[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

I can't thank you enough for crafting such a wonderful and fully realized story, Pimp NeonBlack!

The time taken was defintely well spent.

I'm still amazed you had done so much with such a simple outline that i had shown you.

I'd also like to say that while I had certain inklings of how certain events would have transpired, your storytelling ability and additions were fantastic. Honestly I can pretty much say this is genuinely your story.

Again and forever, dear Higalack: you are most welcome.

And yes, things did change much from the initial outline that I's did send to you so long ago.
That is Evolution in practice.

And no: this tale is not my's. It is Catena's. I's am merelt the vessel through which it was told.
Everything has a life and existence beyond what we preceive. Maybe's Catena's life such be continium.
Only Time and Eternity will tell.

Peace
The Pimp NeonBlack

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

Very nice, dear Morpheus, a most interesting tale.
Your explore Nora's mentality most well though a little more of a shicism and denial of her former/true self would have added that little bit of extra depth to the tale and served it quite well.
Though, 'tis still a fantastic fantasy.
Thank you.
Peace
The Pimp NeonBlack

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

Fastastic work, dear David, as always.
Merely one question: Tetsuko was already muscular and had good genetic potential before being forced to take the serum, while Sonya merely seems as a slightly above average woman, there for should she not be small, in terms of pure muscle, than Tetsuko when her tranformation is done?
This is not a cirticism merely a notion that struck I.
And, again, another great work. Thank you for posting and creating it.
Peace
The Pimp NeonBlack

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

And is just as nice a read here.

Love the twist ending of having the narrator be of simliar gender as the rowdy.

Thank you for reposting this Noen.  😉

Ypu are most welcome, dear Cowprobe, but this tale was reposted a fair Age ago and was forgotten about.
Though that matters not if you enjoyed it so.
Thank you.

Peace
The Pimp NeonBlack

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

Many thank yous, dear Diablo-san. I's am pleased that you do enjoy this work so and that you have received an unfractured edition.
As for inspiration, that 'twas hard to come by because of interference of real life and other responsiblities. This work took over 3 months to complete and that was the preverbial throne in my's side.
'Twas the promise to Higalack, as well as his phenominal art, that kept my's inspiartion fresh. As well as the encouragement from my's daughter and partner. The pleasure of those whodo read it shall be further inspiration and encouragement for I to start new works, as well as finish old one.
So, to all whom have read and enjoyed, many thanks.
Peace
The Pimp NeonBlack

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

Again, dear Rescator, a work most wonderful. You are truly a phenominal artist and a most skillful story teller.
Many thanks for this latest addition and update.
May your Muse always shine bright.
Peace
The PimpNeonBlack

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

Clicked and bookmarked.
Most excellent work, dear JDM022. 'Tis most wonderful to have another mopher amongst us once again.
Look forward to seeing more work from you in the future.
Peace
The Pimp NeonBlack

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

All she remembered after the endless black was running.
Running down a long, dark tunnel.
Following the lead of Ulva and another, who constantly yelled commands back at her.
She knew that voice, even through the haze of her fragile mind she could recognise those dulcet tones.
Blessed Draco!
Thought why, she did wonder, would he risk his rank and position to aid her? Surely such an act meant Death for him and his entire family, not to mention his beloved Handmaiden and all who had and do surround him, such being the harsh nature of the Omperium Law.
Then she felt the chill maw of Panic grip her Heart.
What if Draco was leading them into a trap or, worst yet, they had already been captured.
A tight squeezing upon her hand was enough to allay her Heart.
For she knew by the length of the finger and the strength of the grasp that it was Ulva whom held her and did lead her to safety.
It had taken time but Catena’s Mine Eyes did return to her and all the World did fall back into its rightful place. Order was restored and her Mind stilled amidst the flight.
She guessed that they were deep within the ancient catacombs which ran beneath the Palace and indeed the entire City of Acheron, as they were described to her by The Matriss during their sessions of study. Though how far through them she did not know, for she knew them to vast -vaster than the City itself, as it was part of it’s ancient foundations as well as its sewer and drainage system. She knew from memory that the majority of the tunnels did lead to the great River Jl’Summa, upon which the Palace of the Acheron was built which was connected to the Arena on it’s bank by series of stone bridges and skyways. She knew that their flight did lead them away from The Jl’Summa but in which direction they did flee she knew not. Though she trusted Ulva and Draco with all her being, for they must have a plan. If they did not, it would be the Goddess of Fate whom would decide the outcome of this faulted gambit.
After what seem an ageless time within the labyrinth, Catena did spy an end to the tunnels and the distant dimness of a night filled world. They made a final sprint towards this exit but, alas, there was a trap set. As it was found to late as a gauntleted hand did crash upon Draco’s fair face and send him reeling into stone.
From out the shadows did step the Soldier Cerryis, no longer clad in the robes of a Matrissial Guard but in the full regalia of a Warrior of the Army of the Living God. A long pristine dress-shirt over thick iron armour -created and fashioned in Ballacreous no doubt with the rest of its kind- and legging of metal wrapped tight with bands of leather. A belt of leather and gold was strapped to his waist and from it hung many trophies of battle -the lesser of which were the hand bones and skulls of young children.  In his ironclad hands he did hold a Savient Blade, the weapon of choice for Cultist Soldiery, with it’s blade almost as long as child was tall and balanced well enough to cleave a man in twain with a single stroke. He had never appeared more animated to Catena as he did now -as if he was Wrath incarnate. A pure personification of all the Fury the Living God could loose upon the world. And now he stood ready to strike.
“I knew that you maggots would escape here,” he spat, as he swung his sword loosely around himself. “You would not dare head near the River and would instead try to escape towards the Forest Villages, where the Living God has little hold and thus escape into the crowd. Well, you were wrong in your choice and left far to many clues, dear Draco, of you plan. It shall cost you not only your life but the life of all, even of that of your beloved slut of a matriss! Such are the laws of our Land and Order!”
From his sprawled position, Draco managed to launch himself at Cerryis, screening the ancient battle cry: “Acheron!”. Again, Cerryis swung his gauntleted fist and struck Draco down a second time, flinging him into a clump of dead bushes, unconscious but alive.
Cerryis moved back to his fighting stance and pointed his metal finger straight at Catena.
“Now you shall dies, Beast!” he screamed, with the lunacy of a zealot. “And forever lift the curse of The Evasor from out this World!”
Ulva placed himself between him and Catena but this only caused the old Soldier to laugh and say: “Step aside, Slave, and I may return you to your most valued Master. Though first my blood has lust for the Evasor Flesh and it must be quenched.”
He brought the Savient Blade up above his head, Ulva stepped forward but Catena pushed him out of the way of the arcing weapon and readied herself to destroy this most loathed of enemies. Not merely for what he was but all he had done and all the lives he had taken in service of his so-called Living God. A deep rage burned within at this thought. For all Catena knew or reckoned, it could have been Cerryis whom did slew her beloved Ebon Knight at the Battle of Ethonore and threw his bones upon their fires.
She moved into the classic stance of the  Pa’wrathe’sa and waited his attack. Savient and steel or not. His Soul would be her’s to claim.
Though such was not to be.
As Catena watched in disbelief as a figure, clad a cloak of gossamer grey, lifted Cerryis by his belt up over their head and drove him into the ground with such force that his armour did bent and his sword did break upon the ruinous stone that lay scattered about. With a wrathful scream, Cerryis tore his battered chestplate from off his form and flung himself at his gossamer grey enemy.
He swung the remains of the shattered blade at their head, but they aptly dodged and drove their knee deep into his stomach. Hitting him with such force that he flipped over his opponents leg and crash once more to the unforgiving Earth. His broken sword was sent sailing from his hand and Catena swore that she heard the breaking of his arms as it hit a jaggered stone Again, he did raise himself and tried to best his enemy with his good arm, but it was swiftly seized and snapped in a most brutal fashion. Despite the pain which he felt, he struggled on and swung a broken at the gossamer figure’s throat. They merely caught his arm again and hoisted him up, once again, into the air and drove his back fiercely into the ground. He impacted with a sickening crunch and was swiftly and unceremoniously kicked away. He landed with a nauseating thud, thick blood pouring with his torn face and skull.
Catena stood stock still, her body poised for attack but unable to move because of the confusion. Carefully she did watch the situation, though one thing did draw her eye more than others. This Gossamer Figure fought in the most brutal form of Pa’wrathe’sa, using the maiming and killing aspects of the style to complete destroy and to dominate the once might Cerryis.
The Gossamer Figure moved towards him as he lay deathly still but Cerryis was a zealous and determined warrior and had managed to grasp a shard of his sword between his broken and bloody teeth. He twisted his body and launched himself at his enemy, wrapping his fractured arms around the Gossamer form as tightly as his waning strength would allow. He pressed himself hard against them, trying desperately to drive the broken blade into their covered throat. In the fray, he succeeded in knocking their hood off and dropped his fragmented weapon as his mouth was forced into a sharp gasp.
Within his grasp was The Matriss, her beautiful face bathed in serene rage. Her giant green eyes were dead and cold as she drew a dagger from a hidden place and drove it hard into Cerryis’ thick neck.
“This is for what you did to my father and my Tribe,” she growled, as she did grasp her free hand upon his head and drive hard her silver dagger into his leathery flesh.
With a final twist came a sharp spurt of blood and what remained of Cerryis’ ample body collapsed onto the Earth, spasmming and squirming as the final throes of his wretched life ended. In one last fit of rage, The Matriss brought up her foot and crush the icon Cerryis wore around his neck until it was nothing but dust.
“I did tell you, Cerryis,” she muttered, as the last of her wrath did ebb away. “Long ago that if you ever lay but a hand upon her that your mortality would forfeit and your ragged remains shall be cast before The Dogs and Beggars ere it become but Dust!” she stooped and wiped the blood from her dagger on his pristine cloth, before uttering: “I always keep my word and all has come to Truth.”
She stood and turned to a stunned and near terrified Catena with the same vacant expression that bore her through her charmed life. The same soft smile upon her soft lips and the same glitter in her great green eyes. If it were not for the blood that speckled her face, Catena would have sworn she had merely strolled out of her Palace, as was her want, to venture upon the street of her City.
Without a word, she walked over to where Draco did lay and lifted him as if he were nothing. Groggily, he managed to stand on his own feet, despite the blood with wept profusely from the gash in his feminine check. She gave him a silvery cloth with which to hold the blood and stop the wound. His battered lips moved to speak but The Matriss hushed him and said: “You look better this way. You were far too pretty before. Now you can claim the qualities of a man that none of you kin can. Such a scar will also help impress that young lover of your and aid n bedding her more swiftly.”
To this, Draco blushed and bowed his head, before hobbling off into the distance, as if to fulfil a silent command.
The Matriss than strolled over to Ulva, as if this was the most normal thing in the World and hoisted him up upon his feet, her thin arm bracing his.
“Brother!” she said, as she embraced him roughly.
“Sweet sister,” he replied, as he gently kissed and nuzzled her cheek. “I dreamt that I would never see you again. Oh, glory be unto all The Goddess that your plan could come to such fruition.”
“Matriss!” Catena cried, as she was finally brought to motion. “He is your brother?! He has my Father’s Eyes! He cannot be of your blood.”
“Indeed he most definitely is, my beautiful Catena,” The Matriss said, as commandingly as ever. “We are all of the same blood.”
Without ado, The Matriss unfastened her gossamer cloak and unbound that Shawl which eternally clasp her slender shoulders.
What she saw upon that naked flesh sent a chill throughout her entire being.
It was the marks.
They were her Marks.
Two stains of black and red, fashioned in the shape of folded wings, did score The Matriss’ flawless flesh. They were near identical, as far a Catena could tell, to her own.
“They are called The Wings of The Goddess Avas,” The Matriss said, as she drew her cloak back up upon her Flesh. “And they do mark the females of our Tribe, as the Eyes of Yulse’Shiva do make out all the males.”
Catena quickly looked at Ulva’s eyes and than back at The Matriss.
“‘Our Tribe’?” she repeated, in a stunned voice.
“Yes, dear child, ‘Our’ Tribe,” The Matriss said, with much authority. “We are all of the same Tribe.”
“How?” Catena demanded, the confusion overwhelming her.
“The usual way,” The Matriss laughed. “I was not born into House Acheron or even the Branch Acheron. I was adopted into its fold as Heiress to the House, since the former Matriss had not child of her own. My dear brother here was adopted and encamped within another Noble House. It was afeared that both our presence within the one House would raise the anger and suspicion of the Rival Houses against them. ’Tis easy enough for a female of our Race to hide her birthright, though it is difficult for a man, much less a boy, to do the same. So it was arranged by our Father, who did serve the House Acheron and the Holy House of Ethonore, that upon his death, we would enter the service of the two.”
“How was he killed?” Catena asked, her voice wavering.
“Our Tribe was the first to stand against the then meagre forces of The Living God,” The Matriss said, matter of factly. “It was our Tribe, if Truth be told by the old stories, who did create this Living God. For he was just a man, mortal as the rest, with grand ambitions to rule The Omperium Realms with such force. He began in the Arid Lands -the native home of our Tribes- and was so crushed by our people, who rose up against his Army and smote them harshly. As punishment for his ambition, he was tied to a Great Wither Tree and torn apart by great hook of iron and left to die in the Desert Sun. Though Death would not claim him and he survived his punishment, for forty days bound to that Tree. After such a time he began to claim Divinity and thought of himself as a god living amongst men. So, he did gather followers unto him and claimed powers of the Gods did reside within his ruptured flesh -which was said to never have truly healed. His own mother did the Touch Divine and thus was set as an Icon for the Faith. Once the word of his Faith had spread, he sought to bring vengeance against those whom did vanquish before and set his Army to slaughter our people, no matter where they did hide or venture to. Our father was soldier in the Army who stood against the Living God and he was made to pay for it.”
“They killed him?” Catena did asked, as all the pieces of her tragic history did fall into place with The Matriss’ harrowing tale.
“No,” Ulva said, as he moved and embraced his sister. “He survived the fray but was wounded and captured. They sent him to Ballacreous -newly created- in hopes of dying after the punishment of Servitude.”
“Ballacreous?” Catena whispered, as the picture within her Mind began to take its final shape.
“Yes,” Ulva uttered. “You may know him, for he had a very ‘August’ name.”
Catena felt as though she was going to faint, as the completed image crashed deep within her mind.
“My Master,” she murmured, near tears. “Was your father?”
“Indeed,” The Matriss replied. “As far as the information we could gather, that is correct.”
“That is how you fathom both the style of Pa’wrathe’sa?” Catena cried. “You were taught by your father as he taught it to me?!”
“Yes,” The Matriss replied. “We were instructed in Pa’wrathe’sa since kinder’s year claimed our bodies. Such is the tradition of our Warrior Tribe.”
“What has this to do with I?” Catena demanded. “Why was punishment dealt to I singly sort?!”
“It was not,” The Matriss muttered, solemnly. “It was dealt to all our ilk. Though you were Fateful that they did not merely kill you upon discovery as they did so many others.”
“Am I not their ‘Evasor’?! She wailed, as the picture began to slip away from her.
“No,” The Matriss replied. “Our Tribes name is Avasaria -meaning Born of Avas, the Winged Goddess. In their tongue, we began ‘Evasora’ and singly we are ‘Evasor’. The Living God feared our retributions so fiercely that he told his followers that we were all Demons and Destroyers who must be extinguished from existence. For he was told a prophesy that one of our kine would be his true end and so he sought to remove us from this Mortal World before such a thing could come to fruition.”
Catena felt overwhelmed and she loosed a scream so guttural and bestial that it did rouse the birds from slumber.
Had all her suffering been for naught?
“All words to tear apart my Mind,” she wailed, as she clutched at her blonde hair. “My Soul is shattered and all the World doth spiral away from me!”
Again she screamed, fell to her knee and beat her hands upon the stone.
“You are right, sister sweet,” Ulva whispered into The Matriss’ delicate ear. “She has changed since I did last gaze upon her.”
Catena did raise her tear stained eyes and wanted to loose herself upon these two, to destroy them for all their confusing words.
“What mean you?” she said, angrily. “Never met have we been!”
“Oh, sweet child,” he muttered, as he squatted down before her and brush back her fringe. “How wrong you are.”
Catena was about to make a leap for him when she was stilled by a familiar cry.
“Matriss!” came the dual shout. “Matriss! Here we be! We be here!”
From out the gloom of the approaching dawn Catena could distinguish the familiar forms of The Matriss’ Pets, Cala and Craemyn, dashing towards them, whilst, a little way behind, stumbled Draco, leading a War Horse of purist white.
“We have them!” the Girl Pet cried, as they ran to their Matriss’ side.
“Them we have!” the Boy chimed, as he took his customary place, opposite his Twin.
“Most fine,” The Matriss congradulated. “Now hurry, before my brother catches his death.”
“Yes, Matriss,” they both replied, before she dashed off to the horse that Draco did lead.
They pulled a large box from off its sturdy back and both did carry it together and laid it at their Matriss’ feat.
“Thank you, Cala,” she said, as she kissed the Boy’s head. “Thank you, Craemyn,” as she kissed the Girl’s.
Catena watched as Ulva did stoop and open the box, drawing out of it a helm of ebon metal. Again, the picture returned to her mind and began to take itself shape once more.
“How?” she demanded, near tears. “Death claimed you at Ethonore?”
“Such was not to be,” Ulva said, as he knelt before her. “When the Cultist did first lay siege to the Holy Mountain of Ethonore, I was away, attempting in your salvation from The Zelta’s hands. By the time I had received news of the Battle, it was by far too late. The Cultist had set all of Ethonore to Flame -Flesh and Field- and there was nothing that could be done. I made haste to ensure your safety, fearing that you were slain in my absence or with they of Ethonore, if my orders had been fulfilled. Though on my way to your side, I was waylaid by brigands and sold into the Slave Pits of Hurshul’ka. I was forced to prove myself through combat and was sold to one Stable after the other, being quite prized for my skill in the Arena. Eventually, after many years, I found myself in the Stable of Prince Calablame of House Hyperion, where I chanced to meet my sister again and we were able to gather information and form our plans.”
“Hyperion was involved throughout?” Catena asked.
“Not as first,” Ulva replied.
“Than how?”
“Let us simple say,” The Matriss answered. “That Calablame is like so many others of his sex and easily given to promises and temptations.”
She then gave a knowing laugh but quickly continued: “That was two years ago. Before then, after my’s ascendancy to Matrisship over House Acheron, I heard rumours of our father’s survival and sought to discover the truth of it. It took many years but I managed to discover that he was kept within Ballacreous and, in order to obscure the fact of his blood, hide himself deep within the Earth and became the August of The Miner’s Eyes, in order to conceal what would so give him away.”
Catena’s eyes flickered over to Ulva’s and all began to make sense. If the Cultist saw his eyes, the more zealous members who have most certainly have slain him. So what greater disguise than to seal them and yourself away and live our your remaining days secluded from those who did wish you the most harm. Catena than did wonder if Aegine did know of this and that was why she was sent to August after her marks were discovered.
“Why not save him?” she asked.
“Because money and influence only work on men with scruples, dear Child,” The Matriss replied. “Not men of faith. And whilst he was within the Mines, he was untouchable by all. Though it was all too late by the time all this was known. For he was killed, as well you now.”
“Why give I salvation?”
“Because you are of our Tribe,” Ulva replied, as he began to assemble his armour upon himself. “And you could not be left in the clutches of our Blood Enemies.”
“Then why all which was?” Catena demanded.
“Because we had to keep the ruse in effect,” The Matriss said, quite plainly. “And an adopted, let alone a Avasaria, cannot inherit the Rule of a House without Senatorial approvement. ’Tis not only the Cultist whom do loath our kind. Many Tribe still fear and loath us for what occurred in early days of the Omperium and what our Tribe did do to others.”
“So all?” Catena muttered.
“Was mere coincidence,” The Matriss replied. “All plans made were made too late and thus no plans were made.”
“Than why escape?”
“Because it was getting to dangerous,” Ulva replied, as he began to dress himself within his old metal, with the aid of the Twins.
“Cerryis was indeed a spy for the Cultist,” The Matriss continued. “And he had informed the Inner Council of your existence and my sheltering of you. They did seek my overthrowment and in my stead, they were to tear down The House of Acheron and place a House of their own devising, ensuring the flow of power to their own Bastions and Strongholds and a greater stranglehold upon the Omperium.”
“Though such things are neither here nor there,” Ulva muttered, as he stood.
Catena gasped as she saw that he had once become the Ebon Knight whom had saved her so many years before. Gone was the gaunt and grungy fighter of fore, in his stead was the glorious hero Catena knew him to be. The man whom had put in motion all the things that make the now thus and the thus now.
“You should return to the Palace, sweet sister,” he said, as he fastened his gauntlets tight. “Before they grow suspicious of your long absence as well as the Fate of your Duxia.”
“You are most correct, dear brother,” The Matriss replied, as she drew up her hood. “Come, Draco. Come, Cala and Craemyn. Our time for parting is now, say your farewells, for ’tis not known whether we shall gaze upon them again or whether we shall be forever within their exalted company.”
The Twins both came up to Catena and gave her a joint, if gingery, embrace, both they together said: “Be well, Innocence, we shall miss you.”
And with those words, they disappeared into the Dawn gloom from whence they had come.
Draco limped over to Catena and wrapped her within a strong and brotherly embrace.
“Gratitude unto you,” was all Catena could utter, as he tearfully held her and then walked away.
Catena then turned to see The Matriss before her, in al her radiant glory.
“Be well, my dearest child,” she said, as she leant down and kissed her tender checks. “I do wish that all could have been under fairer stars, though do not grudge I for doing what had to be done. Know that you will always be loved by I, come what may.”
And thus, Ennocens Catena left the service of The Matriss Acheron without ceremony nor send off. Merely a kiss and a motherly touch.
For a moment, Catena and Ulva watched them all depart. Not knowing whether they shall be seen again or what the Fates may hold. All that was known was that there was now a void within them both and it would take a long time to fill.
Without warning, Ulva did seize Catena and uttered: “Sorry, but these must come off.”
Before she could gather her wits, Ulva had wrest the manacles from off her wrists and had unbound the yoke upon her neck.
They all fell to the ground with a hollow ‘clink’ and she stood there. Feeling strangely naked and unsure of what had transpired.
Then she felt relief, as her final bonds, within and without, had been released.
She could feel the tingle of her flesh in the Night’s air and new that it was her Flesh that she felt. That it was her Heart within her Chest and her Soul within her Being which both now stirred.
“They were a useless burden now,” Ulva said, as he strode towards the waiting horse and pulled off another pack. “And would have given us away if anyone had but seen them.”
“Yes,” Catena said, feeling as though she was waking from a long dream. “You speak all Truth.”
Ulva regarded her strangely for a moment, before he tossed the pack at her feet and said: “There are clothes and counterments within that should cover you,” he pointed to the pack he had thrown to her. “Best to hurry. We have much ground to cover before the Sun is to rise and even more to cover before Night is to cover the Realm. So, be swift, Catena, and let the Wind carry us safe.”
“Yuvasye,” She muttered, as if her voice were the breeze.
“Pardon?” Ulva said.
“‘Yuvasye’,” She repeated. “’Tis remembered. ’Twas what my Mother and Father called me. ‘Yuvasye’.”
“’Tis a beautiful name,” Ulva did tell her. “Though the same swiftness must be made no matter your marker.”
“Acceptance,” She said, with gracious eyes.
And then she smiled.
It was the first smile she had ever consciously known. It was as if she was feeling for the first time I her existence.
For she now had a true name and Those who were her own.
She was no longer alone and she was joyous.
Come what may, for, in this moment, she could truly feel.

END.

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

Though She knew that was but a falsehood, as She watched Cerryis sneer at Her from the edge of the Pool. His absent lips were curled into a malicious snarl and She could see him plotting Her murder in his brain again and again. Though She had no fear of him. She knew that She was now under the protection of The Matriss and that Cerryis was utterly powerless to make any action against Her. Still, this did not make Her feel any easier to be within his presence, for She knew that he would still aspire to make Her young life a misery, as all his creed did.
This was confirmed as She heard his words as the young handmaidens led Her to the Pools edge.
“Take her to the Carceria,” he ordered, as he watched the handmaidens sheath Her in silk.
“B-but, Duxia?!” stuttered a young guard. “That is for prisoners of The Matriss.”
“Were would you have me house her then, Quaturion Draco?” Cerryis growled, as he turned on the young guard. “The Matriss neglected to inform me if a room was prepared for her or not and since the hour is too late to have a chamber made ready, take her to the cells in the Carceria and ensure that she is made comfortable as you can.”
A twisted smile contorted his mouth as he must of thought demonic dreams. He glared at the guards, all of whom appeared quite young and fresh, lacking in any and all experience when compared with an old warrior such as Cerryis. She knew that they all feared and despised him but none would dear contradict his orders. At least not to his face.
“Anyway,” Cerryis scoffed. “She already has the chains, so it’s not as if someone will question where is going or why she is placed there.”
He laughed and turned his back on both Her and the five remaining guards, before saying: “And do make sure that she is well fed tonight. She does have a big debut to attend tomorrow after all.”
He laughed some more and walked away, leaving Her in the care of the guard, Draco, and the other four Matrissial Soldiers. They all seemed unsure as what to do, so, with apologetic words, they escorted down to the Carceria.
“I’m sorry for this,” Draco whispered, as he unlocked the grated door to the Carceria.
He gave Her a weak but warm smile, as he opened the door. She could sense that he was genuine in his emotions but She still could not allow Herself to feel sympathy or empathy for one who did so willingly serve an enemy such as a Cultist.
“No,” She muttered, hoarsely. “You are not.”
Draco looked visibly wounded by Her words, but he said nothing as he lead Her to a cell.
There were so few within the Carceria. Only three. They were all quite large but cold and baron. It smelt of damp and of rot and the sound of dripping water could be heard as it splashed against the far wall. The tang of Death also lingered in the stale air -the fragrance of those departed and they soon to go the Way of All Flesh.
To the sheltered inhabitants of the Omperium Realms and the Lands of Acheron this place would seem as a nightmare, to She, one whom had survived the Mines of Ballacreous and the tortures of The Living God, this place was nothing. A mere room of stone and iron designed to keep those unfortunate enough to displease either Cerryis or The Matriss out of their mutual sights until punishment could be sorted. This place did not hold the same terror for Her as it did for others, so, in that respect, Cerryis had lost that contesting of wills.
“Please, come this way,” Draco muttered, as he ushered Her to the end Cell with an extended arm.
He unlocked the barred door with a long bronze key and held it open for Her.
“Please,” he said, with an almost pleading voice.
She did as She was asked and stepped into the Cell. With a mournful face, Draco shut and locked the door behind Her. His young eyes were stained with grief. In the flickering torch light, he looked to Her younger than She was. He was barely a man. His first whiskers had not even sprouted and his skin was still fresh and virginal in appearance. Far too young to possess the rank of Quaturion. His eyes sat large and aggrieved beneath the thick black curls of his hair. She could sense that he was far from being a warrior or soldier of any type known to Her. He was just another pretty toy for The Matriss to stare at. Doubtless he would have received his rank and occupation through some favour or family connection -as She had seen on occasionally at Ballacreous- and only retained such a position because of his attractiveness to one such as The Matriss rather than any aptitude for his employment. She could almost pitied him, and the other guards who watched Her now through the thick bars of the Cell, if it were not for them being Her captors and She their ward.
She just stared coldly at them as they stared in wonder at Her. They whispered in a strange a soft language that She guessed was their native tongue -each sharing the same olived skin and thick curls of being from the same race or family. She tried Her best to ignore their mumblings, but their voices fascinated Her so much. Hushed and musical, lulled with a strange sweetness that reminded Her of mothers about their babes. Though none of they were Her mother and she was far from being their babe. But still, she stared at them, until a lone and hollow cough from the darkness behind Her pricked Her flesh to attention and made Her spin around -rattling Her chains as She turned.
She could make out a hunched and huddled figure in the far corner. The flickering torches did rob Her of Her Miners’ Sight and mudded the darkness before Her. It seemed to Her eyes as if it were merely a pile of rags and refuse, until She spied a thin hand that did rest upon skeletal knee -both as filthy as Her’s had previously had been before this night. Cautiously, She did creep over to this coughing creature and quietly put Her thick, strong hand upon it’s frail and fragile shoulder.
It was an old man, well past his seventieth Harvest and so thin that his skin was drawn like leather across his ancient bones. A few long, sparse strands of hair streamed from his scalp, though not enough to give him any covering. And worst of all were his eyes. Or what remained of them. They were merely two empty gashes within his skull. They had not even the decency to stitch his eyelids together and left them as gaping maws staring upon a cruel and indifferent World. These hollowed sockets stared up at Her and moved Her to emotion, so that She fell upon Her knees and stifled Her tears.
“They say that his eyes did upset Cerryis so much that he had them torn whole from his flesh and burnt in a brazier as punishment,” Draco said, as leant his young face against the bars. “No one knows why and none but The Matriss dare challenge his authority, so it was done without question.”
He sighed as he stood and turned away from Her.
“Your food is here,” he muttered, with lamentation upon his voice.
He opened the door for the young handmaiden who did come baring a golden tray laden with cold meat and fresh fruits with a bowl of thin, rich soup balanced on its edge. She placed it just at the entrance to the Cell and step backwards, briefly looking up at Draco and smiling at his beautiful face before she turned and left. He watched her go before he turned to one of the other Matrissial Soldiers and said: “Fetch me a Field Cot and covering. I intend to spend the night here, guarding The Matriss’ acquisition.”
The Soldier gave an extended arm salute and marched of to complete his appointed task.
“The rest of you,” Draco said, turning to his comrades. “Are to return to Barracks until morning. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Quaturion!” they all shouted in reply, before they took formation and marched back to the Barracks.
Draco waited until they had taken their leave before he stripped himself of his regimental cape, folded it and placed it through the bars, next to the tray of food.
“Please eat,” he muttered softly, as he stood. “Tomorrow shall be harsh upon you and you shall need all the strength you can get.”
“Why?” She asked, as She crept cautiously towards the tray. “Why do you stay? Do you fear that I will escape or the such?”
“No,” Draco muttered, again smiling weakly. “I am afraid that The Duxia may attempt to hurt or even murder you whilst you sleep and blame one of my men or even the Gods for such an act happening within The Matriss’ Palace. I do not want such a thing to happen, so I shall stay and watch over you.”
“Do you do such a thing for me or for your Matriss?” She asked, as She reached for the tray, slowly jangling Her chains in the air as She stretched out for it.
“Both,” Draco muttered, smiling again. “Please eat and rest. You’ll need your strength.”
Once last time, he smiled at Her before he turned his back on Her and leant it against the bars. Probably to give Her some form of privacy in such an open place.
Despite the vengeful buzzing of Her wrathful mind, She felt as though She could trust this man clothed in boy’s skin. Unlike Cerryis, he was kind and open. She could feel that he meant Her no harm, he was merely too afraid -of both The Matriss and Cerryis- to disobey, even when his Heart told him to be strong and stand for what was right.
She forced such thoughts and contemplations from Her mind as She snatched the tray and scuttled backwards, so that She sat next to the old blinded man. She took a mouthful of meat and fruit but found both too bacciferous to stomach. She was used to the gruels and granules of the kitchens of Ballacreus, not the splendour of the nobility’s table. It make Her mouth ache and Her belly churn to but taste it. She sampled what She could but pushed it away. She had survived for days before without food and She made more than enough strength and will to survive the coming morning’s trails without a morsel in Her mouth.
“Grandfather,” She whispered into the old man’s stubbed and beaten ear. “Are you of hunger?”
“Who are you, child?” he asked, with a voice as thread bare as his robes. “It has been so long since I have had company that I was afraid that I would die alone.”
“I carry no name, Grandfather,” She replied, no knowing what else to say. “I am a prisoner as you. Do you hunger?”
“I hunger for so many things, child,” he muttered, blindly groping for Her, trying to grasp some portion of Her flesh to reassure himself that She is there. “For food. For Sun. For Sky. But I hunger most for my sight. So robbed of me by a cruel Livie guard!”
“I know of he,” She muttered, taking his hand in Her. “My Heart too hates the Livie and all like he.”
The Old Man’s cracked lips tried to form what must have been a toothless smile, as he squeezed Her hand with all his meagre strength.
“Here,” She whispered to him. “Take yon. I lack want.”
She gently picked up the thin ceramic in Her steely fingers and lifted it up to the Old Man’s torn and tattered lips. The pale liquid of the thin soup sloshed around the bowl as She tried to hold it with unsteady hands.
“Partake,” She muttered, as She pressed it to his mouth.
He did sip upon it, until his body was wrought with weakness and he began to cough back all that She did pour down into him. With all the little patience that She had, She tried to force more of the tepid liquid into his throat, but all for naught. For he would merely sputter it back up, bringing with it viler fluids.
“Fret not over such fruitless action,” the Old Man wheezed, as She layed his fragile head upon Her sturdy lap. “This night shall be my last and I have no fear.”
He then slowly closed his eyes and began to mutter a faulted tune. One that She did recognise.
It was the said same tune that Her Master, August, did sing all his waking days. The very song that She did sing over his cooling body, as he did die in Her strong arms. Though not strong enough to pull him away from Death’s firm grasp.
The last of Her emotions welled within Her abyssal Soul and came as a utterance of words. The slow drone of a song.
The Song Of The Dead.
That is man did now sing to himself.
She did not know had some connection in his long life to her most beloved Master or if the Hymn was practised in all Corners of the Omperium Realms, She just felt the compulsion to sing it. For this Old Man and all that had died along the Path of Her Life.
She sang with such force that Her thick desert-born throat was stripped rare. She sang with such Heart that Her eyes were drowned by their own waters. She sang with such Passion that even Her guard, Quaturion Draco, was moved to tears. She sang until the Old Man was cold in Her arms and Her emotion was all but drained away.
And then She was cold.
The last of Her emotion spent and the World distant to Her touch.
She sealed Herself within Herself, as August had once taught Her and She vowed that She would not forgive one death too many in such a place and at the will of a Livie such as Cerryis.
She just sat in the frigid silence.
Even when Draco ordered the Old Man’s body to be removed and given a burial with full honours, She did not stir. She merely sat until Morning came and The Matriss’ Handmaidens came once again and dressed Her in a blue combat costume. Cerryis himself came to escort Her to the Arena and, keeping with Her private oath, did not allow his taunts and jeers to reach Her. She was numb to him as She was to all else in the World. Even to the warm Sun that raked Her flesh as She was pushed out onto the Arena’s dusty floor. If She had any fear or feeling left, She could have flinched at shrill crying of the Stadium Master through the phantom apparatus that was the Deus Vox.
And then She heard it: the words that would forever mark Her existence.
“Presenting the latest of the Fighting Stables of the House of Acheron!” the Stadium Master becried. “Survivor of the Living Inferno, Ballacreous, and champion of the Battle Pits of that Nightmare Made Real. Your warrior, your new champion, The Bound Innocent: Ennocens Catena!”
As the cheers from the Crowd went up, She knew that they were referring to Her and thus Ennocens Catena She became.

And now She, Ennocens Catena, stood within the Walls of the said same Arena, the same Walls in which she had battled day after day for these past three years. Both a Prisoner and Possession of The Matriss Acheron as well as her most heralded Treasure.

Of course Catena had won her first combat within this Arena. It was a Ebon Giant of the far savannah of the South West regions of the Omperium Realms. She had seen few in Ballacreous and knew their strengths well. She bested him in mere seconds, forcing the Games Masters -the organises and procurers of fights and fighters- to send two more opponents against her, in order to ensure the crowds entertainment. She trumped them both as easily as she had the first and thus secured her position within the Fighting Stable of the House of Acheron.
From that moment she was paraded around as the pride of the Stable as well as The Matriss’ prize pet. She was given the finest things that The Matriss could offer -clothe, food, silks, jewellery and ornaments as well as fine room in which to dwell. Though it was little more than another form of Prison Cell, for she was always watched, though be it by the kindly -if weak- Quaturion Draco or one of his most trusted lieutenants. Of course Duxia Cerryis still tormented her whenever the opportunity arose but she ultimately paid him no mind and this infuriated him no end -raising the level of both his ire and his retribution with each silent slight.
Cerryis cruelty was legend around the Palace. He had once cut out the tongue of a Kitchen Maid for bespeaking ills against his Living God and could receive no punishment for that act because of his position within the House. The tortures and torments that he inflicted on all were indicative and indications of his Faith that all within the House began to loath him, his beliefs and his symbols. He constant attempted to thwart The Matriss’ authority and deal blows against Catena, but he was always foiled by his underlings -led by Draco- from doing her any harm, even though it meant that they would oft suffer her intended Fate. Though such was their affection for her. They each respected and adored her, in their own way, and vowed themselves to their House and their Matriss that Catena would always be safe within those Palace Walls.
Within her Palace, The Matriss would parade as Catena as if she were her greatest possession. Even more prized than her two indolent Pets, Cala and Craemyn, whom had taken to following her around, fawning over her whenever she went, garnering her attentions as though her very presence would rub off on them. Though it would seem that The Matriss did not want a mere object or another idle pet, such as The Twins, so, when she was not in combat or in training, Catena could be found in study under The Matriss’ own guiding hand. Catena was taught to read and to write in all the languages of the Omperium and even a few of the Outland tongues, even though her Will was against it and her flesh rallied for other distractions.
What Catena lusted for was the heat and sting of battle. The clash of flesh against heaving flesh, the tearing of muscle by hand or by blade, the shattering of bone from a block or a strike and the exhilaration of the vanquishment of a weak and unworthy opponent. These are the only thing she has known in her short life and what sustained her throughout her two imprisonments -violence and victory. Punishment and Prima. The feel of the chains upon her wrist and throat and soft earth of the Arena beneath her sturdy and stubborn feet.
And all her lusts were answered.
Every few days she was cast into the Arena to do battle with anyone who was foolish enough to challenge the Stable Of The Acheron -the most prestigious combative House in all the Omperium Realms- and Catena, as the Champion of the House, would always have prime position in the fighting list and the most powerful opponents to prover herself against. So vaunted were her skills in combat that soon the name, Ennocens Catena, was as renowned as those whom she would eventually defeat -Azarn Of The Desert, Prida the Pantheress of the Moon Realms, Gorozagi of the East and so many more Arena Dwells- all they famous and infamous all fell at her will.
Though not entirely without a price to pay.
In the first months of her being brought to the Arena Acheron, Catena’s face was cut deeply with a tainted blade hidden in the robes of one of her lest honourable opponents. The chipped and rusted edge sliced open the right side of her chin, from under her jaw to level with her pretty little nose. It tore a large wedge from her now flawless skin and brought her rage to such a peak that she managed to wrest his weapon from his own hand and, following Arena Lore, ran him through with it -though she did spare his wretched life. She was more afeared after the match, for the wrath that The Matriss showed at her injury and the tongue lashing which she gave her personal physician as he attended to Catena’s wound. All were relieved to discover that the cut was not infected or poisoned in any fashion, though The Matriss was enraged that it would never cleanly heal and that Catena’s prize face would always bare that scar.
This did not affected Catena as much as what occurred in her beginning second year of captivity by The Matriss, when her precious chains were shattered in combat.
She had used them as a bind when battling against a great Giant, one of the Northern Raiders who had been captured and sold into the fighting stable of House Hyperion, when she had under estimated his strength and he did shatter the chains with the combined power of his chest and arms rebelling against her steel. His pure might broke their shared bonds but Catena was undaunted by this, merely enraged that her precious chains had been decimated by this mindless barbarian of the Frozen Wastes of the North and though he did have strength over her, she had skill and quickly bested him in contest and finesse. Humiliating him by forcing him to submit to her will and beg for her tender mercies. This feat raised the ire of Prince Calablame and led to the rivalary between House Hyperion and the House of Acheron.
Of course Catena had received many other minor scratches and bruises in all her days of battle and she paid all no mind. It was the subtle psychological wounds that plied their toll upon her more then the wages of physical conflict.
Such as the time when Catena was witnessed her first thunderstorm. She had never witness such a thing in the desert lands or in Ballacreous and she knew not what to make of it. At the first flash of Lighting and purls of Thunder she was caused such a fright that she flew to The Matriss chamber and clamoured under the bed, believing it to be the safest lay in all the Palace. In her panic she had reverted to the old tongue that Aegine had taught her to ward off her fears and nightmares in the deep dark of the Mines. So, to herself, she kept repeating: “Ou Tuaus, Ea Tuaus. Mae saulwa, etta saulwa. Beagui metataurus es sollamenta est Se’la’Tes Mattaharus!”
Her mumblings intrigued The Matriss’ two Pets, who hung their identical heads over the edge of The Matriss’ mammoth bed and stared quixotically intensely at Catena.
“What say she?” The Girl Pet asked.
“What she say?” mimicked the Boy.
The Matriss made a little titter as she sat up and wrapped her green shawl over her slender shoulders, before leaning down over to where her Pets lay.
“‘I Pray, We Pray. You Wrath, They Wrath’,” The Matriss translated, in her dulcet tones. “‘Please Mother Sky, stay where you are’.”
And with those words, she laughed and said: “Silly, Innocent! She thinks that the Sky is falling!”
The Pets both laughed at this and each said: “Silly, Innocent! Bound, Silly!”
Silently, The Matriss slid from off her bed and lay on the cold marble floor, close to the trembling Catena.
“Shush, Child,” The Matriss bade. “ Tis only a storm. The does weep, not fall. Come out and see.”
She reached in to touch Catena’s trembling hand, but she screamed so loud it shook the very vaulted ceiling when she felt The Matriss’ grasp upon her.
“Shush, child. Shush,” The Matriss muttered, in a soothing maternal fashion. “Cesta’la, Cesta’la.”
The muttering of that words did quieten Catena, who looked up upon The Matriss with her large blue eyes, shimmering with her fearful tears.
Then The Matriss did a thing which altogether surprised her. She began to sing. It was not the Song that August was given to chant but rather one that Aegine had uttered on occasion, to calm the children during their first fearsome nights within Ballacreous. It was the softest lullaby which ebbed away all her fears and plied sleep upon brow. Slowly, she did crawl out from under The Matriss’ bed and place herself upon her long lap, curled as a child or kitten, as The Matriss did sing her sweet song. So, as her eyes drew heavy their curtains, she began to slumber to the sound of song and the giggling of The Matriss’ Pets.
That was the only time that she had shown complete submission to The Matriss. Her will would never yield again so easily.
Though the more than occasional thunderstorms were the least of Catena’s worries.
She also grew uneasy at the amount of new Livie Converts who had been appearing around The City Of Acheron and within The Arena itself. She was afeared of the popularity that the Cult Of The Living God was attracting not only amongst the upper echelons of all the Realms Houses but amongst the common peoples as well. Even more disturbing was the boldness in which they acted towards other Religions, even those protected by their position within The Pantheon. They disregarded all the rules and odes of conduct and blatantly flaunt the Laws and Lores in their own favour, whilst plying their antagonisms against their Others.
In a rare moment of levity, between bouts of what she deemed ‘Religious Carnality’ -as was part of her spiritual practice, The Matriss did enlighten Catena as to how such a thing arose and could take hold of the populace so swiftly.
“Before the Karna Moon, of some seven year past,” The Matriss began, as applied the sacred oils to her flesh. “A great vendetta was played out between two great Houses, who had been feuding since before Time was Time and as all events do flown as a River, so did the blood of both Houses. As endless as the Waters of the great Lake Zurushor was this blood, no House could gain standing over the other. Leaders, both Wicked and Noble, lead their Soldiery to combat to no avail over countless year and thus a stagnant truce was reach the quell nothing but the bleeding.
“Then, some seven years yore, The Duxor Regaloas of House Kia-re’on publically endorsed the Cult of the Living God by swearing his conversion to their growing legions.  Tis not known whether he was genuine in his intentions and beliefs though one thing is truly known, upon his most miraculous of conversions, he gained dominion of the Army of The Living God and a means to secure a greater position within the Senate and a final victory of his Rival House.
“That Day, before the Rising of the Karna Moon, was a slaughter and the Fields of Az’regotha were as a Sea of Red and the River Cos Rheayr was turned to Blood -still that taint poisons those Sacred Waters. With the House of his Enemies definitively vanquished, The Duxor Regaloas gained Mandate over all that was his Rival’s yet laid claim to nothing but their vast wealth and fortunes as well as their fabled Armouries and Stables. What remained was given to Flame. Flesh, Field and Object. The Grand Fortress City burned and none who lived within or without that grand place was left alive. Nothing survived the Fall of the House. Regaloas gained a greater position within the Senate and, as was his promise, The Living God was given endorsement and given a lesser position within the Pantheon of the Omperium.
“Though that was not enough for those Cultist and they begun what was deemed a ‘Crusade of Conversion” against all us Wretched Sinners -who will all commute or cry mercy at their Will. Entire Cities in the Frontiers were either turned or destroyed at the Cultists hand, as well you may know. Many of the Inner Realms were ignorant to such events and were blinded by their propaganda, so they willingly joined their Legions. Thus conquest was made.
“The veterans of those Campaigns were given positions amongst the other Omperium Houses -some say as spies, others say as punishments for disobedience or rewards for service to their Living God. Such is why Cerryis is in my service. A position of power as reward, servant to a Heretic as punishment. So, they wind their influence throughout the Omperium Realms and draw their plans tight.”
Catena was in awe of her Matriss’ tale and so quietly watched and listened, even after all The Matriss’ words had ceased.
Then she heard something that chilled her to her very core, a muttering under The Matriss breath as she blew out the candles, an utterance that summoned so many ghost from her blackened past.
“Even after these Seven Years,” The Matriss muttered, watching candle smoke wither n the air. “All Omperia still mourns the Loss of The Patrice Of Mount Ethonore and that Holy House.”
The mere mentioning of The Patrice Of Mount Ethonore returned to Catena memories of her one time saviour, The Ebon Knight. For he had claimed devotion to the Patrice of House Ethonore and to the Laws of that Realms.
So that is why he never came, she thought. He was already dead.
Even after all these years, in the deepest recesses of her Heart, she still held out hope for her rescue at his hand. It was the only though and feeling that she clung to, besides the Burn of Battle, and now it was snuffed out as if it were one of The Matriss’ scented Candles. All had been slaughtered is what she was told. All given to Flame. Rivers and Fields of Blood. Her most treasured Ebon Knight was sure to be amongst the Legions of the Slain, such was his devotion to his Patrice..
Within, Catena felt something break and a true coldness finally took hold.
It was the last she would ever allow herself to feel. Grief and Regret as her first and last emotions. Others would come fleetingly but she would give them no reign within. Her Heart was her’s and her’s alone. Nothing outside of herself could stir it any long.
From that day, she was even more weary of Cerryis and kept constant vigil on his presence and intentions.
Also, since the passing of that day, she devoted herself with every micron of her being to the Arena and conquest in the names of August, Aegine and The Ebon Knight. They whom had given their all so that she may be of Continuum.

And thus Ennocens Catena stands in The Arena against Ulva Aranae and her greatest battle she had ever faced.
The physical toll of their encounter was nothing compared to the War of Will and Soul in which they were currently engaged. They fought each other with their Spirits as well as their Flesh. Making attacks unseen by all without the Warrior’s Vision and landing blows that the crowd could not comprehend.
Within her Warrior’s Heart, Catena knew that she may not be able to best Ulva. It was not that his skill was greater than her’s but rather his Soul was her better. He put his Liquidous Will behind every move and motion, every guard and attack. Though he was no acting as to best her nor could she sense him merely toying with her, he was guaging her Spirit and touching her Soul in a fashion she had not felt since her days with her Master, August.
She now knew that Ulva was a true devotee of the Pa’wrathe’sa arts and that he had trained long in them than she could even fathom. Maybe since his Coming Of Age, maybe childhood, maybe even from Birth. She could not comprehend, though she did know that this did not make his skills any more superior or comparable to her’s. Her training had been intense and giving with intention to be used to fight and to kill with, where as Ulva had the stance and baring of one that had space and time in which to practice. That it was more a thing of discipline and pursuit to him rather than a thing to be put into practice and application. This is where Catena had advantage and Ulva knew it, which he was so casual in flaunting his knowledge of their shared art. Though he did have intelligence of other styles as well as a mastery of his own mysterious movements, which made him more dangerous than any she had faced before.
Catena knew that she should use the deadliest and most forceful aspects of her arts in order to win a decisive victory over Ulva and ensure her dominance within this Arena.
There were no secret motions or attacks within Pa’wrathe’sa. No all powerful moves passed own from Master to Disciple as a right of passage. Pa’wrathe’sa was all to do with Will and Intention. Even the most gentle of motions could kill if the wielder’s intentions willed it thus. A trip could shatter a body through the force of the knock down, a slap could rupture skulls and a tap could break bones if they were will enough to do so. Catena saw no purpose in killing Ulva btu she knew that he must be incapacitated at any and all costs if she were to win this day.
And she may just have the way to best him.
She had faught him long enough to gauge the extent of his skill and his physicality -the limits of reach and the strength of his hewn limbs and gaunt torso. Every warrior had a pattern and form to which they rigidly clung and Ulva was no different. He liked to keep his distance and play his height and length against her. To use her against herself and play her as a puppet. She knew his stance and his basic movements and would now play him against himself and tangle up all of his long wound strings.
She knew that Ulva felt the same notion as her and moved swiftly against her; plying his own plans as best he could.
Catena knew that Ulva outrageously long limbs were next to useless in close quarters and that he had to rely on prompt movement to see him safe against her. She also knew that he could in no fashion match her pure strength or vicious will and thus used them against her, when he dodged and forced her to follow through and waste energy chasing him about the Arena floor. She knew that the only way to get him was directly and, thus her plans being made, set herself into motion.
She struck forward with a straight right handed punch, causing Ulva to fling his legs backwards so that he could duck underneath her blow. She then swiftly stomped down with her right heel, making him cast his torso around and swing his legs upwards to strike her beneath her dainty chin. She leant her head back to avoid his blow and waited for him to flip his body back onto its feet in order to follow through with his failed attack.
That is when she played her final gambit against him.
As soon as he had flipped his feet backwards and brought his body upright with a Raising Palm Strike, Catena stepped forward into him, knocking his blow away with her right arm, and struck him fair in the stomach with her right palm.
She made no hesitation in following through and, with the same motion, raised her hand into his spongy chest before aiming a strike straight for his chin. Ulva still had enough wits about him to attempt to move his head, so, without thought, she curled her fingers and grasped his thin throat. His powerful fingers clasp the manacle about her wrist and struggled to hold her. She did grasp him with her other hand and he did lay his fingers upon her wrist once again. Her notion that her hold was stronger than his proved true and she began to ply her superior strength upon him, throttling the very essence from out his lithe and limber frame. Though he did have same resistance left within him and struggled valiantly against her might.
He attempted to kick her with his long legs but Catena held him to close and solid for them to be any use against her ample and balanced frame. Everytime he would attempt to strike at her face with his lengthy fingers, she would squeeze tighter and swing him around in order to shake loose his undissolved Will. He landed solid blows on her ribs but she let her dominance prevail and held strong her Flesh against them. Every time he moved, she would move him, until her feet did stand upon a wooden hatch buried beneath the sand of the Arena floor. It was a trapdoor used by the slaves to move the bodies of the dead and vanquished from out the Arena quickly and without causing distraction to Nobility who did watch these spectacles. He made a final motion to kick her taut stomach with both his legs but as soon as he had raised them, she did raise him and sought to bring him down to the Arena Floor as harsh and as fast as he could.
In that instance, as he hung between Heaven and Earth and the Will of Gravity worked its Way, did Ulva cease his endless song and finally open his eyes to Catena.
She gasped as she did feel their gaze upon her and, had not thing already been put so acerbically into motion, she would have let him go.
He had her Father’s Eyes!
Black orbs and red irises. Blacker than any Night or the Deepest Depths of Earth, Red as if drawn with the Richest Blood and most Potent Wine. They gazed upon her with such love and grace she felt as though she had been stripped back to the Age of a Child and the World was still a Place of True Innocence.
Over the rushing of the air she could hear the words of the Past as they parted from his cracked lips: “‘Keillasorta mesqua besq’. I promised that I would come for you.”
Then all went black, as the splintering of the trapdoor filled her deafened ears and they descended deep into the pit below.

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

Three years before, four years since Her condemnment to Ballacreous and near Her Eighteenth birthday, there was a cave-in at the end of a new Mineshaft, trapping August and the other seasoned slaves in one of the deepest pits of the Mine. She was lucky in the fact that she had been forced to take a cart to the pile when the cave in happened. As soon as She heard the rumble of stone and the murmuring of the Earth, she dashed back as fast as her bound flesh would allow. A solid wall of rock and dust meet her as she entered the passage in which they had been working. There was a deathly silence in the blocked tunnel, not a sound could be heard besides Her sharp and laboured breathing. As Her Heart and breath stilled, another sound, as soft as the quietest sigh, filtered through the stone.
A song.
August’s song!
With a fury and fever She believed not her own, She flew at the rock and began to tear at the loose wall with her bare hands, throwing earth and stone behind her as she dug forward, towards the flickering sound of song. She tried Her hardest to reach him but, by the time She had dug through the rock and stone with Her hands, August’s life had all but withered away. Her fingers were torn and the skin shredded well-nigh to the bone, though She had no care or concern for such things, as Her broken appendages traced Her Master’s shattered features. Loosing a wrenching cry from Her young, torn breast.
“Remember. . .” he wheezed, the blood spilling down his chin. “Remember all that I taught you. Be strong and be True. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” She sobbed. “I will do that.”
“Now, do me one last thing, Child,” he said, as he brushed his giant hand against her cheeks, stained with blood, dirt and tears.
“Anything, Master,” She sobbed.
“Sing for me,” he said. “Sing me my song. The Song Of The Dead.”
At his words, She let loose unearthly sob, but held Herself and began to utter the Song that enveloped and given strength to Her life for the past four years. She sang it as he would have, as he did teach Her. Every note and every pitch. In the unyielding dark of that Deep Earth, Her song resounded and he felt his very last.
And with that promise kept, he smiled his last and let his hand slip from off Her face.
There was no burial or memorial for him or the other’s who lost their lives. The Overseers merely sealed the tunnel and marked the lost of production as the only price to pay with their passing.
And thus, She was alone in the World again.
The other workers all saw Her as the Heir to August and treated Her with the same cautious respected that they had given him but She would not be consoled by such things and threw Herself into the brutality of Her existence. She began to fight more often and more violently. Not even Aegine’s broken words could reach Her, but the Iron Woman’s body was now ravaged by ages and the burdens of Ballacreous, losing Aegine the prestige and glory that she once possessed. She fought so often that She gained the attention of some Overseers who saw profit in Her violence and placed Her to battle other workers and slaves in their own private Arena. Of course, She won ever match She was in and gained much notoriety about the Senatorial Lands, as the Arena’s reputation grew amongst those amongst the Elite who sought thrills of life. Nobles from over all the Senatory Realms would come to see the battle and She was a major attraction and cash crop. She had also come under the attentions of the Matriss Acheron, who desired Her for her own combative stable and the distinction of owning such a fighter.
And so She was freed from the prison of Ballacreous without any sense of release or redemption but with the subtle exchange of coins and hushed contracts. She rode for days, locked within a small steel cage, under the constant watch of a man wearing what She knew to be a Slavers’ Mask -fashioned in the shape of a bird to mark which guild he did belong to. She had seen many of them whenever She did venture out of the Mines. The Livies had expanded so much in their scopes and ambitions that they know required fresh works and this meant a consistent flow of Slavers’ into Ballacreous peddling their wares. Though She did note that this Slaver was very much unlike the others She had seen, in the fact that the eyes of the mask were sealed with the same fixings as formed The Miners’ Eyes, hiding away his orbs from Her. He was also small and wiry, very much befitting the bird-like qualities of his mask. He spoke little to Her or the Warders -the Matriss’ own Soldiers- who crowded the edge of the wagon, or even to the Driver, who also wore the Bird Mask of The Slavers’ Guild, though he did tend fairly to Her. Ensuring that She was always with water or nourishment and could relieve Herself of their burden freely. He was always at Her side and this made Her feel most uncomfortable indeed.
The days under his ceaseless and hidden gaze seemed unending, until they reached the City of Acheron, which would become her new Prison, and into the House of the Matriss. She was commanded into the Matriss’ chamber, a luxurious apartment filled with all forms of extravagance and lined with a flowing watercourse. She had never seen such excess in all her life.
The Matriss herself lounge on a long single person couch in the centre of the room. She was casually inspecting a bunch of grapes as She was brought before her. She noted that the Matriss always seemed to have an expression of child like wonderment whenever she inspected anything. Only the objects she examined existed in her World, until something of more interest filtered through her senses.
And, right now, She was of far more interest.
The Matriss cast the grapes over her shoulder as soon as she saw Her and flipped her legs over the edge of her couch, righting her body. She drew her Green Shawl, the outward symbol of her religion, tighter over her pale, supple shoulders and flicked a side of her ravened hair back with her thin fingers.
She then noticed that two striplings that were at her feet, who sat up when The Matriss moved to stand. A boy and girl of close appearance -definitely brother and sister and most likely twins as well. She had seen a few twin-born during Her captivity and easily recognised the similarities in their Frontier Sand coloured hair and eyes. They were dressed in identical green toga and had thick collars encasing their delicate, avian necks. Theses two were fashioned to be the same and interchangeable. Forever made to be androgynous children. Upon their thin faces they had the expression of lazy, insolent pets as they gazed upon Her, fawning over their Matriss’ dainty ankles. She despised them both immediately and hoped that their’s was not to be Her Fate.
She cared not for the appearance of the others in the room, for She knew none had Her Father’s eyes or Her Mother’s grace.
Again, she was alone.
“So, this is the Fighting Girl from Ballacreous?” The Matriss asked, as she stood with a swaying of thin her hips, brushing aside her Little Pets.
“Indeed, my Matriss,” the Slaver answered, in obsequious tones. “Just as you requested.”
“Thank you, Slaver,” The Matriss said, noticing the little man for the first time, she had the expression that she had found him attached to the bottom of her slippers. “You have done well in serving my will. Your reward awaits you by the gates. You may take your leave of me now.”
“Thank you, my Matriss,” he said, with a low bow, scraping his wide brim hat on the marble floor. “May the Gods of Trade keep fair watch over you.”
He made a little sign with his hand and The Matriss dismissed him with a sharp hiss and flick of her hand.
Then she turned her attentions back on Her and said: “Bring the girl hither!”
She was pushed closer towards The Matriss and then knocked to Her knees, so that She was kowtowed before her. She was forced to look up and acknowledge Her new position, though it felt very similar to the one she had left behind in Ballacreous. She noticed that The Matriss was surprisingly tall, for a woman. Her limbs were long and lithesome but She could feel, within Her Warrior’s Heart, that they were edged with might. Her skin was also white; a clean white that She had never seen before in her entire life. A pristine pale that could not exist in the Deserts of the Frontier Lands or the filthy mines of her former prison home. She also noted that The Matriss’ eyes were uncommonly large and a sparkling green -as if they were polished gems.
“What is your name, Child?” The Matriss asked, in a softly commanding voice.
She did not answer. She merely stared down at The Matriss’ Pets, as they crawled towards her, rattling their chains to hide their sniggering.
She was then struck on the back by the blunt end of a rod, contorting her thick flesh with it’s sudden brutality. This only made The Pets snigger even more, as they hide their jackal faces behind their Matriss’ thin legs.
“Answer your Matriss when She speaks to you, Purshuela!” growled a harsh and violent voice from Her side. He spat the ancient word for slave, ‘Purshuela’, from his lipless mouth as if it were the bitterest poison.
She stared up into to the cruel and carved face of a Matrissial Soldier, lined by many years and many battles. He was missing right eye, its absence was marked by a small square of cloth.  On his golden wristbands were the markings of a Duxia -the chief of guards. He wore a pristine white toga and around his stout neck was an token that She despised above all others. It was a pair of golden hands, cupped together, clutching a golden sphere within their hollowed palms. It was the symbol of the Children of the Living God and it represented everything that she loathed and resented in all Existence. He was a Livie and forever Her enemy, no matter what transpired here and now, She vowed that She would always hate him and She would vex his very existence until the very End of Days.
“Speak, Dog!” he screamed , striking Her again.
She took his blow as August had taught Her to and then She gave this Cultist a look of all the purest malice that She could muster, but She did not give him the pleasure of a reply.
“Halt, Cerryis!” The Matriss ordered, in that soft, supply voice of her. “Has it occurred to your idle mind that maybe she does not have a name or even possess the powers of speech as we do? Hhmmm?”
The Livie, Cerryis, straightened himself in regimental fashion and made his flesh a statue.
“I thought not,” The Matriss said, with an impatient sigh.
Cerryis held his Soldiery stance and tried to give as little as himself away, but She could see that he, deep down, despised taking orders from The Matriss but was unwilling to incur what may be her considerable wrath.
“As for you,” The Matriss said, turning her attentions back to Her. “We shall find a name for you in due time, though for now: unbind her!”
Cerryis and another Matrissial Soldier moved to remove Her yoke and manacles, but She fought as best She could against such actions. Lashing out with Her bound wrists at anyone who would dare approach Her. Cerryis attempted to strike Her again with the butt of his rod, but She entangled its shaft within Her chains and wrested it from his thick hands. He raised his arm into the air, as if to knock Her about Her head, when The Matriss stepped in and struck him first. Slapping him hard across his carven features, raising little giggles from the mouths of her Little Pets.
“How dare you bring violence within these walls!” she shrieked, all harmony lost from her voice. “Her life is worth more than your’s at this moment of Existence and shall be worth far more hence. If you ever lay but a hand upon her, Cerryis, your mortality is forfeit and your ragged remains shall be cast before The Dogs and Beggars ere it become but Dust!”
Cerryis had a look of murder in his small, crystalline eye though he did check his temper and yield to The Matriss’ impressive will. He stepped back and took what appeared to be his ritual position by the wall, between The Matriss and the entrance.
“Cala! Craemyn!” she ordered, causing her Pets to cast aside their chains and stand.
They were both tiny, barely raising up to the height of The Matriss’ shoulders, and their limbs were so scrawny that She was sure that She could easily crush them, if She had to, with but two fingers. Though Her inner sense, honed by so many years of being binded by Darkness and Danger, warned Her against such action and to be wary of these two creatures -Cala and Craemyn- even though She did not know which was which or if it even matter so.
“Take her to the Balneumys,” The Matriss ordered, casually stroking the hair of the girl and caressing the shoulder of the boy. “I shall be along presently.”
And so, She was led through corridor after corridor by the Twins, Cala and Craemyn. Her blue eyes filled with a restrained awe as they looked upon sights that She never would dare dream into existence.
It was clean.
Everything was clean!
Cleanliness unlike any She had ever witnessed in her relatively short life.
And the colours!
Colours that She could not give name to -so many shades and patterns- flittered past Her vision and filled Her with a new and strange sensation. Some would call it a ‘Sense of Wonder’, though She would not, for She did not have such words or luxuries within Her direct and pragmatical mind. Though still, She looked and bore witness to sights and extravagance the likes of which boggled Her much restrained Soul, until She was brought into a room which did loose a gasp from Her tight and stubborn throat.
A pool of water, so vast that it seemed to engulf the entirety of the room’s sunken floor and lapped wantonly at it’s pristine edges. She never knew so much water existed in the entire World, let alone in a single place. Not even when Aegine’s Sky Goddess did weep could it even match the sheer volume of this Pool. To Her, it was the purest forms of extravagance and excess combined within a single form. It was all symbolised by a vast column of water was cast into the air from out the upturned mouth of a creature that She could neither name nor fathom; it’s long scaled wrapped tightly around the white stone pillar raising from out the very centre of the Pool. It was scaled not unlike a snake but it’s shape was far from reptilian. It had a small fan attached underneath what She guessed was it’s head and She hazard to hypotheses that it would have another matching fan on it’s far side. It’s eyes were round and bulging and gazed toward the distant domed ceiling but it appeared as though were focused on a thing tangible yet Divine and distant.
Such a foreign and fantastic sight stirred something long dormant within Her and ushered the sound, the breath of word, “Amazing!” from the depth of Her very being. The first noise She had utter since the death of her Master, August, some months previous.
“So,” came the soft voice of The Matriss from behind her. “You do have a tongue within that pretty head of your’s. It shall be interesting to hear it speak your life and existence to me later.”
She did not reply. She merely hung Her head, as She was taught to avoid an Overseers gaze. The Matriss observed this, though she made no comment upon it. She merely took Her avoidance as submission and smiled upon Her. Wicked thoughts and schemes playing their way behind her eyes.
“Strip,” The Matriss ordered.
She gave The Matriss a questioning look and expected to be beaten for it, for She testing Her limits with this strange and seemingly powerful, woman. Though She was not struck for such insolence. The Matriss merely smiled at Her and, with a raised eyebrow, said: “You are to be cleansed of the filth of your former home, Ballacreous, and made fit for living within my Palace. To do so, you must first shed your habiliment and wash your flesh within these waters.”
In commandment, She dropped Her head and unbound the thick robes in which She was encased since She was dragged out of the Mines and thrown upon the prison-cart which brought Her to The City of Acheron and this wondrous water-filled room. The dust of long miles fell from Her flesh as she untethered the robe’s thick cords, forming repugnant clouds within the air before dissipating as if they were banished ghosts. The Twins both made the same disgusted expression but The Matriss merely stared at Her as if She was the most fascinating creature in all of existence. Her giant green eyes seemed to lull over the solid curve and cut of Her neck and shoulders as She peeled the stick cloth from Her muscled flesh. The Matriss’ assembled guards, and even the Twin, Cala and Craemyn, gave a communal gasp as She fully disrobed and revealed Her toned and taut body. She stood there in the Balneumys as if She were one of the statues on the walls had come to life. She appeared to those who stared up Her naked and filthy flesh as she had been carved from stone and not born of skin. She was still relatively slender though every curve and corner of Her body was clustered with corded muscle, forged and formed from so many years of slavish labours in conditions designed to break you -mind, body, Soul.
She had never been conscious or even self-conscious of Her body. To Her, such muscles were and had always been normal and nakedness was nothing to be ashamed of, having been forced to bath communally for so many years. She knew that She was more muscular than many of the other Miners at Ballacreous and no woman She had ever known could match Her size or definition, but She had no clue as to how different She truly was when compared with the pampered and lazy people of the Inner Territories and especially within the Senatorial Houses. She was even larger, in terms of pure muscle and strength, than Cerryis, whom appeared to be the largest of The Matrissial Guards. She could feel all of their gazes, stained with awe and wonderment if not some lust and desire, and, despite Her own pride and conviction, raised Her manacled arms to cover Her shame. She was simply glad that Her back and it’s scornful markings were shown only to the Column Statue behind and that no others, especially the Livie Guard, Cerryis, could see them.
At this odd and marked behaviour, The Matriss gave a opprobrious laugh and scoffed the words: “Still so innocent?! What amusement you do bring.”
The Matriss’ giant eyes slowly dallied over ever ridge and rise of Her flesh, until they fall upon Her yoke collar and the binds upon her wrists.
“Remove them,” she ordered, as she raised her head with a flickering of her ravened hair.
She did not compile, She merely drew her chains closer to her bare flesh. Wrapping them around her thick forearms and drawing it hard against her taut and ridged belly. She knew this was the purest act of defiance She could make in such a situation, but there was no way She would allow Herself to become part of this decadent world and be stripped of the last things She knew here truly Her’s.
Her bonds -physical and metephysical- to Her anechoic Master, August, and the lessons that She had been taught deep under Earth.
The Matriss stared down into Her azure eyes and it was at this moment She realised how tall and powerful The Matriss truly was. She could feel the will of this woman blasting through Her Soul as if it were Fires of the Earth itself welling up within the Mines of Ballacreous. She forced Herself to resist this power with all Her essence, even though it did feel as if Her very spirit was in torment. She held Herself fast against The Matriss and, in the end, it was The Matriss who did first look away and say: “Have it your way, Child. Forever remained bound if you so privatied.”
The Twins laugh at this and the girl-twin said: “Forever bound!”, with her brother mocking the words: “Forever innocent!”, both they both echoed: “Forever Innocent! Forever Bound!”.
At the baying of her Pets, The Matriss smiled and muttered: “And that is what she shall be”.
She wondered what The Matriss had meant by this enigmatic quip, but before She could ponder it further, The Matriss clapped her hands together and called: “Handmaidens! Attend me!”.
She was shocked to see a dozen young girls step from out hidden cloisters, behind the many columns and pillars that this room did have. They looked nearly identical, but out of fashioning rather than out of birth or blood. They were all of the same smallish stature, hair ravened and cut in form of The Matriss’ own and all adorned in white muslin dresses, fastened to their tiny waists by golden cords. They all curtsied to their Matriss and asked, as if with one voice: “What be thy command, dear Matriss?”
“Fetch me bathing salts and aromatic oils,” she enjoined, her voice raised with authority. “As well as the Auransha silk. We must make our latest acquisition look beautiful, do we not?”
The identical Handmaidens all curtsied again and took their leave, flittering as if they were tiny white butterflies rather than girls. She was surprised at how fast they had returned, all carrying what they were charged to fetch: baskets of course grainy crystals and bottled of oils -both pale and dark.
“Into the water,” The Matriss ordered Her, as she unfastened a purple cord around her long and slender throat.
She knew it would be fundamental suicide if She disobeyed The Matriss’ commands any further, so She stepped backwards, placing Her small foot onto the raised edge of the Pool. Holding a mental picture of what the room looked like as She had seen it when She had first entered, She trod reverse-wise into the water. It felt tepid around Her dainty ankles but it still felt better than the Bathing Chamber back at Ballacreous – already was She grateful for Her removal from that Nightmarish place. When She felt the water about her slender waist, She pushed back off Her feet until She felt solid flesh crash against the Column in the centre of the Pool. She was very much thankful that August had the good mind to teach her the most basics of the art of swimming in the small but deep pools at the depths of the Mines, for had he not, She felt that She would be at the utter mercies of her new captors.
She hide within the spray that the Fountain Creature spewed forth and stared at the water that gulfed Her and the others in the Balneumys -The Matriss, her Twin Pets, Guards and Handmaidens.
The crystalline water had become polluted in Her wake. Transforming from the clearest clean to a mottled grey and brown as all the filthy that was Ballacreous peeled from off Her flesh by the freshness of the Pool. She marvelled as Her skin went from dark brown to a soft pinkish-white as entire clods of dirt and grime peeled off Her body. She thanked the all Goddess that Her chains and binds were fashioned to be proofed against rust and water, as She held Her small hands under the water and rubbed her coarse palms together. Amazed at the texture of Her own skin.
In Her wonderment, She did not hear another body enter the Pool and was shocked when a soft pair of hands reached through the water and stroked Her thick shoulders. She spun around to see The Matriss before Her, naked except for her Green Shawl, that was drawn tightly across her back. In this moment, She realised how truly tall The Matriss was, as the top of Her head barely reached the nape of her slender, avian neck, as she was forced to stared into her small yet proud breasts. She also realised how long The Matriss’ reach was, as She felt her outstretched arm brush back her bemired hair. She was no stranger to the desire of others or the consequences of when such desires are enacted -no matter the gender or natural orientation of the enacter. She fought the instinct to draw Herself back into the stream of the Fountain and fight back against The Matriss in this aqua-environment, but She could not sense any sense of lust or desire with her actions and thus acquiesced to The Matriss will.
“Turn around, Child,” The Matriss commanded softly.
Afeared, She did comply, even though She knew would expose Her long guarded secret. She knew that She was now within The Matriss’ power and must give into Her commands whenever it meant travelling the easier path of least noticeable resistance, as was the way Aegine and August had taught her. In this moment, Her life was forfeit to Fate, as it had been so many years before, in that horrid Frontier Town.
Though the screams of horror and hysteria did not come as She had anticipated. The Matriss, for her part, merely looked at Her winged markings as if they were curious pieces of art and brushed her slender fingers down her back without so much as a murmur.
It was the Livie Soldier, Cerryis, that was brought to motion.
As he screamed out a phrase that She knew to be sacred Livie cursed and She knew why it was uttered. It was the very same one that had been laden upon Her five years previous -the word: ‘Evasor’. He screamed this as well as a torrent of other obscenities that were cast upon Her brutalised flesh when She was still trapped within the confines of Ballacreous, though none there ever discovered Her identity of this so-called Evasor. But She could see that Cerryis was both infuriated and terrified by this revelation, as he reached for his short sickle-shaped blade and prepared to dive into the Pool in order to finish the deed begun five years previous by the Zelta,  Hectorus.
’Twas the Matriss whom saved Her though, as she placed her slender body before Her’s and gave a wrathful cry: “Cerryis Albieta Seuvestris! Have you taken leave of your faulted senses?! Have you forgotten the Cardinal Commandment of The House Of Acheron?! Thou must not harm the property of The House less your own existence be forfeit and life be given to The House as payment for the damage and insult done?!”
This seemed to stay Cerryis’ gnarled hand, as he stepped back and sheathed his blade once again.
“She is my property, dear Cerryis, do not forget that fact.” The Matriss continued, as she waded over to the Pool’s pristine edge. “And if any -and I do mean any- harm befalls her whilst she is without the Arena, it shall be visited upon your head, Duxia. No matter the cause or effect, you shall be made to pay for it as the Law of The Acheron and The Senate sets forth.”
She held out her long, lithesome arms, prompting her Twin Pets to hoist her from out the water and drape a robe across her supple frame. She gave Cerryis a look as murderous as his own and continued: “I have tolerated your pathetic religious practises within my House only because your Patron, Senator Incgarisaye, himself gave you to me as a reward for your service in so many battles for your Order. And even though your little Cult may have found acceptance within the Pantheon, it shall have none within this House. So make your little ceremonies and follow your wretched superstitions whilst you can, for your Cult shall go the Way of all others and fall out of favour with the Senatory wives and minor Houses vying for power. So remember, whilst you serve me -for whatever reasons- The House Of Acheron and Its Matriss come first and your religion comes former. Is that understood, Duxia?”
Grudgingly, Cerryis bowed to her and her iron will, though She could see the sanguinary gaze that he held in his small surviving eye. She had seen that expression far too many times not to know its meaning. He wished The Matriss’ demise more than even he desired Her own, though he was held in check by Law and Protocol, he still gave his wants free reign upon his twisted face.
Either The Matriss did not notice them or merely ignored them, for she gave him her sweet smile and said: “As long as that is understood.”
Then she yawned and said: “All this now bores me. I shall retire to my Chambers for the evening. Please ensure that my latest acquisition is clean, fed and housed properly for the night. For she has a big debut to attend tomorrow.”
And with that, The Matriss smiled at Her and took her leave. Two handmaidens climbed into the Pool and continued to clean Her. She was a little wary of such an activity and attention but was thankful that they still remained clothed as they attended Her. They were so thorough in their cleaning that She thought that they were going to scrub Her skin clean from off her bones. They also worked their tiny fingers so deeply into Her sordid hair that She was afeared they were attempting to tear it all out by its roots and She wished to brake their thin, fragile necks as She watched the blackened water drip from Her fringe -thinking it was Her own blood. They massage oils and potions into Her skin and scalp, to help cleanse them further, dissolving all the dirt, filth and grime of Ballacreous from Her body so it was as though She had never been there and the past four years had been but a horrible nightmare.

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