[b]Marianne![/b]

“Animal!” The spoiled tyrant spits out, struggling to sit up under the weight of her ornaments, her decorations, each one shaped and beaten and burnished by the hands of slaves.

(When did this all start? Were they ever innocent, once, like Tamytha, or did their “gods” spit them out into existence fully formed and cruel? When did these self-proclaimed gods reach out to the stars in order to strip them to the bone?)

“Don’t [i]touch[/i] me,” she hisses, more bestial than you. Her eyes are burning with indignant terror and the desire to rake her nails across your skin. “I will see you [i]muzzled[/i] and brought to heel for the glory of the goddess! Submit and spare yourself the [i]rod[/i]!”

([i]crack, crack, crack.[/i] “This one... nnngh! This unworthy one...” [i]crack, crack, crack.[/i] “Stop, please, [i]please,[/i] she’s sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again...” [i]crack, crack, crack.[/i])

“Our Lady is inexorable! The whip and the lash and the leash and the bowl are her tools! She tames the wild brute and brings forth rich fruit from its loins!” She crumples back onto her elbows, losing the battle against the weight of her own hair. “[i]Bow before the blessed one of Ishtar,”[/i]” she screams at you, lips flecked with spittle.

And underneath that scream is an unspoken whisper: [i]I am frightened, and I should not be. This is not the way the world works. You have made the world wrong and I hate you for disrupting my perfect, pampered world. How dare you.[/i]

***

[b]Canada![/b]

You feel more than see the eyes of the ostensible gladiator behind you. He (scratch that, we don’t know their pronouns, let’s use they)— they are torn up inside. And why wouldn’t they be? The Great Betrayer is saving them from a Lioness. A war goes on inside them: do I attack her from behind? No, that’s stupid, she’s saving my life. What, are you stupid? She’s going to kill the animal and then kill you, you need to strike her down, do it.

Then the Lioness snaps its jaws inches from your face, you make a less than dignified throttled squeak, and that’s when the kid makes up their mind and steps by your side, prodding it back with their saber. They glance at you (their eyes are brown and soft) and in that moment, the Great Betrayer is offered trust again.

Then everything goes [i]wrong.[/i] The world refracts into sharp angles. Perspective warps and yawns; you can’t tell whether the Lioness is a mile away or close enough to kiss. The elements of your body decohere. You send a missive to your eyes to close to stop some of the dizzying input.

So, you’re in a lot of trouble. You’ve handled Asterion’s [i]Labyrinth Green[/i] before in training, but this is different than usual: unstable, unrestrained, and incoherent. The only silver lining is that the Lioness, immeasurably distant, has (from the sounds broadcast directly into your ear) curled up into a ball and is making distressed, agonized yowls. And, in your other ear, you can hear the ragged breath of the monster who walks the Labyrinth, and she’s pissed at you.

[i]Put yourself between her and everyone else,[/i] your Savior commands. [i]Let her fists hit you over and over again until she runs out of fists. It’s what you deserve. You failed, and now the only way to redeem yourself is to let Asterion beat the stuffing out of you. Then everyone will understand you didn’t betray them on purpose. And even if they don’t forgive you, you got punched for them. That’s what counts.[/i]

[i]No,[/i] Mundane sighs. [i]Asterion has never, ever been so lost in that maze that you couldn’t help her out of it. Sure, the head injury looked really, really bad. Sure, you were certain she was dead when she went limp like that and the charioteer stepped on her spine and ground her heel down. But if you tell Asterion your true feelings about her, love will save the day. You don’t need to get punched any more.[/i]

[i]Fragmentation of self is a common reported side effect of exposure to Asterion’s LABYRINTH GREEN,[/i] your Superior mumbles from the closet she’s been shoved inside deep in your prefrontal cortex. [i]Just don’t listen to Savior.[/I]

[i]PUNCH HER BEFORE SHE PUNCHES YOU,[/i] Danger yells.

***

[b]Set![/b]

The Lynx walks in like she knew you were in there all along, rod extended and held at a deceptively casual angle. Her top is made of two bands of interlaced leather strips crossing over her breastbone in an X; a delicate mesh hangs down beneath it, so fine as to be almost invisible, connecting at its lower edge to a girdle and a loincloth which reaches down to her knees. A similar, more tightly woven mesh serves as detached sleeves and leggings, down to the rings on her fingers and toes.

You know better than to strike that mesh; it’s reactive. Good way to knock yourself out, or blast yourself through a wall. See that slight shiver running through the translucent fabric? It’s been activated.

Her veil is a short thing with a magnetically weighted lower hem, for staying in place no matter the circumstances; the matching magnets are in her ornate collar. Her fur is fine, silky yellow, and patterned in long white stripes, with a spattering of dark spots along her throat.

When she sees you, her eyes narrow in that excited, focused way the Lynxes have. There was something she was going to say, but she drops it in favor of falling onto all fours and charging. You drop through a portal, emerging behind her, and— whoa look out that nearly slammed into your skull, the head of the rod blurring past your own head as she effortlessly redirects herself.

You can try to keep her busy, but that’s a dangerous game she’s likely to escalate hard. You can try to fight her properly, but if you shoot her in the mesh it’s coming right back at you with interest, and she’ll be happy to follow it up by slamming that spinning rod into the side of your face. Or you can *blip* away, but if you’re not fast, she just might be through the portal you leave behind before you can close it.

But you definitely have 100% of her attention. The problem is that this means she’s 100% into this fight, and the moment you make the wrong move, she’ll pounce and refuse to give you room to breathe.