--- Aphrodite POV

Years of Beast Kin separation and ignorance won’t be resolved in a few days, so I decide to dig through my memory when Griffon to locate the shipwreck. The memory bitter in a way and yet pure; hunt, slay and devour. The Lamia within me salivating over the simplicity, the quiet protests of the Lammasu ever fading. They hold to their opposing world views and while part of me enough to exert influence, I question why. Harpy and Griffon are memories, no lingering influence and yet Lammasu in particular, considering I am no longer of that evolution persisting. The influence of the Lamia obvious given my present evolution.

The other question of course is how I separate Lamia and for that matter Lammasu, as an influence from “me”. I retain my own state of mind … mostly.

{Experience Human Emotions Insecure/Confident, Reclusive/Outgoing, Vile/Charismatic, Aggressive/Calm and Follower/Leader +5% Sentient Dominate. Total now 61%}

{Discover Self Awareness, separation from Monster Evolution +10% Sentient Dominate. Total now 71%}

{Sentient Dominate Living Construct threshold 65% met, Living Construct Feature unlocked: Able to revert to Living Construct Form.}

Why do I ruminate? Sentient Dominate so strong, my flesh now vulnerable! I sweep away the notifications and will “No” to the offers of locking out the Dominates with a furious show of frustration. With a punishing flap of my wings I take to the sky searching for a freedom through Alba by securing a chest of Sorcery Tombs. I need to teach the Snake Kin a magic beyond elemental mastery and thereby retain their worship on that promise of power given my Divine weakness to bestow Divine Magic and Realm Magic.

These plans to tempt the Snake Kin with Sorcery Skill and secure my worshipper base are grander than anything previous, less passion and reaction and more deliberate. The Lamia within triumphant, the recent Sentient Dominate increase silencing the Lammasu utterly. My past is now all memory and the realisation another awakening and not the best sort, now the Lamia influences without any Lammasu temperance.

---

Winging over the mountain range, I am tempted by smoke raising above the lake in the West and resist. The Temple there belongs to Zeus as does the Frost Giant High Priest and yet to meet Arnora again shines a light upon my heart, an inner joy. Perhaps healing the loss of the Lammasu …

“I remember her also and yet she is best left in the past, where she is and where we are going are opposites, faith versus faith.”

Alba reminds me of a harsh truth, and I turn away from the Lake and glide down the ocean side of the mountain range, the salt air exhilarating and fresh. The memory association causing me to salivate and want for a certain favourite flesh of the Griffon evolution. I settle upon a high ridge observing and try to recall from memory the landscape and failing. I cast the Magician Spell [Invisibility] and rest, my flying not as accomplished or as strong as my Griffon evolution or possibly snakes are meant to fly, I hiss to myself.

“Life and death have no room for humour,” whispers Alba into my mind.

---

I wake surrounded by the dark of night and yet there are distant lights, along the coast, one East and another West. I cast the Faith Magic Spell [Far Sight] and the light sources refine into campfires, winking occasionally due to human shapes passing by, lean and their clothing functional and no display of armour and weapons. I return to sleep within my coiled snake lower body satisfied I know where to begin my search.

---

The warmth of sunlight upon my scales and skin welcome and invigorating, while my hunger grows reminding me to eat. The campfire to the East closest and therefore able to break my fast all the sooner. I launch from the ridge and glide along the coastline, the sea breeze strong enough to maintain a safe altitude over the scattering of trees beneath me, the ground otherwise rough although a thin ribbon, a game trail shares my destination.

The camp of twenty to thirty wretches languish underneath me as I glide past. Rib cages exposed, muscle wasting on arms and legs they hide from sun under makeshift lean-tos. Their ankles and wrists bare scarring and I recall from another’s memory these must be the rowing slaves from the galley ship and their days are numbered, pitiful shipwreck survivors.

I glide towards the mountain range to find a ledge to rest upon and study them, to consider my options. The ledge is squared off as if constructed, the fact distracting me enough to investigate. A stone cross beam is supported by two upright stone columns, the entrance, if one, blocked by an avalanche of rocks of all shapes and sizes. My inner Lamia needs to investigate, while my stomach growls. I decide to exercise my strength and toil away to clear the entrance if one exists.

Near completion my effort is noticed by the starving slave survivors. They approach, I imagine witnessing rocks floating away from the mystery entrance. Instead of running, they are content to wait under the shade of a nearby tree for the completion of this change, for salvation, be it death or succour. I step back to appraise my effort; a single stone door is revealed decorated in shallow carvings – meaningless mumbo jumbo. Their conversations warn me of their approach and invisible or not, if they stumble into me the magic will be broken. I don’t take flight; the stone dust and soil will kick up and wary of my snake coils I need to use my arms to haul my body over the stone and ‘escape’.

Weak as they are, their attempts to force an entry futile. The stone door remains inviolate. As they rest to take stock, one rises up and slams his body against the door. Stunned, he steps back on uncertain legs, shaking his head and charges again. His fellows try to restrain him, although the lack of strength in their arms no chance against his insanity. His forehead splits open, red blood flows freely and my stomach growls from on high, fortunately none hear as they show concern for their now incapacitated companion, crawling to him on hands and knees. All attempts to revive him fail, meanwhile his blood doesn’t pool before the stone door a fact they don’t notice, and I await the consequence, slithering to a better position to ensure a perfect view.

The stone door opens inwards with a slam. They all raise their near fleshless heads, eyes trying to focus on the depths before them. A wind blasts forth, although none of the skeletal slaves are blown away, instead they dry out. Skin tightening upon their skeletons with none able to scream or run. Twelve former flesh and blood humans now dried out skin and bone. An eerie light occupies their eye sockets and instead of falling apart they climb into an upright position. Their withered heads scan either side of their location and once satisfied they march clicking and clacking through the open doorway. Once all are inside the Stone Door slams shut, an echo alerting the rest of the camp and yet none venture out to investigate.

I am careful to ensure I don’t leak any blood from any wound and then work my way towards the door. The door frame and previously bloody door sill now dry as dust, the extinguishing of twelve lives without protest or significance. I examine the engravings and dig grit out and yet they form no meaningful words, runes, or glyphs. I place my ear to the door while my fingers trace the lintel and door jams for any gap.

{Yo. ..ve ……. the G…… D…g….n of Ar...}

A familiar message flashes several times, always incomplete, always unreadable. I am desperate and press my body against the stone door and yet the message fails to become anymore clearer. Drawing back, I steady my breathing then slither away and back catching myself as my undulating snake torso leaves tracks in the dust before the door. I raise my eyes in frustration and the stone beam grabs my attention and triggers a memory. Azizos initiated my Harpy evolution while I clung to the roof of his Dungeon, perhaps if I clear the rock and soil on the stone beam, I could enter the Dungeon, without physically doing so.

I stretch my wings stirring the stone dust and soil beneath me, continuing until I obliterate my unusual tracks then hover/fly to land upon the stone cross beam. Again, I toil, on this occasion above the door and the remnants of the avalanche caught there. The morning sun beams down upon me as throw rocks and stones, push away soil, and gather a layer of sweat. Then the message appears. I spontaneously take flight, my heartbeat racing. What does this mean?

[You have entered the Gateway Dungeon of Arsu.]

I am not sure what to expect, a Dungeon almost certainly given the partial message and fate of the starving slaves and if so, something more of Azizos, not an Arsu. The smooth stone now clear below me, two body lengths by two body lengths, the roof of a passageway stabbing into the Mountain. In fact, absolute confirmation now, an entrance into another Dungeon and before the avalanche clearly in the open, easy to discover without really needing to search.

“If one exists why not two or possibly three?”

Alba’s logic couldn’t be faulted, why not more than one. Azizos’ Dungeon purposeful, a Quest Dungeon, this one then a Gateway Dungeon whatever that means.

“Where have you been?”

There is subtle smirk in her reply. “Doing as bid, learning Sorcery Goddess.”

“Well what do you believe ‘Gateway’ means?”

“Ask the Dungeon. Upon the roof you will have the advantage of communication without imprisonment.”

Of course, the reason I cleared the roof! The shock of the message … my mind isn’t concentrating as well as usual. I spy another ridge and quickly fly towards the mental compromise to consider my options. My other choice simply to forget and fly to the other campsite and find the chest.

“Shouldn’t we be talking to Arsu?”

“No … I … a moment.” I dealt with Zeus’ betrayal and the realisation I wouldn’t ever return to my creator by filling the void with revenge and the miniscule hope, way in the back of mind and too afraid to voice, as a fledgling God I could somehow travel between worlds like Zeus; I just needed enough worshippers.

Azizos and I though … a deep binding master-slave symbiotic relationship. At times dysfunctional of course and I suppress a snort of laughter, not wishing fall fowl of the Gar Spirit’s rebuke. Still, always drawn back to him, serving at his behest and while my present freedom is due to manipulation of him, I know I will still have to return in several days’ time or face respawning. Or will I?

Now my tormentor and yet sole partner throughout my existence on this world is no longer unique. This absolute truth shattering, sending my mind into a numbing shock when I read the message and the name of a second Dungeon Master. Could I swap Masters? Do I wish to?

“Goddess?”

My Prophet calls to me and at first, I resent the intrusion and then I decide to embrace the distraction as my Dungeon Master thoughts lead to no simple resolution.

--- Alasse POV

My tent size is generous, and I am able to slither on my tail in a wide circle, the scythe cut grass worn down to soil. Lantern light fills the void repelling the dark of night. The tent flap opens and my head snaps towards the disturbance.

“Are you hungry Honoured Daughter?”

I am ready to snap out; no, I pause, the kowtowing youth shivers holding a plate of fried pig at arms’ length from her body, the servant’s immature tail still undulating outside the tent flap.

“Come closer girl.”

Her tongue explores, pinpointing my position as she lurches forward, balance and grace perfect. From a lessor House and yet her training impeccable. I take the tray scrutinising her while absently sliding the tray upon my fancy table, a stack of storage crates. Her release of breath obvious, upper torso resting back upon her tail.

“What element are you training?”

Her hands quick to clench before her stomach, entwining. “None Honoured Daughter, our House one of service thankful for our place to ensure the House Burning Fang continues to generate profit and believes us worthy of protection.”

I pick a portion of pig meat from the plate and poise the delicacy before my mouth. “Is the meat poisonous?”

Her poise leaves her, dropping to the ground, arms stretching out past her head, facedown pressing the ground.

“I watched the preparation myself Honoured Daughter.”

“Then perhaps you should taste this portion I hold.”

Her head sways side to side most energetically.

“You suspect poison then, your vigilance lax?”

Her face lifts, my eyes lock upon hers and she stutters. “I … pig flesh … this one is a low filthy servant, never would I.”

“Rise. I insist.”

She draws herself up in a flawless fluid motion, training overriding her nervousness I realise, absolute control under adversity.

“Open,” I declare.

Her jaws open while her eyes close and I place the portion of meat close. Her tongue trembles, while saliva pools and then I pop the meat in her mouth. The portion rolls around within her mouth and I am certain not until every essence of taste is extracted, does she swallow, her head thrown back in some sort of ecstasy.

I know and enjoy her reaction, remembering mine with a fondness. A first which can never be savoured again. Her entire body undulates, a happy dance of sorts and all of a sudden, she stops. Eyes flicking open wide, a quick glance, a swallow and then quickly into a respectful posture head bowing.

“Go.”

She sways swiftly to one side and makes for the tent flap.

“Wait.”

She trembles, while pausing half-way to freedom. I scribble on a parchment, prick my finger on a fang and allow a drop of blood to pool upon the document, fold and press the two halves together.

“Here.”

Her head remains low, shoulders slumping until before me again. I use my bloodied finger to lift her head, my eyes upon hers.

“Take this.” I present the parchment, which she accepts without a word. “Present the order to the House Burning Fang Training Master. Be gone.”

Three heartbeats and the fluttering tent flap the only indication of my visitor. I pick at my meal, certain the Training Master will feel slighted, being ordered to train a servant no less. I didn’t care. The servant, a possible chance to be more.

The night darkens and I can’t delay any longer to reveal my failure. I don’t think I need to close my eyes and yet I do.

“Goddess?”

No response. Doubt rests upon me, part payment for toying with my servant perhaps. I unpack from my makeshift desk the likeness I had commissioned of my Goddess and I wring the bronze statuette in my hands while calling to her again. The swept back wings, bow drawn, and arrow knocked majestic. The sculptor a master of his trade.

“Goddess?”

“Yes, my Prophet!”

My fingers bleed, due to shallow cuts on the sharp edges of the statuette, arrow point and wing tips to name a few.

{Holy Idol of Aphrodite created.}

Her eyes move! My heart hammers and I need to strangle the statuette or otherwise drop the likeness from shock.

“Goddess are you with me? The … statuette, eyes …”

“Mmm … remarkable, you occupy a tent, lantern light, your eyes wide with shock it seems. Be calm, your faith the agent, not my will.”

“I am honoured by your praise and live to please and excel always.”

“Enough my servant, explain.”

I catch myself circling the tent. I pause and swallow, preparing.

“I thought a group ready and they entered and soon repelled. I have failed my Goddess. You should have me eaten and replaced with another.”

Several heartbeats pass, blood runs down my arms.

“Ensure the group doesn’t run off, explain they need to bind more as one, put the blame on them by accusing them, one or more must be hiding doubts. They need faith in their union, ask Son of Swift Spear to council them. Don’t allow another group to try for at least two more days.”

My heart explodes with joy. “Yes, my Goddess, putting the blame on them will ensure they try all the harder next time.”

“Who is the Snake Kin in the group?”

I rush to my table and flick through the parchment. I do remember, although needing to make sure in case the Goddess requires retribution.

“Miraphine, Goddess.”

“She has been schooled, profit is for later, for now we need success no tolerance for disobedience?”

Some needing threats, upon themselves or business partners with financial ruin, enslavement, eaten, although after the first Ritual Evangelising of Aphrodite the resistance reduced to reluctance as all Snake Kin accepted Lay Member Worship. Oh, dear Goddess, blood on the parchment and the statue at rest on the table a clear witness to my paper shuffling.

“Yes.”

“Hold my statuette level with your eyes, my servant.”

I swallow, will magic from her eyes punish me, have I served poorly? Stiffly my arms raise the statue, her eyes gleam and I am under her gaze needing to hold my water.

“I do not slay my servants for failure unless they are stupid and incapable of learning from their mistakes and repeat them. Are you stupid Alasse, Prophet of Aphrodite?”

I take a moment to appreciate my Goddess’ words. “I am not stupid my Goddess, I assure you.”

“I acknowledge your certainty. Having eaten Snake Kin flesh and enjoyed the repast I admit, I am waiting for another opportunity although I would be disappointed if your flesh satisfied my next tasting.”

Instantly my blood goes to water and to my shame I tremble. Offer a sacrifice you fool I admonish myself.

“If you wish to partake, I can provide a willing sacrifice my Goddess.”

“Perhaps, depending upon the delay though I may accidently devour those escorting the sacrifice as well, which wouldn’t be ideal. For now, be certain I am satisfied with your efforts.”

The eyes of the statuette solidify. The Goddess leaves my presence and I shudder from fear, the promise of power, the mere fact I serve such power. With caution I reach out for the statuette and wrap two hands around the waist and place the idol between my breasts, bronze upon naked flesh. Until dawn I pray for a divine blessing, offering up a piece of my faithful soul.

{Holy Idol worship grants Alasse, Prophet of Aphrodite Divine Magic: Worship (Aphrodite) One Use}

In the light of the morning sun I inspect the statuette and hug the Holy ldol deliberately to my bosom flesh. The statuette is more now, greater than before, a pulse thrives within and in response I pour motes of magic into my sacred idol. A cold burning sensation blazes across my back between my shoulder blades. Once done I feel a completeness and oneness with my Goddess wash over me and for the first time since birth, I am complete, my purpose crystal clear. I am beyond a Daughter of House Burning Fang!

{Alasse promoted to Prophet Level Two: Adept of Aphrodite; Divine Magic: Worship (Aphrodite) Reusable}

A heat flashes through my body from top of head until tip of tail, my faith rewarding me. I place my will into my element, dispensing with hand movements and words of evocation, my hands firmly upon the Holy Idol kissing my bosom. Ice nevertheless rushes to form upon my command and with an ease never before mine a frozen replica of my Idol, of my Goddess stands before me, eye to eye. Manoeuvring around the replica ice, I embrace my creation, arms wrapping around the frosting shoulders, hands reuniting above the wings once again sharing possession of my Holy Idol. My body immune to the radiating cold. I hug all the tighter, immunity to your element a final mastery obtained by very few and an absolute requirement if one ever aspires to be Matriarch. I smile.

An audible intake of air alerts me. I sigh and steal a few more moments in my rapture and with a snap, pivot about face.

Her head retreats, jaws wide apart and eyes staring astray.

“What did the Master Trainer say?”

I approach the tent exit advancing upon her and she breaks her gawking.

“Honoured Sister … Honoured Sister … I am … sorry, forgiveness.” Her head lowers.

“Do I need to repeat …”

Her body shudders.

“No Honoured Sister, he snatched the missive and said return in two days … nothing else.”

Extending my arm, I wrap my fingers around her lower jaw. Upon my gentle touch her head rises, and I lock in her eyes with my own. The comforting warmth upon my back reminds me.

“What did you see?” I ask.

She swallows. “You know." Her eyes pleading. "You have the image before you …”

“Fetch my mirror.”

The sunlight streaming through the now pegged open tent flap shines upon the bright silver surface revealing an image, either a copy of my ice sculpture or the Idol emblazoned upon my back. Oddly, her head is cast away from my back while holding the mirror in place. With effort she braces to prevent any jitters.

“Explain yourself,” I demand.

“The eyes of your flesh picture, Honoured Sister, they follow.” A hissing whine accompanies the words.