “Run!”
That much was obvious. The brass section had just entered.
Red bars thundered through the air in a staccato so rapid it was practically a hum… but then the world slowed down. We had turned to flee. Our hair was floating around us, suspended in currents of air made as thick as ocean water by time. The bars of light were now individual streaks, each accompanied by the singular strike of a bass drum. Sparks flew from the walls. Our arms came up to shield our faces from flying debris. The editor made certain to cut away to plenty of closeups of our jiggling bodies.
As our point-of-view again snapped into its proper alignment, we almost missed the grinning cameraman giving us a thumbs-up in passing.
And then we were around a corner.
“Did you see that?” we panted. “There was a man standing there! All those explosions, and he didn’t even flinch.”
“What? I didn’t see anyone,” Stevie replied.
“Ridiculous! He was right—”
“Hush, Mia. You’re ruining the scene,” we interrupted.
“…huh?!”
Stevie stared at us. “Are you sure you’re not suffering from some Grulite mind-virus, Donum?”
“Eh… something like that,” we admitted, before dipping around the corner for a quick backward glance.
The robot was lumbering after us as fast as it could, but whoever was in that suit was clearly unable to see out of it. They kept stumbling over the rocks and wadded-up bits of plastic their salvo had kicked up.
“But you’re not wounded, are you?” Before we could answer, Stevie’s hands were wandering over us, checking for injuries… and taking liberties she probably should not have. “Mani misericordios! It is a miracle neither of us were hit!”
That or plot contrivance.
Mia hissed at her. “Mind your touch! We shall not tolerate you befouling our holy person a moment longer.”
Stevie stepped away, obviously hurt. “Yes… of course. Forgive me, your highness.”
Your highness? That had not been sarcasm I had heard in her voice.
“But your blessed mother would never forgive me were you to be injured under my care,” she continued.
“You’ve never met our mother, Stevie,” we reminded her. And no one had ever referred to her as ‘blessed.’
“And so? Will the Queen of the Bimbotians be merciful just because you have kept me a secret? Will she tolerate the feelings of a low-born commoner, even if those feelings ravage my soul every time I look upon her precious daughter?”
Oh.
I cannot express just how much I wanted to roll our eyes. Setting aside just how cliche that setup had been, it should go without saying that my mother was neither a Queen nor was I anyone’s daughter. It seemed Mia’s high-and-mighty tone had influenced the flow-state of the dream to saddle us with a leadership role. And from that robot firing on us, of an enemy state.
“Feelings? Your words mean nothing, illusion. And again with this Bimbo… nonsense!” our other half growled in a huff—while the orchestra swelled with lamentations over our rebuttal. “We haven’t the faintest idea what you’re—”
“Never mind the details, Mia,” we interrupted quickly. “She’s in character.”
“And what of these instruments?!” she continued apace. “Have you summoned up an invisible mummers’ troupe to accompany this lunatic?”
“Bimbo nonsense?” Stevie gasped. “Your mind-virus must be worse than I thought. For the Princess Heir of our entire world not to even know of her sacred heritage…”
A rain of bolts pelted against the far wall, showering us with chunks of ice and plastic. “LESBOS INVADERS. HALT!”
“Shit… we can talk about this later.” I grabbed our fellow ‘Bimbotian’ by the arm and led her at a jog farther down and into the maze of alleys. “We need to get to the Core, Stevie. Do you know where it is?”
“The Core?!” She looked us up and down. “You cannot be serious. You may be the greatest champion of our race, but even you cannot hope to storm into the heart of a Grulite fortress alone and succeed.”
“And yet we must.”
It felt good to say that line. Cheese or not, it was heroic.
“Madre sacra…” she breathed. “If we survive this, I will worship every inch of your body until you beg me to stop.”
Unlikely.
Italian exploitation films were usually good for a few topless scenes, but they rarely resorted to out-and-out porn. The best I could look forward to would be a bit of making out before things faded to black.
But that was okay. Hot lesbian action was nice, but it was difficult for a scene like that to advance the plot.
“Here it is,” Stevie informed us.
We blanched at the sudden transition.
The last we remembered, we had been jogging down a frozen alleyway. Now, we were suddenly crouched near a tree stump in a low wooded area. We could still see the glacier off in the distance, but it had been dwarfed by the enormous spires and laser cannon installations of the fortress before us. It might have been quite the intimidating display, except…
“My lord,” we murmured to get our attention. “Do our eyes deceive, or is there something… off about that bastion?”
“It’s a matte painting,” we whispered back.
“A painting?” We sneered in disbelief. “That whole thing?”
“It’s smaller than it looks.”
“Wha—but… that’s…”
I was debating whether we should explain or just leave ourselves sputtering, but then something silvery caught the corner of our eye.
A quick glance downward revealed that a short cape with some tasseled shoulder pads had been added to our wardrobe. We were also now sporting some matching thigh boots and elbow-length gloves, the ends of which had been cut off to make room for our claws. The fur bikini-top was still front and center, of course. We could not do without that! But I had to suppose the additions provided a regal air that befitted our newfound station.
Ooh, are we wearing a tiara, too? That would be just the thing to complete the look.
Our hand started its way up to check, but then we noticed several other women huddled nearby, all human, but armed and dressed similarly to ourselves… minus the cloak. More Bimbotians, I assumed. Oddly, they each looked somewhat familiar, like grown-up versions of people I might have once gone to middle school with, or former office acquaintances. I put it down to more dream logic.
It seemed Stevie had gathered quite the little strike force between this scene and the last. We had no idea as to their experience or professionalism, though we were quick to note how those who were not eyeing the distant turrets were casting sidelong glances at us with a mixture of awe and lust. Whether that was because we were their holy princess or because we were so clearly the most beautiful woman among them, I could not say. Likely both.
Our lip twitched at the direction our thoughts had taken. We were in Mia’s body, I had to remind myself. Her mind was spilling over into mine in a way it usually never did, so I could not be surprised that we would be feeling a touch of feminine pride right then—even if that pride was making me feel all kinds of weird.
Whatever. Just get to the Core. Once we clear out Xhinn’s influence, we’ll wake up, everything will be back to normal, and we can put this all behind us.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Va bene,” Stevie began. “The main gate is just there. They won’t be expecting an attack right now, but it doesn’t matter. There’s over three hundred paces of open ground between us and the entrance, and those Grul cannons aren’t just for show. One shot, and even the hardiest Lesbian will be on the ground, begging for,” she swallowed, “…it.”
We glanced at her. “It?”
She did not meet our eyes. It was clear she did not want to say the rest. “Whatever you can get. Even a man.”
A chorus of eww’s came from the Bimbotians. We added one of our own in complete agreement. There was no way in hell that was happening. Not in this or any other body.
“Oh, but surely we should make one exception,” our lips murmured suggestively, only just audible enough for our own ears. “Don’t you agree, my lord?”
“Not getting into that right now, Mia.”
Besides, if this dream was what she counted as stable, it was only just hanging on by its fingernails. If I were to hop out of our body to make good on that exception, our Lesbian allies would freak. Who knew what could happen after that?
“That’s the situation from out here,” Stevie concluded, not having heard the exchange. She passed me a spyglass. “We’ve assembled every free woman within a hundred leagues for this, but there are many dozens more in that dungeon. Maybe even a full battalion. If you can get us in there, and we set them loose, we can take that fortress… If you can get us in there.”
“And their minds haven’t gone,” someone muttered.
Stevie’s eyes flashed. “Any Bimbotian worth a damn would gladly give her life for the Heir, no matter—!”
We held up a hand to forestall her.
“Take it easy,” we said, holding the glass to our eye. “We’ll cross that road when we come to it.”
The view we got from the lens was a lot different than the one the matte painting suggested… which was unsurprising for all that it was a bit of a letdown. This genre predated CGI by a few decades, and taking the time to build a model for a quick spyglass shot would have been cost prohibitive. It was much cheaper to just rent out a castle for a few hours, post a couple of guys in guard outfits in front of the gate, and call it a day. Which was exactly what they had done.
There were two of them out there, wearing what was clearly supposed to be sleek, futuristic armor, but came off looking like the cheap plastic it was, especially when juxtaposed with the low stone arch and medieval wooden door they were standing in front of. Meanwhile, the pair were each holding a body-length sniper rifle, of all things. I had to suppose they were suggestive of halberds, which would have cemented their role as gate-guards in our minds… if you refrained from thinking about it too hard.
It would not be very difficult to overwhelm the guards if we could get in close enough, but three hundred paces was a long way to go unspotted. And any place that sported laser turrets would have long solved the problem of raiders sneaking in under the cover of darkness.
No, we need a distraction. But what kind? It would have to be big enough to pull every eye away from the gate. Something that would take their minds off of reinforcing it entirely.
Hmm… we haven’t had that topless scene yet. Maybe we sneak a few of the girls around back… put together some kind of bathing scenario? If they were already taking our people prisoner with lust weapons, I knew the guards would go for it. They might even leave the gate open. I guess it would work. But then how—
We jerked the spyglass away as another thought flashed into our mind, and an evil laugh began to burble from our throat.
“Better yet, why not something for the VHS cover?”
“Your highness?” one of the Lesbians prompted from behind. She had an unidentifiable Eastern-European accent.
Without explaining, we twisted the comically huge diamond—which had totally been strapped to our wrist the entire time—a quarter-turn to the left. It began to gleam softly in the fading light of the sun as 80s synths swelled in the background.
“Ladies… we are about to blow this picture’s entire special effects budget.”
“HA HA HA HA!” we cackled madly. “I’ve always wanted to do this!”
There was no telling how fast we were going. The wind was ripping through our hair so wildly, it could as easily have been a hundred miles per hour as Mach one, but we had confidence in our perch. The finest leather workers in the Empire had made this saddle for us. It was strapped securely to the enormous feathered wings rising and falling in our periphery, alternating with their reptilian counterparts just to their rear in a rhythmic dance as the dragon-bird hybrid between our legs us snaked through the sky.
The Minokawa—a creature so unfathomably huge many of the common folk called it the Sun-Eater in hushed whispers and many more worshiped in fear. But it was the Bimbotian Empire’s holy protector.
And our own personal mount.
I had made most of that up a moment ago, of course. The monstrosity we were so jubilantly riding might well have been pulled from one of Earth’s many competing mythological rogue’s galleries, but in reality, it was nothing more than a big puppet, just an elaborate float you might see at a Mardi Gras parade and installed into the back of a flatbed truck. Any wide shots would be handled by some specially hired stop-motion animators.
But the nearby blue-screen was showing clouds all around and acres of land zipping past our feet, so I was having an absolute blast!
“We are so confused,” Mia groaned. “What is this dream?! Are we moving right now or not?”
The Minokawa’s head rose to glance over its shoulder toward us. Our entire body could have fit within its pupil… or so you might believe from the forced perspective.
“HA HA! NEVER FEAR, HIGHNESS!” it proclaimed in a voice loud enough to shatter glass. “WE’LL BE THERE SOON ENOUGH. THOSE GRUL WILL BE CURSING THEIR OWN MOTHERS BEFORE THIS DAY IS OUT!”
“It speaks, too?!” we gasped. “What kind of Mouth speaks?”
“Real Mouths don’t? Like… ever?” we asked, crestfallen. “That’s a shame. We’ll have to talk to Xhinn about that someday.”
“Do not give Her ideas.”
“Heh. You sure She’s not watching already? As the cause of all this, I wouldn’t put it past Her.”
Our lips twisted to one side in thought—even as our eyes darted toward the giant fan responsible for whipping our hair about. “You may well be right, my lord. I doubt Her plans would be limited to such entertainments… elaborate as they might be, but our Kindred is known for moving in many directions at once. Helping us extend our abilities within the fabric may be some part of a larger machination. Though it does nothing to explain the nature or symbolism of the construct your have created here.”
“Can’t help you with the symbolism,” we shouted over the wind—other than it being a deep dive into my own sordid taste in movies. “But you’ve already hit on its nature. This whole thing is like a big mummer’s play, except nobody knows it but us.”
We glanced to one side and pointed out the nearby lights and cameras. “What about those people?”
We snatched our own hand out of the air. “Don’t acknowledge them! You’ll spoil the take!”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know what it means.”
We sighed. “Just think of it like we’re on stage, and they’re the audience. We’re supposed to pretend they’re not there.”
Our eyes closed, and we took a breath. When we looked again, the camera crew was gone. We were surrounded by nothing but clouds and sky.
“You see? Like that.”
We huffed in disbelief. “If only our own magic could be so easy.”
“It’s just make-believe, not magic.”
“As you say, my lord,” we agreed, clearly doubting our own words. “So what does this farce have in store for us next?”
We only grinned.
“WE HAVE ARRIVED, HIGHNESS!” the Minokawa bellowed, and when we leaned to look over its shoulder, we could see the familiar outline of the fortress just coming into view. “SHALL I ENGAGE IN THE NORMAL STRATEGY?”
“No, my friend.” Smiling affectionately, we reached down to stroke its feathers. “We don’t want to bring that fortress down around their ears. This is a breach and rescue mission. Just focus on those cannons and get me inside. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“BY YOUR WILL!”
As our angle tilted downward, I again addressed our other half. “Can you handle a sword?”
“Naturally,” we returned, insulted we had even brought it up. “But why do you ask? We do not have one.”
“Not yet…”
Admittedly, this next bit was going to be something of a stretch, but I had seen far worse devices played out in the name of fan service.
With a deft maneuver, we shrugged out of our top, unleashing our breasts into the wind. Then, as the French horns swelled into a triumphant fanfare, we flicked the garment to one side, gave it a twist, and the fur articulated out into several lengths of steel. Another twist, and the whole of it snapped back together into a one-handed blade, its crossguard made to resemble the mismatched wings of our mount.
I really cannot articulate the amount of childish glee that sequence of events had summoned within me. And I was not even finished!
Fucking hype!
Grinning like a mad-woman, we lifted our new blade into the air.
“In the name of the Empress!”
The orchestra went nuts as lightning smashed from the cloudless sky into the tip of our sword, igniting the gemstone upon our wrist. Then our blade came down to alight upon the pommel of our saddle—itself a ridiculously over-sized diamond—as upon a knight’s shoulder. The bottled energy thrummed from gem to gem, then down and through the harness of our mount until it settled upon another, just above the beast’s enormous beak.
Weapon primed, we gazed down upon the ants below, even now swarming toward their insignificant cannons, with disdain. Our hair was streaming about our face and into the crown of our antlers, while our tail and cloak flapped in the wind. Our breasts were heaving with anticipation.
The Minokawa’s beak stretched open. Energy flowed from the gem and into its mouth, where it collected, building into the light of its namesake. The music stopped.
And then, as though channeling the very soul of Brian Blessed, our lips curled over our fangs with a gleeful malice.
“Die!”
In that instant, a solid band of…
Oh, who am I kidding? It looked like a ray gun from some 1950s era sci-fi schlock, okay? The special effects from those Italian films were always about twenty years out of date. But the tower it hit gave off a nice explosion, and a goodly number of the nearby extras fell over, their cannons aflame.
And then the drums kicked off with some electric guitars wailing in the background, so my inner nine-year-old was positively giddy.
As the Minokawa dive-bombed the ramparts, the stiff puppet that represented it gently nudged several of the fortress defenders from the wall and to their dooms below. We took advantage of the opening it had provided to leap from our mount’s back and into the inner bailey, hooting like a maniac and topless as ever.
We did nothing of the sort, of course. Our stunt had been performed by a dummy, followed by a cutaway of us leaping into frame. But you would never be able to tell.
Several of the guardsmen were quick to engage us, but they were cut down in an instant after a few deft strokes from our blade, their blood packs each exploding with a satisfying burst of gore. Mia immediately took to grumbling under our breath about how they were scarcely trying, which… okay. Fair. The whole point of this genre was to make blockbuster movies on a fraction of the budget of one of their American counterparts. You had to cut the stuntmen some slack.
Our immediate area safely cleared, we pivoted low to deliver a few blasts from our gun toward the half dozen still running at us. Once again, the bars of light only hit the ground at their feet, which erupted as from a triggered landmine, and the guards went somersaulting away.
“There. See? That one wasn’t such a bad stunt.”
“The flips were nice, but why can’t we ever actually hit anything?”
“I dunno. Maybe they think making someone fake explode would look crappy?”
“Compared to what?”
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Mia.”
We slipped into the nearby gate tower just as our mount was again passing overhead, this time sending one of the cannon installations crashing to the ground and clutching the stop-motion guardsman that had been manning it in one of its claws. We found the gate controls after only a few turns, and Mia handled the two men stationed over it with an ease that had me grudgingly agreeing with her assessment of them.
Honestly, it almost made me want to call a halt to the proceedings and ask for a reshoot. Yes, it was a stuntman’s job to make the heroine look good, but there are levels, you know? We should have to struggle at least a little, else it would strain credulity.
Well, ask and ye shall receive.
Just as we were kicking the gate controls open, some jackass stumbled into the room behind us and got off a potshot right into the one weakness of every protagonist—the meat of our shoulder. It was hardly life-threatening, and we managed the return shot almost without thinking. It even hit this time! But the guy just slumped to the ground, outwardly unwounded. No explosions or anything. I had to assume he was meant to be dead.
I almost wished he was not.
Our first taste of a Grulite weapon left us struggling to stand and breathless, our body burning with wave after wave of desire. The space between our legs…
No.
Our pussy ached. To be touched. Licked. Filled. Anything. We did not care. Our bellies quivered with need. Our nipples sang with the want of hands to tease them.
We were moments away from separating. I had to satisfy us. Mia desperately needed me to, on the verge of begging. But then we heard the shouts of our compatriots streaming through the nearby gate, and we pierced the flesh of our palms with our claws, fighting pleasure with pain. It worked somewhat, and the fog of lust receded from our minds enough to think.
“Ha… ha, ha…” We tried to laugh the onslaught of sensation away. We had suffered worse, in our own… separate ways. “So, this is what you feel when you get horny, huh? It’s nothing like what man goes through.”
“Oh?” we replied shakily. A hand rose unbidden to fondle one of our tits. I was not sure who was responsible, nor did I much care. It felt fantastic. The sensation was far more than I could have ever imagined coming from my own male chest, like tantalizing bolts of electricity zipping down my abdomen, seeking to connect with the fire below. “Do tell us of your erections… that we might imagine it. Please?”
We should have been able to respond. It was not like I was short on experience, but when you are getting so much input from the entirely wrong set of equipment, it can be difficult to find the words. Fortunately, we were saved from our moment of awkwardness by Stevie’s yell.
“My lady? Your highness, where are you?”
We straightened and quickly batted our own hand away. “Here.”
She found us in a trace, clutching at our shoulder and grimacing in our efforts to restrain ourselves, but at the sight of her, our eyes widened and we backed away. It turned out she was topless as well. Stevie was more than attractive by human standards. Her breasts were large, with teats and halos of a proportionate size. Her tan line was more freckle than darkened skin, marking the orbs below with a paleness so extreme, it was obvious at a glance they had never once seen the sun.
The sight sent a renewed jolt of longing down our spine; the only thing holding us back, our own confusion over the state of her undress. Our first thought was that it might have been a part of some Bimbotian war tradition… but more likely, it was the result of the precedent we had established by transforming our sword. Watching a horde of women wearing nothing but boots and loin cloths charging a fortress would have made for some excellent b-roll footage. We would have been sorry to have missed it at the best of times, but in our current state, we experienced a regret so profound, you might have thought someone had died!
“Highness? Are you alright?”
We did not answer at first, mistrusting our own lips.
But after a moment, some of Mia’s emotions began to cut through the instinct the Grulite weapon had unleashed. Through her eyes, we noticed how Stevie was gradually succumbing to gravity, her pride on the verge of defeat by the constant onslaught of time. We saw the slight rolls of fat, imperfections, and slight asymmetries. These were all human things, things she would not have been able to help. Things I would have once scolded myself for judging her for.
Even now, I did not mind them so much, but this was not Earth. Our Clan had no need to suffer such. Not Jax. Not Arx… or even Xyn. Certainly not ourselves!
And Lynnria… well, we did not count her. She was a work in progress.
The important thing was that Mia judged this woman unfit. Out-Clan and unworthy. Her Power, too far beneath us to consider adding to our collective.
And she was not a fan of that tan line.
All of which I could have easily set to right, but this was just a dream. And it would have been a terrific shame to start all over just because we could not control ourselves at the sight of a decent-at-best rack.
So instead of turning around and presenting ourselves like I would have preferred, I instead allowed Mia to take the reins.
“Keep your distance!” we barked. “We have been wounded. If you take another step toward us, we will slay you where you stand! Do you hear?”
Stevie’s eyes widened, shocked and betrayed to her core, and we saw tears begin to form.
We winced with regret. That was about five steps too far, Mia.
“Sì… your highness. Ovviamente,” Stevie replied brokenly. “I understand. I… I would never dream of… of taking advantage—”
“It’s fine, Stevie,” we interrupted, scrambling for a convenient excuse. “We know. It’s just… we were confused. That weapon, it… we were afraid we might have been seeing things. You could have been another guardsman, come to force himself on us.”
Stevie took in the bodies scattered everywhere and sagged with obvious relief. As a faint smile reemerged on her lips, she proclaimed, “My lady, any of your subjects would gladly perform the dance of the thousand deaths for you. Until our tongues fell from our mouths, should you command it. Myself included.” She dared a step toward us. “Soprattutto io. But we have yet to free our sisters. And the Core awaits. Can you still fight?”
We firmed our jaw. Right. We have a bit to go yet. But first…
“Mia, can you purge this crap?” we asked under our breath.
“Normally? Yes. But Xhinn’s influence limits my Power to keeping us stabilized. You shall have to cleanse us yourself. Perhaps with that gem at our wrist? Its abilities are strange and mysterious to us.”
We glanced down at it quickly. By summoning our mount and blade, we had already taxed its powers a great deal. Whatever energy had kept it aglow was now fading, so we knew that by using it again, that would be it.
It was also a perfect device for a situation like this. You always needed to fit in a death-of-the-follower scene into these high fantasy productions near the end, and there was nothing more poignant than the loss of a pet or a trusted tool. Even over an actual person! It was a bizarre yet irrefutable quirk of human psychology.
We placed our hand over it with a solemn grace, and intoned, “By the light of the Empress.”
We were again shaken by a sudden bolt of lightning, but instead of dissipating into the ground, its power danced and crawled over our skin, playing about our eyes and antlers—and certain other points of interest—until all that remained of the Grulite-induced lust was a faint memory. And with a quick swipe of our blade, the lightning, too, was gone.
Our eyes found the gem once more, hopeful yet knowing, and for a moment, flutes played a delighted little melody over the remnants of its light. Until it faded. And with it went the music.
A tear sprang to our eye, forcing me to wipe it away in disgust. Damn it! Don’t make yourself cry, idiot.
“We make for the Core,” we announced, affecting a regal tone. “Will you be our escort?”
Stevie bowed at the waist. “It would be my honor.”
Ah ha… so that’s why women always curtsy.
With a firm nod, we swept past her.
For some while after that, all we knew was the sweep of our blade and the heat of our rifle, Stevie at our back. Our weapons blasted any Grulite scum who dared cross our path. Hallway after winding hallway passed underfoot, through castles and factories of unknown purpose, and down flight after flight of stairs fitting every description.
Of our own people, we saw some few, always fighting in groups of twos and threes. Mostly, they were holding their own, but some we helped. And some we were too late to save. Yet on we traveled, our fates undeterred.
Until finally we arrived.
The room was white. The door, unassuming. We had been here before. We could not remember when, but we knew we had… somehow. Yet never beyond.
Or… I had not, anyway. Mia was a regular down here.
Stevie looked at us apprehensively. “I cannot follow you through there, my lady. I—I… don’t know why, but… my feet won’t move any closer.”
We placed a consoling hand upon her shoulder. “We know. Such is our power and our burden. Go. Join our people. Save who you can. We will—”
We frowned. We’ll what? Join her later? The dream will end after this.
I hoped.
Stevie hesitated only a moment before sweeping forward to steal a kiss from our lips. “Just in case,” she whispered.
And then she was gone.
We stared after her for a handful of seconds before finishing her thought. “Just in case we never see you again?”
Because we never would.
With a sigh, we turned our feet toward the door.
And stepped through.
