The Villainess wants to be a Hero

Ashetaroth smirked as the [Hellfire Portal] closed behind her. On another day, she would never have bothered Ri'ankor'mal in her sanctum—for many, many reasons. But not today. Not when she had the juiciest bit of news to share. And who better to share it with than her dear sister Ri'ankor'mal? After all, Pride and lust had so very much in common.

Reaching out with spectral fingers, Ashe plucked a strand of mana woven into the wards that surrounded the otherwise non-descript sitting room she found herself in. Moments later, a doorway materialized in the uniform wooden paneling, and a female figure appeared.

The servant was wrapped in a robe that revealed far more than it concealed... and what it concealed could still clearly be seen through the gossamer thin fabric. Despite having seen far too many of the different ways her sister had dressed up her toys over the years, Ashe barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This skipped right past innuendo and went straight to indecent.

In fact, it was an outfit that could only be considered clothing by the [Calamity of Lust], one that not even her sister could mistake it for tasteful, surely. Still, while the costumes of inferior beings were beneath her, Ashe knew mortals well enough to realize that the sight of her sister's toys dressed like this would have—and doubtless had at one point—driven many of them wild with lust.

Were it not for the toy's perfectly smooth, entirely featureless face—though perhaps there were mortals who would still be enticed by such an eldritch display. That, at least, was familiar, and a welcome reminder that whatever games her sister played, she was still a [Calamity].

Her sister offered many prizes to mortals foolish enough to call upon her, and when their time came due, they all paid for their gifts far more than they could have imagined. Compared to some of the ends Ashe had seen the [Father of Monsters] inflict upon her toys, this was a kind fate. One Ri'ankor reserved for those who met her exacting standards of beauty.

"Where is my sister?"

The [Faceless] curtseyed deeply in a way that sent the gossamer fabric of her robe spilling over her shoulders and revealing an unnecessary amount of flesh. Ashe looked just long verify that the servant was inferior to her in all ways—as was only appropriate—before dismissing the creature's appearance altogether. There were only six beings she would accept as being even remotely close to her perfection.

Despite not having a mouth with which to speak, the [Faceless]'s voice echoed melodically. "She is in the solar, Lady Pride."

Without a word, Ashe glided off. She would accept no guidance from one of her sister's toys. Not even if she had to open every door in this morass of sexuality and folded space her sister called home. Which she had never done—despite what Ri-ankor would have her other sisters believe.

Moments of walking down a corridor that only seemed to stretch further apart as she approached the end has her reconsidering her moment of graciousness in sharing her gossip. Another dozen footsteps have her reconsidering just how much damage [Annihilation] would do to the carefully constructed web of wards and spatial charms.

Fortunately for her sister's palace, the door to the solar appeared immediately on the tail of that pleasant thought. Without bothering to knock, Ashe kicked open the door and walked in. A frown crossed her face almost immediately as she saw her sister lounging like a cat atop a couch while a male and female [Faceless] massaged oil into her nude body.

"If that's my arrogant sister here for a lecture, she can come back tomorrow. Or never, if that works better." her sister didn't even lift her face from the pillows it was currently shoved in.

Ashe raised an eyebrow at that but let it go. While she would—and had—incinerate anyone else who spoke to her that directly. All that would get her here was a brawl with a sister who was covered in oil and would almost certainly refuse to put her clothes back on.

"If you'd rather be molested by your helpers, I can certainly go, but..." Ashe smirked as she let the pause build. "I had thought you more concerned about our dear little sister's fate."

"Ugh. You always know how to spoil a moment." With a wave of her hand, Ri'ankor violently ejected her [Faceless] from the room.

Despite not caring, Ashe could clearly hear as the two bodies landed with the dull crunch of what sounded like breaking bones. That conclusion was confirmed a moment later by the sound of a useless foot being dragged down the hallway. She sighed internally; her sister always took such poor care of her toys.

Her sister languidly rose from her chair and strutted—still entirely too nude—across marble floors until she finally—finally—slipped on a robe not much more modest than the ones the [Faceless] wore. Why was lust such a base thing? Why couldn't it be more like Pride?

"So, did our little piggy not get herself killed after all?"

Ri'ankor flopped into a reclining chair and then gestured to the one across from her. Ashe frowned at the implicit command—no one commanded Pride—before striding over to sit down beside her sister. Having a conversation while standing like that would be awkward.

"She was alive, yes." Ashe wasn't entirely convinced that their youngest sister could die. There was the essence of more than one God of Death moldering away in that Well their pig of a sister had consumed. Azatoth only knew what that had done to the little glutton. "More than that, she's hit upon a genius plan seemingly entirely by accident."

"Oh?" Ri'ankor leaned forward in a way that sent locks of midnight dark hair spilling over her shoulder and down into her generous cleavage.

Ashe sighed at how blatant the gesture was. "Must you?"

"We would make the most beautiful [Monster] together." her sister's seductiveness ended with an amused smirk, "but I can always try again later. Tell me about little Ciel."

"She's an adventurer now." Ashe paused so she could commit the look on her sister's face to memory, if only because she knew the next thing she was going to say would drown it in blood. "She wants to be a hero."

Her sister's eyebrows rose, and then her jaw dropped. Ashe just basked in the feeling of superiority. She'd never seen Ri'ankor as lost for words as she was at that moment. She would have to commit the memory of it to canvass so she could show it off to the rest of her sisters.

"A hero? Does she even know…"

"That divine influence is required for the creation of a true [Hero]? Or that there hasn't been an actual real-to-life [Hero] in a millennium?" Ashe shook her head and smirked. "No."

"And her dear oldest sister didn't even tell her." Her sister matched her smirk with an indulgent one of her own.

"Absolutely not." Ashe's smirk turned vicious, "After that little shit got lost in my lair, found my wine cellar, and drank everything inside, including the three-thousand-year-old bottle of Goldlake I was saving for when I decided to finally destroy Luminia."

"You had a bottle of Goldlake that you were keeping from me?"

Ashe rolled her eyes at the pout on her sister's face. If anyone could find a bottle of thousand-year-old wine from a dead continent, it would be the Queen-in-Shadow of Rainwall.

"As if I wouldn't find half a dozen bottles were I to wander into your cellar."

"It's not the possession; it's the intertwining of souls when you share something so precious." Her sister stretched languidly, showing off her curves in the kind of blatant display that Ashe was still occasionally amazed ever worked at all.

"It's not happening. The Old One you made with Soph's help is more than enough." Though it was nice to see one of the little ones from Azatoth's realm wandering the deep oceans of their new world.

"He's such a cute, miniature calamity, though." Ri'ankor shrugged voluptiously. "But we're not here to talk about my adorable children, are we?"

"Perhaps…"

Ashe let the silence after her statement linger just long enough for the lazy amusement in her sister's eyes to fade into a sharp, vicious focus. Good. Lust was at its best when it was singularly focused, just like Pride.

"Since our little sister wants to be a hero, I thought, who better to be the villain than us?" A slow smirk spread across her sister's face, and a moment later, she mirrored it. "And as I was plotting something worthy of that little piggy's attention, I thought of you, oh dear [Father of Monsters]."

"I'm listening."

Ashe smiled at the eagerness in her sister's words. "My minions will spread chaos and uncertainty, but I thought it only right that an internal fear be matched by something external."

"And just where do you intend to start." Ashe could clearly see the gears in her sister's mind begin to turn.

"The dwarven clans. Their dearly beloved king will die under mysterious and violent circumstances. Evidence will paint his sons as the hands that direct the knife. Then it won't take but a few whispers before the thanes are at each other's throats for the chance of winning a crown..."

"And you want one of my children to strike while they're distracted and bring the whole thing toppling down… unless our dear sister is there to save them, of course."

"Of course."

Ri'ankor leaned forward and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. "A dwarf digs too deep and unearths something she shouldn't. It's an old story, but sometimes the classics are the classics for a reason."

"You have something in mind?"

"A daughter of mine who does little more than eat my food and molest my [Faceless]." Her sister grinned maliciously, in the way Ashe imagined a parent finally finding a reason to kick their useless daughter out of the house would. "She can create hordes of monsters she calls [Darklings]—an interesting enough ability, though they are largely too weak to be useful in my plots. More interestingly, though, is that a drop of their blood will convert anyone it touches into a [Darkling] just like them—with their original skills and levels still somewhat intact."

"Then why is it not useful to you?" Ashe raised an eyebrow. That kind of skill seemed like it went hand in glove with her sister's approach to evil.

Ri'ankor sighed as if the heavens had personally declared vengeance upon her. "They're ugly. Serrated teeth, squished faces, misshapen, and deformed bodies. Like goblins, but worse."

That explained it. Her sister would ignore the keys to the [Infinite Vault] if it came in the hands of someone she deemed unattractive. "A horde of monsters that only grows larger the more foes it fights… please tell me enough remains of the mortals turned to [Darklings] to keep them recognizable."

"A few features here and there that a loved one might recognize, though they do tend to favor the weapons and armor they used before turning. The real amusement will come the first time someone casts [Identify] on them."

A slow, cruel smirk worked its way across Ashe's face as she realized what her sister was implying. Yes. She would gnaw at the foundations of dwarven society, while her sister's spawn would strike fear in the hearts of their bravest warriors.

"I knew I was right to share this with you, my dear sister."

"Anything for you, and our favorite little piggy."


"Push them back, you useless fucking slugs," Sorja shouted to the squad of heavily armored [Soldiers]—her squad of heavily armored [Soldiers]—as another wave of grotesque, misshapen goblin creatures rushed at them from out of the darkness. "I've got a birthday celebration to get to, and no fucking goblin's gonna make us late."

"Think yer kid's gonna have to celebrate without his mamma today," Norrin bellowed out as he brought his warhammer down on the skull of a monster, pulping its brain and almost half of its torso in one explosion of blood and gore. "These ain't worth the time it takes ta swing a hammer, but by the Forge, there's a lot of 'em."

"I promised that little shit that I'd get him a brand new crossbow, and I'll be damned if I let my husband win this time."

Sorja took a quick breath and released the hold she always kept on her most useful skill. [Boon of the Grunt] flowed out from her in cooling waves, and five dwarven backs perked up just an inch straighter. It wasn't much of a boon skill, but it had gotten her promoted to sergeant—and, more importantly, gotten her squad out of a dozen hairy scrapes over the years.

"Couldn'ta done that earlier, huh, sarge," Adrik shouted as he used the renewed vigor brought by her spell to disembowel three mutated goblins as they rushed heedlessly toward him.

"It's for difficult encounters. Not pissants like this." In fact, if it weren't for Kai's birthday... Sorja bashed her shield into a goblin and used the space when it dropped to carve out the throat of the next one in line.

A spray of blood makes its way through the vents on her visor and splatters across her lips. She gags slightly at the rancid taste but doesn't have the space to lift her helmet and spit it clear.

Come to me…

A thought activated the [Rune of Fire] etched into her sword, and it starts to glow like metal pulled straight from the forge. A moment later, blood and flesh sizzle as she carved a wide arc into the monsters attacking her squad.

Follow me…

Sorja grinned viciously as the monsters began to scramble back from her burning blade—there were definitely benefits to having a [Runecarver] for a husband—and used the space to look around the rest of the skirmish.

Adrik and Norrin were teamed up with their backs set against the stone as they fought off a dozen of the goblin monsters. Good. It meant they still had their heads enough to remember their training. Another dozen or so, and she'd wade over there to help, but as it was, a pair of dwarves properly braced by stone could fight off ten times their number. Further into the fray, Birgit and Inka were turning goblins into smears of blood with their war hammers almost as fast as they could approach.

Obey me…

Yes. Her first two squadmates were too well protected, but… Sorja licked her lips, trying to get another taste of that blood. She would help Inka first, and together, they would move on to the rest. Quickly, she darted through the skirmish, her shield and burning sword raised in defense, but none of the remaining goblins dared to attack.

A dwarf with a long, blonde plait poking out the back of her helmet—one that she refused to cut despite it violating the regs—turned. "Come to fight with the rest of the gals, huh, sarge?"

"You," her voice was hoarse, as though she'd been shouting for hours. Sorja swallowed through a parched throat. "Looked like you needed a bit of help."

"Nah, me an' Birgi-"

The soldier's voice cut off with a strangled cry as a blade of molten metal speared straight through her gorget and into her neck. A chorus of confused shouts emanated from her former squad, but Sorja didn't care.

She ripped the helmet free from the dying dwarf's face and slammed her down into a puddle of gore and blood—all that remained of her mother's first [Darkling] spawn. "Thirsty. So thirsty. Drink Brigit. Drink and be-"

A solid object collided with the back of Sorja's helmet, and she saw no more.


Four indistinct figures, wrought from moonlight and trailing a faintly acrid smoke behind them, ghost into a palatial bed-chamber. They slip through wards charged with the cleansing fire of retribution and fade to nothingness as they brush past quiescent strands of clairvoyance. Further into this sanctum, they move, past gold and tapestry and baubles of arcane provenance, to the very foot of a four-postered bed draped in thick ripples of crimson silk and velvet.

It is here they behold their target.

Time slows to a near halt. Four blades, darker than pitch, rise. Four blades fall.

A king dies.


Blood feeds. Blood spreads. Blood calls to blood.

Dwarven outposts grow dark. Betrayed and consumed by the ones who had promised to protect them. The [Soldiers] who would have stemmed this tide and formed the armies that would have eliminated this scourge with Rune and Fire are instead kept close, for there was a prize worth any price awaiting—the throne.

In the dark of a long-forgotten Thaig, a pair of sapphire eyes slowly blink open.


In lieu of something directly related to the interlude, you have a different choice. Ciel and her team are currently packing for their trip north. They will most certainly forget something. The only question is, what?

[] Food.

[] Books and entertainment.

[] Camping supplies.

[] Manastones.

[] Warm clothing.


[AN]
I had intended to put more in this chapter, but my weekend was rather hectic, so I had to cut back. I may flesh out this chapter further at some point (I certainly need to do an editing pass of the first arc), but we'll see how much motivation I can find.