Zoe had, thus far, survived murderous cultists, hazardous architecture, snow, aggressive wildlife, and lastly, the looming threat of a Demon-hunting Inquisition. None of it could compare to the terror that gripped Zoe in the face of her latest mortal enemy—the maids.
Her first mistake was allowing them entrance to the guest house. Her second mistake was trying to run away upon realizing the full scope and nature of their intentions. That had resulted in her being chased, surrounded, and dragged away to the cruel dungeon in which she now found herself. If she had elected to remain in her own quarters, they would have had to make do with only the torturous instruments they could carry—and not the full array of their dreadful and extensive stock.
Who knew that the fashion industry of this world had evolved far enough to rival the advanced cosmetics arms race still unfolding back on modern-day Earth?
“This wouldn’t take so long if you’d just hold still.”
Zoe twitched her head a little just to be spiteful. By itself, the movement was slight. But her horns were long, so the slight rotation translated into a significant displacement. It helped that her horns were what they were working on now.
“Eep!” The little yelp of the girl busy working on them made it worth it.
“Quit moving. The faster she finishes up on your horns the sooner this is over.”
Zoe leveled the head-maid—or whoever the oldest woman with them was—with a cold glare. “They’re antennae,” she spat, taking a page right out of Lilith’s book.
“Yes, of course they are, dear. Now please sit still, we’re almost finished.”
Zoe glowered. Fine. She would tolerate the next few minutes—if only so she had less time before she could get started on her revenge. A haunting fear suggested that she wouldn’t be seeing the last of these wicked tormentors—but they wouldn’t be seeing the last of her either.
“I think that’s how it usually works, yes.”
Zoe’s glare pivoted onto Lilith. The smug apparition was lounging in a chair across the room, completely free from the ministrations of villainous attendants or that deranged stylist. You know very well what I meant by that. It’s about the spirit, not the literal meaning.
If Zoe were honest, the last part—where they attended to her claw-hands, scaly forearms, and antennae should have been welcome. It was all designed to let her walk around freely without relying on maintaining lesser disguise. Being a Demon was no good—but Demons were hardly the only kind of monsters. Lilith started explaining how normal Humans could sometimes develop a monster core and start on all kinds of different evolutionary paths.
Zoe was confused at first, until her Demonic encyclopedia went on to point out how monsters were magically mutated plants or animals, and Humans were just an especially smart kind of animal.
That being said—based on what she’d picked up from both Lilith and the maids, Human monsters weren’t broadly liked or even treated equally. Forming a core was avoided, and it didn’t make you more powerful, as it precluded your ability to gain skills and classes. As a higher Demon, Zoe was now the one known kind of creature to get the benefits of both—which she’d therefore have to conceal while pretending to be any kind of monster other than a Demon.
And, to top it all off, the formation of a physical core and accompanying transformation into a monster was universally avoided in all ‘civilized’ societies.
Zoe had a suspicion that the real reason for this alleged statistic was that any societies which didn’t adhere to that practice were excluded from the list of those deemed ‘civilized.’ But either way it did nothing to help her.
The solution? Put this clay-like substance all over the more monstrous parts of her body, sculpt it a little, and then paint. The idea was to make it look like real horns and not the arcane antennae of a Demon. They also stuck fur all on the back of her hands and forearms.
Zoe would have said it was totally stupid. In fact, she did. Her opinion on the efficacy of the technique changed as things progressed. Before her eyes, the shitty smear of clay experienced a sudden transformation into a disguise so convincing it even looked real to Zoe herself.
“Like it?”
Zoe’s attention returned to the maid finishing up the touches of paint to her left palm. “I… it’s impressive, I’ll admit.”
She got a wry smile in return. “We do have our talents, you’ll come to find.”
Yeah, yeah. Monster cosmetics was one thing. Zoe wouldn’t expect anyone to guess that the estate maid staff were entirely capable of wrangling a kicking and flailing Demon into a medieval salon chair. Yes—when she said they’d dragged her, she meant that in the most literal sense.
An involuntary shudder passed through her upon recalling the wild eyes and twitching fingers of that devilish stylist.
‘You don’t just have to look convincing,’ another of their number had admonished her, ‘you must also look presentable.’ Zoe groaned. Multiple promises within the past five minutes assured her that this was the very last part of their session—for today. After that, she’d be meeting with that Rank B adventurer Lady Victor told her about earlier.
Zoe sighed. Despite all that sketchy stuff Lady Victor said about him… after two hours of this, there’s no way he can do anything to make this day worse.
_____
Frustrated, exhausted, and looking far prettier than she had before, Zoe stumbled through the front door of her guest house. She had but a few minutes before the adventurer guy was supposed to arrive. She intended to use them to relax and compose herself. It had to say something that she felt a need to get herself in a state where she could receive someone—after enduring close to three hours of cleaning, cutting, styling, sculpting, and assorted painting. I swear I felt more refreshed after killing and eating a bloodthirsty rabbit monster.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
It turned out that the guy she was supposed to be waiting for was already there. In her house. She realized this when she saw him leaning against the kitchen counter, examining a giant cleaver. She also realized she already knew him.
Your encyclopedia has been updated!
Strikingly Handsome Cult Leader -> Basil Von Blodmane
[BASIL VON BLODMANE]
Level <unknown> | Rank B
A strikingly handsome cult leader, adventurer, and Human—despite his recent and ritual efforts.
-Strengths-
> Anything you can do,
> but better
-Weaknesses-
> Getting his work stolen by a Rank F moron
> Facing enemies who can fly away really fast while above ground
<unidentified>
Properly identify this target to gain more information. Alternatively, continue to collect more information through alternative means.
I think I should run.
“I suggest you don’t attempt to run,” he drawled, eyes never leaving the cleaver.
Zoe ran.
She was not operating under the illusion that she had any chance of escaping him. She couldn’t outrun him, hiding wasn’t likely to work even if he hadn’t already been waiting for her, and trying to fight him would be comedic at best. No, Zoe’s strategy here was to get outside and hope there were enough witnesses around to dissuade him from carrying through.
She never made it to the door.
Zoe slammed to the ground as something slapped across her backside. She rolled sideways—only for the same something to coil around her legs and hoist her upwards to hang like an indignant plucked chicken.
Oh, I think this is the same skill I got my blood whip from. It wasn’t remotely comparable to blood whip, though. Zoe’s handy-dandy all-in-one weapon, lasso, and grappling hook might look impressive—unless you’d already seen this guy’s evolved version.
It wasn’t even originating from his body this time—the thick strands of crimson-stained shadow tethered her to the ceiling, the floor, and three different walls in a chaotic web of magical bindings. Seeing no chance of bodily escaping this, Zoe swallowed her dignity—and screamed.
Basil’s reaction was fast—but not fast to prevent her from releasing what sounded more like a startled yelp. Then she could do little but wriggle and spit into the gag of magic wrapped over her mouth.
The cultist approached. He set down the cleaver, which was good—up until he conjured a jagged blade of blackened, crystallized blood in its place. Is this the part where I die?
“This,” he said, his voice soft, “is where you beg my forgiveness.”
Ah. That was worse in terms of principles—and better in terms of not dying. He does realize I can’t exactly do that with this gag though, right? Zoe’s eyes widened. Wait, is this one of those things where that’s the point and then he kills me anyway because—
The blade came down diagonally across her chest in one fluid motion. It both severed the bindings and tore a gaping gash through her clothing—and also her skin. Zoe plummeted to the floor in a bloody, wheezing, immodest mess.
Basil dragged her up by the horns. The fuck? It didn’t hurt, but something about it was more humiliating than her entire chest and midsection being bleeding and exposed. That being said, Zoe had a moment of horror where she thought he was reaching to touch her—and he did, but not in that way. He stuck his finger over her core, next to the bleeding gash—and the wound sealed up as a foreign magic pumped into her.
“Are you going to behave yourself now?”
Zoe glared. Okay—so he wasn’t going to kill her—maybe, for some reason—and he also wasn’t a total creep—also maybe. Now what?
He sighed. “You’ve already tried running once. Do you want to go through it again? You don’t know if I’ll bother to heal you next time.”
Zoe relaxed—and shifted her feet in preparation for a sudden move. Basil’s eyes narrowed—and she lunged for his throat.
The cultist was so surprised he failed to stop her from slamming into him—and it turned out advancing to Rank B didn’t make you preternaturally heavy, as Zoe’s momentum sent him tipping backward.
She wasn’t really going to attack him—Zoe wasn’t that insane. The strategy was still to flee. The tactic had merely changed to an unexpected direction for purposes of surprise. It worked.
Up until he dragged her down with him and they started rolling around on the floor. Zoe lost more of her already-ripped clothing, Basil got a few claw and bite marks, and really, the whole thing was like a frustrated veterinarian fighting to contain an unruly and bloodthirsty kitten.
A very large kitten. Zoe was the kitten here because she wasn’t capable of breaking his Rank B skin if she tried—which she very much did—and also she was the one trying to do the skin-breaking. From Basil’s perspective, the real challenge was to keep things under control without hurting her.
“You are making me re-consider the wisdom of not just damn killing you.” Zoe head-butted his chin in response.
They’d somehow rolled all the way onto the rug when the front door opened. Basil was damn near choking her at the moment—and meanwhile, Zoe had gotten one leg hooked around him for leverage and the other was pushing against the ground with her knee up.
Lady Victor cleared her throat from above. “I uh, was operating under the assumption that you were a Demon of Disdain…” she chuckled. “I’ll catch you two later then.”
Basil was too shocked and mortified to muster a reply—and Zoe couldn’t say anything due the gag meant to stop her from screaming for help.
Basil leapt off of her the moment the door shut. The man nigh reached the ceiling in his frantic attempt to distance himself. Zoe sat up, her single-minded determination to escape his clutches now forgotten. Thanks for the mortally-awkward timing there, Victor. But what was with this reaction? Zoe couldn’t fathom it. It’s annoying and embarrassing but are you going to tell me this guy is really so squicked out by the idea of—
Her eyes widened. Then they rounded on the wary cultist eyeing her from all the way across the lounge. “You think I’m disgusting?”
Basil blinked. His mouth opened and closed. “I… what?”
Zoe pouted and crossed her knees to her chest. She was still rather exposed at the moment. “So it’s okay to try to mind control and enslave me, ambush me, trap me, possibly kill me, but the mere implication that you’d fuck me is too much for your conscience to bear?!”
“I… what? Yes.” Zoe’s mouth dropped open. Her mind couldn’t register this—let alone that the cult leader had retrieved his giant cleaver. Then she did notice it, and a small amount of mortal-terror supplanted a sliver of the mounting indignant pride swirling within her.
“Wait, what are you doing with that?”
Basil frowned. “What do you think? And quit shaking like that, it will hardly kill you. I just need a little time, and you need to cool yourself. The time it takes to regrow should be enough for—don’t look at me like that! It’s not like the lack of a physical brain will diminish your current capability much anyway.”
Wait, is he insinuating something about my—
Zoe had the distinct feeling of being in two places at once. They were close, but very much not how they should be. Then the smaller one vanished—and so did her sight and vision with it.
The last thing her shrinking, thickening consciousness registered before being stuffed away and slowed down to a crawl was Lilith sighing. “Well at least we won’t have to regrow the whole damn body—a lot easier if we just have to do the head.”
_____
Zoe woke up pissed.