experimental artifice

This is just shameless self-indulgence.

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“I won't kneel to you,” Cinmja spat, staring a demon queen straight in the eye. Cinmja had been in worse scrapes than this, she reasoned. By all means, the chamber she stood within had been sealed with runewrought chronometal, rendering a direct escape quite impossible. By all means, her party lay in tatters around them, some incapacitated, some babbling a litany of worship towards the queen, and one scattered across the room as little more than a bloody smear—it wasn't the first time; she'd be fine—but Cinmja herself still stood.

Cinmja, Protector of Dai'zin. Cinmja, the Mythkeeper. Cinmja, the Heroine who Once Was and Would Be Again. Cinmja, the Titan. The world had many names for her, and she knew that she had earned them.

“No?” the queen replied, with a quiet laugh. “Your companions have. You are surrounded by my thralls, sealed in my most central chamber. My Clocktower ticks faster with each rotation and already it is beyond any mortal resistance.”

She was beautiful. The demon queen. The myths always got that part wrong, Cinmja mused, though she suspected it was intentional. The stories made these creatures seem like a force of nature already, why tell an impressionable young man the truth? The lowest of demons were ugly, but as they grew more powerful, they grew more beautiful, too.

“So, little heroine,” the queen continued. “Fall.”

She spoke with weight. Even among the magically inclined, her words would sound like just words. Among the most devout paladins, or the most accomplished witches, perhaps one in every ten would be able to glimpse the edges of the power that a demon queen, practically a deity in her own right, could put into a single word.

Cinmja took a deep breath, feeling the power strike her like a cathedral collapsing atop an ant. It was irresistible, impossibly compelling. Here, in the heart of the queen's power structure? The gods themselves would have knelt and been grateful for it.

With the last scraps of her independence, Cinmja, the Mythkeeper, stepped a moment out of time and snipped the last second from her personal mythos. She raised an eyebrow towards the demon queen. “What did I just say?”

“I- Impossible!” the queen hissed. “The gods themselves—”

“Yes, yes,” Cinmja interrupted. “I've heard it all before. You—” She paused, rolled her eyes, then snapped her fingers. The spell forming in the demoness's hand scattered— “You can't beat me like that. I swear, I've been tearing through enough of your armies, stop and think, right? If that was going to work on me I wouldn't even have gotten here.”

”...it matters not, my Aura is enough. Already, it twists your soul, enthralling you to me. Do you feel the call yet, little hero?”

“No,” Cinmja sighed. “I'm immune to such things. A trick I picked up on another world. Again, you're powerful, but why would you succeed where hundreds of your underlings have failed?”

“I am a Titan,” the creature hissed back. “The world bends to my whims.”

“Yep.” Cinmja shrugged. “Also.”

“Impossible. Each era can have only one destined victor, only one—”

“—chosen by time to stand tall and have the world tremble. Only one foretold to win. Yes, hi. It is I, Cinmja, the Heroine Who Was.”

The World's Scourge paused, and Cinmja could feel a ripple in her demonic aura as that unshakeable confidence began to tremble. “I- I was promised victory by the gods,” she complained. “An unstoppable march as I claimed what was mine.”

“They lied. They always lie. They promised me the power to save the world, told me they would use me to right every wrong, and when I was done, I would join them.” She reached out with her right hand, holding it out to one side. The protections on the chamber cracked with a boom, unable to hold back the mythic power of Mondova, the chosen weapon of a Goddess-In-Waiting. A glittering polearm forged of a barely avoided apocalypse dropped into Cinmja's hand.

“That was about sixty eras ago,” the heroine continued. “I think they expected me to die, and now they keep sending people like you to try to make it happen, but it won't work. It won't ever work.” The tip of her blade sank, cutting through the stone floor of the queen's chambers like it wasn't even there. “I am broken. It is a conclusion I cannot escape. This world is made of paper. Its mightiest heroes and most foul villains are like putty in my hands.”

She gestured over to her companions. Roelia, a redeemed lich, now a devout follower of the Goddess of Medicines. Undia, the Greatest of Them, the last era's demon queen reformed into the purity of the Angelic Host. Grota, the Engineer, she who had built Dai'zin from the ground up one chronometer at a time.

“And then look at you, demon queen. Do I kill you? Do I take you in, turn you into another of my heroes? Do I let you go, and have you become another side character in my story? I have done all this before. I can see the seams in the world? In here I am all but a goddess, but I can go no further, and I am tired. I could convince you of anything and you would listen. You are all like toys, one roll of a dice away from changing your innermost beliefs and falling in line. Playing your parts in a story that has long since grown to bore me, and—”

She fumbled her grip and dropped her weapon. “Ah, shit,” Cinmja swore, watching it fall, cutting through rock and fire without even slowing down. “I guess that'll turn up again some time. Sorry.” She shrugged. “Where was I?”

The demon queen seemed lost for words. After long moments, she found some. “Are you okay? Do you... want to talk about it?”

“No.” Cinmja raised a hand wreathed in unholy fire, and

and

”...Fuck. Yes. Is there a direction nobody lives in?”

The demon queen pointed, and a moment later a cone of impossibility blew a hole through her fortress straight through to the sky. She looked back at the heroine, bemused, while she shook out the stiffness in her casting hand. Cinmja looked up and shrugged. “I can't un-cast spells, it had to go somewhere. Didn't wanna... I dunno.”

“Didn't want to hurt anyone?”

“I guess! That feels pretty dumb, though, I don't even know how many people I've killed by now.” She gulped. Her mouth couldn't really get dry, not any more, but old habits died hard. “I don't even know if it's real any more. Do you ever feel like the world just... doesn't exist, if you aren't looking at it?”

The demon queen took a breath, turning off her enchantments and auras. The room felt a little cold without them. Cinmja shivered, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her, and glanced away. The demon queen muttered something profane under her breath, surrounding herself in an aura of flame, and then walked over.

“If you think that's going to hurt me, you haven't been listeni—”

“Shhh,” the demon whispered, reaching her. The flames licked against them both, harmless, but warm. “Hi. I'm Mirramoth, may I touch you?”

The heroine stared blankly for a few moments, then gave a tiny nod. The embrace was gentle, firm arms wrapping around her body. Mirramoth still felt as if she could have been a paper doll, but it was something.

“I don't know wha-”

“Shh.” Firmer, that time. “Quiet. You say your words could change the world? Then shush, and listen to mine.”

The protagonist fell quiet, expression quivering in confusion.

“I am here for you,” Mirramoth declared. “So what if the gods lied when they gave me my gifts? I asked for them so I could take you.”

“I—”

Cinmja winced, feeling a pulse of Mirramoth's power tugging at her soul. It wouldn't stick. It could never stick. That didn't mean it didn't sting, though.

“I said quiet, Cin.” The unshakeable confidence was back, though they both knew it to be a lie. “If I wanted you to talk I would have said so.” Mirra's gentle hug shifted as she pulled back, and put her hands on the heroine's shoulders.

She pushed down. Cin's knees buckled, though they both knew she could have stood. “I didn't march across a dozen planes just to fail here. This isn't how I'd planned to take you, but it'll do.”

Cinmja blinked, staring at her enemy's feet, reaching out with her magical senses, looking for the spell, for the enchantment. Was she missing it? Where was the trick? There was nothing holding her here at all. Her lower lip began to quiver, vision starting to blur as tears formed. “It's not working,” she whispered. “I feel nothing. You are taking nothing. This is just— agh!”

The demoness's finger beneath her chin was hot, intensely so. Like all the heat of a forge fire pressed into a single moment, it pressed into her, forcing her head up so she could stare her would-be demoness in the eyes. She was smirking.

“I am doing nothing,” she explained. “No magic. Well, fire aura aside, but you'd be cold if I dropped that. No mythic presence, no shaped Intent. Just words.”

“I could strike you down with a thought.” Why did it feel petty to make that point? It was right, but it was hardly heroic to counter an argument with might makes right.

The smirk grew wider. “Oh? And then what would you do?”

The dam broke, and the tears began to flow. “I don't know. I don't know. Just- just cast your spells, let's get this over with. I know how to fight.”

“Shhh.” The profane hand of the foul warlord stroked across the top of the heroine's head, pressing one of her pointed ears down flat. “It's already over, Cin. You lost. You fell to my power, my might.” Her hand reached the back of Cinmja's head and grasped, holding her firm so the demon queen could bare her fangs and lean in close to whisper.

“You're mine, and it doesn't matter that you don't know what to do, because I do. You won't ever need to make another hard decision; you won't ever need worry about that silly little voice of yours and the power you thought you had. You didn't. You were wrong. You're no Goddess-in-waiting, you never were. The only thing you were waiting waiting for was to be my pet.” The queen spoke the last word with all the mythic might she could bring to bear, enough to crack reality itself.

Cinmja stepped outside of her personal timeline and snipped the effect. She didn't get a choice, it was a reactive defence. If she tried to turn it off, even that would just get retconned. She was broken, overpowered, a mistake that could not be undone.

She shook her head, easily breaking Mirra's grip because there was no truth behind it. “I- it's not real,” she whispered. She willed herself to feel it, to look up at this fucking monster with devotion, but it just wasn't there. “That isn't true.”

“Do you want it to be?” Mirra asked.

”...kinda, yeah,” Cinmja admitted. “I'm tired of being everyone's heroine.”

“Then it's real. Or, rather, we can make it be real. Between you and I, and who else matters?” Mirramoth took another deep breath, flexing her power, and the room began to fill with her aura, the one that inspired devotion, commitment, even love. “Do you feel that?” she asked, voice quiet.

Cin nodded her head. “It doesn't—”

“Quiet. Nods and shakes, pet. You feel it, yes?”

Cin nodded. It washed against her soul, leaving no mark, but she felt it. The warmth it promised, the safety it offered. It did nothing to her, and yet she longed so deeply for an impact she could never experience.

“There's a good girl. See, it's not so hard to fall for me, is it? Shake your head.” The texture of the aura rippled, like a quiet joke shared just between them. Nobody else would be able to feel it, they would simply be enthralled.

Cinmja shook her head. It wasn't so hard to fall for her. A hundred voices in her head disagreed, pointed out that it was, pointed out that nothing was really happening.

Yet, the smile of the demon queen still felt good. “Such a good pet. What a shame for the world that you tried to stop me and lost, hmn? That your magic proved weaker than mine? That your armour crumpled to my blows?”

Cinmja nodd— Shook her head. She bit her lip, then whispered “I don't wear armour, my skin is, uh, harder than it anyway.”

Mirra grinned, stroking her forked tail across her thrall's neck, before slithering it around and pulling tight. “Then what a shame that your lack of armour left you defenceless against my enchanted collar—” She squeezed with her tail in demonstration. “The proud warrior ending up just another victim of her own hubris, left helpless in my clutches.”

With a bitten lip, the heroine nodded, feeling the pressure tight around her neck. She closed her eyes and drew on her strength, pressing her will into the world. The world listened, as always, and she held up a thin band of profane material, stylised in the demon queen's colours.

The tail was quickly replaced by Her cursed collar. The enchantments would bind anybody to Her will, while being impossible to remove. That it didn't actually work on Cinmja was something she could maybe learn to ignore. She felt the enchantments washing against her spirit all the same, and maybe that was enough.

“Good pet,” She whispered. “You're doing so well. Is that too tight? I can loosen it if you'd—”

Cin shook her head rapidly, lifting a hand to press against the band. She took a deep breath, feeling Her presence rolling over her. It was warm, and soft, and safe. It posed her no danger, so she could, just, enjoy it. “It's good. It's... it's good.”

Mirramoth grinned. “Are you sure you aren't falling under my spell for real, little one? That corruption eating against the purity of your soul like the ocean against a cliff? Perhaps your so-called immunity simply needed a more patient hand to break.”

Cin didn't think so. It didn't feel like that, anyway. Her immunity hadn't faltered in a long, long time. “I could pretend?” she offered, voice hopeful, and received a laugh in return.

“That's my girl. So bound in layers of enchantment that even now she thinks she's just pretending, right?” The queen winked, pulsing her power with more intensity. A finger trailed across her heroine's lip for a moment, then pressed in. “Suck.” A single word delivered with mythic might.

Cinmja stepped outside of her personal timeline and snipped the impact.

Cin obeyed the instruction regardless, letting her eyes flutter closed as she lost herself in the hot, spicy flavour of—

“Cinnamon, if you're wondering. Hmn.” She reached down with Her other hand and pressed a finger to the girl's collar, and a moment later a nametag hung from its front. “Isn't that right, my darling little Cinnamon?”

Cin nodded, rapidly, tongue still pressed firmly against the fire-hot flesh of her foe. Her skin was surprisingly human, soft and giving, but with an iron hardness beneath. It moved, playing with her, feigning battle, and though Cin knew that she could never truly be overpowered, it felt good to lose the battle anyway. She whimpered around the finger, struggling to suck even with her tongue pinned to the bottom of her mouth.

“Take a deep breath, pet. You can smell me, too, yes? Nod.” Cinnamon nodded. She could. She'd ignored it, before, it hadn't seemed relevant, but the whole room stank of her. A dark, earthy, slightly spicy scent, just like cinnamon. She breathed deep, catching whiffs of all the other scents it carried with it.

A little acrid sulfur burned the lungs just to breathe. A spritz of sweat sent a shameful shiver through Cin's chest. The sparkling ozone aftertaste of magic echoed still. The cinnamon was dominant, but far from alone.

“You like it. No, more than that, you love it. The thought of taking another breath without it feels almost unpleasant. You can feel that silly purity being tainted more with every moment, because you don't want a breath of fresh air, do you? You want me. My scent, my taste. Nod.”

Cinnamon nodded. It... maybe? Maybe a little, actually, yeah. Now that she thought about it. Now that she focussed on it. The spiced scent in her nostrils filled her, and as she breathed out, she couldn't help but smile. Yeah. She'd thought the mix of odours had been almost overpowering at first, but the more she breathed it in, the more she realised how nuanced it was. How pleasant it was to be immersed in Mirra's Presence, feeling her with every sense.

“Good pet. Good thrall. Just one breath was enough, wasn't it? Nod. Good thing. You walked in here with your head held high and now all you want is to get that sensitive snout of yours full of me and beg to worship at my feet. What a shame all your power was for naught and you ended up addicted to me just like everybody else~”

Cinnamon's eyebrows quivered into a momentary frown. Just like everybody else? Was she- is that all she was?

“Uh,” Mirra stumbled over a word, her spare hand reaching up to deliver a quick scritch behind one of Cin's ears. “Not like that,” she whispered, voice low. “I don't mean to devalue you, you're— you're not just another one of them to me, I promise.”

Cin nodded quickly, leaning into the scritches, and gave Mirra's fingers a last few dutiful licks before pulling back. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I- If I'm going to do this, I think I need to feel like you're actually going to take my needs seriously.” She laughed, quietly. “'If,' she says, kneeling before her mistress.” She bit her lip.

Mirramoth's nose wrinkled. “Eugh. That title makes me feel like I'm sneaking around with some old noble. Er, anyway. I promise, pet, I've wanted you at my heel for a long, long time. I... got carried away, is all. Nobody else is important here, I'll send them all home.”

Cinnamon stared up at her Whatever for long moments, lost in either thought or adoration. Possibly both. Her breaths were deep, and her smile couldn't help but widen. Eventually, she spoke up. “Do you have to? I um. I feel like it's more believable if you actually conquer the world, y'know? It makes my defeat feel more like just another one of your victories. Which— admittedly that's kind of contradictory given I want to be special to you but, but, but, I want to be special to you, and... I'd like it if everyone else forgot I was ever anything but yours.” Invulnerable, her skin may have been, but it wasn't immune to blushing.

Mirramoth raised an eyebrow. “Some heroine you turned out to be, pet. I offer to spare the world and you beg me to damn it. Very well, to them, you will be remembered as nothing more than the Black Knight dutifully crawling at my side as I rule this world. To me, you will be my most prized posession and I promise you, pet—” She leaned in close— “Your worries that people will bend to your whims are over. The only choice you'll have left is which of my boots you lick clean first.”

Cinnamon nodded rapidly, emitting a rapid series of noises so depserate that only a mythic creature could hope to make them. Alas, she did have to interject. “I, uh, um, yes, I, please... but uh 'Black Knight' is kind of a problematic term, it's a bit racially charged, especially given, like... you're red, so it doesn't even make sense in context. Like I know there's historic reasons but—”

The Mythic Demon Queen sighed. “Well, I wouldn't want to be problematic as I bring this little world to its knees. Fine, my precious little thing. You entered this room thinking yourself a Goddess-in-Waiting and you leave it a pet. From now on, you shall be nothing more than a devoted cleric for your real Goddess, me.”

“I- ah, uh-, um!” Cin shivered, blushing more deeply. “That's, uh, that's very sacrilegious, which— I, the church wouldn't—”

“Silence.”

“Yes, Goddess!” Cinnamon replied, immediately, before realising she'd spoken. “Uh. I-”

“Silence.“

Cinnamon stopped talking, nodding rapidly.

“That's better. Isn't it so easy to just agree with everything I say? Feel my power smothering your will, leaving you hanging on my every word, eager to obey and to serve? Nod for me, my sweet Cinnamon.”

There wasn't any real power behind those words. The collar could be cast off. The name could be refused. The title could be ignored. A moment of reframing could have the sulfur in the back of her nose feel as foul as it once had. Cinmja's will was as present and proud as it had ever been and so much of it wanted her to stand and leave, to apologise for pretending to be something she wasn't. She doubted that anything would ever fundamentally change. She would always be one decision away from breaking free of any control Mirramoth could place upon her, and neither of them could change that.

Cinnamon nodded, anyway. The power didn't need to be magic to be real to them. That she was one decision away from breaking her bonds didn't matter, because she wasn't making that decision. She was deciding to fall, and even if one breath of fresh air might remind her how good freedom had tasted, she knew her foe would never let her vanquished heroine stray far enough for that to matter ever again.

“Yes, Goddess. Your every word, Goddess. To obey and serve, Goddess.”

The fledgeling Goddess pursed her lips. “And that's strike two. Let's talk about punishments.”