Everyone's a Catgirl! Side Quest: Paint it Black (Patreon)

Heavy footsteps dented the sands, falling into place like grains in an hourglass. The oasis was long out of sight, swallowed by the rolling dunes that swelled on all sides. All that waited for Kirti was a sprawling gamble—would her next step be the final grain?

We are born in the sands and buried in them. A favorite expression of her mother’s. Kirti had watched her mother’s body buried beneath the sands, just as was prophesized, certain that her own return to them was still very, very far away.

Now, she was certain that there was no better time to join her mother.

But Kirti’s legs moved in defiance of her thoughts, carrying her forward, drowning her in sunlight, draining her [Energy] at a moderate pace. Not nearly fast enough for her liking. 

Tearing away the golden chains from her throat, Kirti discarded them to the ground with a snarl. The belt came next, shimmering discs slicing beneath the sand, disappearing to time. What was the point of the First Shell’s luxurious protection if it couldn’t cure her daughter?

Muna…

Dried blood flaked from the tops of Kirti’s thighs where Muna had made her final resting place. Additional crimson splatters—Ismet’s, Muna’s, and her own—coated her expensive silks. 

It had been a death by a thousand cuts on both sides. Hard-won slices stained the needles coating Muna’s body red, soaking the oasis in a crimson lake. Muna had carried her bleeding ailment into her Defiled form, but a monster’s rage spurned her to fight until the last drop. There was an explosion of needles and sharp teeth. Ismet had fallen, never to move again. Kirti was then forced to cast the Spell that would silence Muna forever.

In those last precious moments, Kirti had read her daughter’s consciousness behind those orange, pupil-less eyes. Desperate, pleading, terrified. Kirti whispered comfort, love, and warmth. Only one of which she felt. 

Three steps more. Kirti reached for her bracelet, the bells chiming with her touch. Instinct made her hesitate. What if she was attacked? Did that matter? Toying with one of the jingling spheres, she licked her dried, chapped lips. A parched throat demanded water. Everything else demanded death.

What’s left for you? Just lay down and die, Muna’s sweet voice suggested. Sleep with me beneath the sands.

Leaving the bracelet alone, Kirti’s legs drove her onwards, their motivations covert. The sun reached its apex, coating striped skin and thin silks in twin layers of sweat. Kirti’s throat burned and dark spots blotted her vision.

In the distance, a blurred pillar leaned into the sun. A mirage, perhaps. Ichi Island delivered them to travelers as readily as San Island hawked spices.

Another step. As she approached, the pillar steadied and thinned into a tall wooden post. A golden sinner’s cage twinkled in the sunlight, tangible. Crude leather mittens reached through the bars and familiar screams rang in Kirti’s ears. Muna’s ears flattened, her tail whipped furiously from side to side, and her teeth ground down in a hiss as limbs thrashed against their bindings.

Kirti blinked. The cage was empty, but the post remained. Only half a mirage. 

What insignificant village had she fallen upon? It had been ages since she traveled outside of Rājadhānī. The sun’s position suggested that she’d traveled north, but she knew so little of Ichi’s landscape beyond the port towns of Kandota and Dehri.

Curiosity dragged her to its border, forcing her feet beyond ramshackle houses and a collapsing well. Sand whipped into funnels, crashing against aged wood and creaking cages.

Abandoned? 

As the thought drifted through her mind, a door behind her groaned, its hinges begging for relief. Kirti turned as a woman with ebony skin and silver hair that flooded to her knees stepped past the threshold. Black squares and rectangles patterned the white fabric that hugged her chest and hips. A robe of the same make draped over her shoulders, stirring the sands as she walked. Smooth stones danced across her knuckles, their vivid colors catching the light as they moved.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded.

“No one.” The words were hardly above a whisper, Kirti’s throat too parched to offer enhancement.

The woman’s dark eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Kirti’s attire. “Bloody silks. Fine earrings. Has Rājadhānī fallen at last?”

Kirti shook her head. The edges of her vision darkened with the gesture, and a sudden dizziness placed the village on a tilt. The grains in her hourglass had finally drained to the last fragments. She took a step, stumbled, and tried to catch her balance on her other foot. Her knee refused to support her weight and she fell to the ground, face inches from the sand, stopped only by her hands on either side of her head.

“Are you Magni’s envoy?” Kirti wanted to laugh, but couldn’t find the capacity. The stern voice hardened further, words dripping with venom. “You should know that those outside Rājadhānī may tolerate his Ejderha, but a sniveling envoy has no place in these lands.” Footsteps approached from behind. The woman raised an arm, pinching one of the stones between thumb and forefinger.

With the last of her [Energy], Kirti rolled to her side, ripping one of the bells from her bracelet and ringing it. “[Ring of Thralldom],” she rasped. Violet light enveloped her hand and the bell, narrowing into a focus toward the rocks.

The woman’s eyebrows raised and her arm snapped down, aimed at Kirti’s bell. “[Possess Spell].”

Violet sapped from Kirti’s hand, appearing instead around the woman’s wrist. Where Kirti should have held the woman’s mind captive for a time, it seemed her Spell had somehow transferred to the stranger.

There was nothing left. [Ring of Thralldom] had been one last attempt for water or food; anything that would keep her feet moving. Kirti rested her head against the sands and waited. Her own Spell struck her like lightning, rewriting her thoughts and emotions to align with the Spell’s new owner. 

This vessel was no longer her own. Simply a tool for her master to utilize as she saw fit.

Kneeling beside her head, Master grasped Kirti’s chin and lifted it until their gazes met. “Who are you?”

Only the truth. Her master did not deserve lies. “Kirti,” she whispered.

“You are from Rājadhānī?”

“Yes.”

“You are a [Dark Priest]?”

“Yes.” Kirti curled back her fingers, revealing the bell resting in her palm.  

“Why have you come?”

Despite the sun stealing every drop of water from her tongue and throat, tears welled in her eyes. The truth caught on her tongue, held like a rat in a trap. A second truth emerged instead. “To escape the monsters.”

Master’s expression softened. She slowly nodded. “You have lost someone very important to you.”

One tear broke free, carving a road through the dirt on her cheek. “Yes.” 

The Spell lifted from Kirti’s mind, and her independence returned. It was only her second time ever falling beneath the [Ring of Thralldom] Spell, and it was just as dreadful as she recalled. More chilling was the woman’s statement. It wasn’t a question. How had she known?

“Come with me.” It seemed an important decision had been made. Supporting one of Kirti’s arms over her shoulders, the woman helped Kirti to her feet, and they crossed the whipping sands into the bedraggled building.

After a mug of water and the shade had cooled her skin, Kirti asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Onyeka.” Her ears and tail flickered with the introduction, and she gave a curt nod of her head. Before Kirti could ask, she said, “This village has long been abandoned, but this house still has access to clean water and uninterrupted rest. I stop here in my travels to Rājadhānī.”

Kirti sat on a pockmarked rug, the colors faded to time and sands. Her back rested against a pockmarked wall, sheltered beneath a pockmarked roof. It was a shoddy hovel compared to her home in the First Shell, and still it felt far safer than anywhere in Rājadhānī. 

“How did you know? That I lost someone?” Kirti asked after another drink.

“I am an excellent judge of character,” Onyeka said. Then added swiftly afterward, “Where do you plan to go from here?”

“There is no plan.”

Muna’s voice returned. Why are you drinking water, Mama? Don’t you want to be together again?

Kirti looked at her hands and thighs. More flakes of blood chipped off and floated to the carpet. “When you stole my Spell, I fully expected to die.” Muna’s precious face resurfaced in her mind’s eye. “Even hoped for it.”

Silence hung heavy between them both, filling every dent and hole in the building.

At last, Onyeka broke it. “Kirti, have you ever thought to reach Third Class?”

Water swirled halfway down in Kirti’s mug, rippling and shifting with her quivering wrist. Reaching a Third Class was a dream before Muna; before all of her love, time, and attention was reserved for her daughter. Now…what was it that she wanted?

Kirti took another drink, swishing the water between her teeth. “Why do you ask?”

The two smooth stones had returned to Onyeka’s knuckles, where she juggled them across the tops of her fingers in a hypnotic rhythm. “You are here to escape the monsters. Why not become strong enough to fight them back?”

Fight who? Muna? She was already dead. Magni? He had ordered every last healer in the city to try and save Muna. 

Just what was it that she needed to confront to prevent kittens becoming Defiled? 

“Where would I begin?” Kirti murmured.

Onyeka caught the stones in her palms with a flick of her wrist. “With me. I can train you to be a [Witch Doctor].”

It wasn’t exactly what she’d meant. Kirti raised her head and studied Onyeka with scrutiny. Taking on a charge was no easy task. “You don’t know me at all.”

“I know enough.” Onyeka clasped her hands together. “You’ve nowhere to go, and there is a safe place for [Dark Priest]s, [Witch Doctor]s, and [Demonologist]s. At least allow me to show you before you say no.”

“I’m not fit to travel.”

A sly smile tugged at the corner of Onyeka’s lips. “I will open a portal with [Eldritch Void].”

Ah, yes. The Spell Kirti had never seen fit to take. “What about your journey to Rājadhānī?”

“Once we arrive, if you are willing to give me your silks and jewelry in exchange for other attire, then I can easily purchase what I require in Ronona.”

They were going to Nyarlothep, then.

Mama? Muna asked.

Kirti looked up at the thin streams of light penetrating the roof. They echoed the dozens of pinpoints of blood on her legs. Considering Magni’s sudden interest in the girl, he must have seen the transformations happen in other situations. Kirti suddenly understood what she needed.

Answers.

Muna whimpered, and her voice faded away. 

Kirti shivered. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

“Excellent.” Onyeka’s tiny smile bloomed across her face. She stood, crossed the room, and offered her hand to Kirti. “May we find your strength in Refrain.”