With the exchange complete and Elvina now positioned exactly where we needed her, I returned to the theater with Brutus and Julius flanking in comfortable silence, each of us processing what had just transpired in our own ways.
The mont we crossed the threshold into our lobby, I felt restless energy flood through my system like electricity seeking ground. I couldn’t stay still, couldn’t settle into any one position or thought, so I began pacing the length of the room with asured steps that grew increasingly agitated with each circuit.
Everything was going smoothly, objectively speaking. The theater was profitable beyond our initial projections, Tora’s performances were drawing crowds that gave us both revenue and reputation, the investigation into the Ivory Gambit was progressing according to plan, and we’d just successfully planted our spy inside Mada Seraphine’s operation.
By any reasonable tric we were succeeding, building sothing real and sustainable in a city that destroyed most people who tried.
But sothing bothered , nagging at the back of my mind with the persistence of a splinter I couldn’t quite extract.
It had started as vague unease and crystallized into horrifying clarity the mont I’d watched Mavus drop those severed heads on the library floor—the casual ease with which he’d dispatched two seasoned Velvets, professional killers trained in combat and survival, beheaded them like it was no more difficult than preparing vegetables for dinner.
I was too weak. Catastrophically, dangerously weak.
The realization hit like cold water because I’d been so focused on sches, strategies, and positioning that I’d neglected the fundantal reality of this city—power respected strength, and without personal capability to back up my plans, I was just another clever person waiting to be crushed by soone stronger when circumstances turned against .
I was about to enter into direct conflict with so of the highest powers operating in the Pantheon, people who commanded resources and violence I could barely comprehend, and I couldn’t even hold my own against a single Velvet in honest combat.
The gap between my current capabilities and what I would need to survive the coming conflicts was vast enough to be almost comical, except there was nothing funny about recognizing your own inadequacy when the consequences of that inadequacy included death or worse.
I needed more strength and I needed it fast, needed to advance my combat capabilities to levels that would make genuinely dangerous rather than just clever and lucky.
Mavus teaching was obviously out of the question—the man had made it abundantly clear that his instruction ca with strings attached I couldn’t see yet, and besides, asking him for additional training after he’d literally beheaded my spies felt like terrible judgnt even by my already questionable standards.
Which left Willow as the first person who ca to mind, the obvious choice for advancing my magical education since she’d already been teaching the basics of excarnic magic and had demonstrated both competence and patience during those lessons.
I could learn more from her, push deeper into the techniques she’d introduced, master the spells and manipulations that would give offensive and defensive options beyond just physical combat enhanced by my incarnic abilities.
But even as the thought ford I recognized its limitations, felt frustration building because Willow could only teach excarnic magic—the manipulation of external energy, the shaping of chaos into spells that affected the world around .
That was useful, absolutely, gave tools I desperately needed. But it ant I wouldn’t be fully utilizing my potential as a concarnic mage, wouldn’t be developing the incarnic side of the equation that focused on internal enhancent and physical augntation.
True mastery required balance between both disciplines, between affecting the world and affecting myself, and limiting my growth to only one half of that equation felt like deliberately handicapping myself when I could least afford weakness.
I needed to advance my incarnic magic as well, needed to push my enhancent techniques beyond the basic limitation I was currently working with, and for that there was only one person in our theater who possessed the knowledge I required.
My heart dropped, a sinking feeling overtaking as that person’s identity co to light with unwelco clarity in my mind. Grisha. The violent orc woman who’d made it abundantly clear through word and action that she was dangerous, unpredictable, and operating according to rules I didn’t fully understand.
She was also taught directly by Mavus himself in advanced enhancent techniques, which ant she possessed exactly the knowledge I needed if I wanted to survive what was coming.
I steadied my resolve with conscious effort, forcing my spine straight and my breathing even as I made the decision. This was the best path forward, possibly the only path that led sowhere other than my eventual defeat.
The discomfort of working closely with Grisha, of putting myself under her instruction and whatever that might entail, was insignificant compared to the alternative of remaining weak while the city’s power players circled closer.
Without allowing myself ti for second thoughts that might undermine my determination, I headed upstairs to search for Grisha, taking the steps two at a ti with enhanced leg strength that made the climb effortless.
But the mont I reached the top landing and turned toward the hallway where her quarters were located, I stopped dead because she was already there, standing in the middle of the corridor with her hands planted on her hips in a stance that radiated challenge and confidence in equal asure.
She was completely naked as usual, the lamplight catching her green skin and making it seem to glow from within, highlighting every contour and curve of her impossibly muscular fra in ways that made my mouth go dry despite my best efforts at maintaining professional composure.
Her body was a masterwork of controlled violence rendered in flesh—broad shoulders that could probably support small buildings, arms corded with muscle that flexed with each slight movent, abs so defined they created shadows between each individual muscle group.
Her breasts sat high and firm despite their substantial size, defying gravity through sheer muscular support, and her thighs were thick enough that I could see the power contained in them even when she was standing still.
Her scars crisscrossed every visible surface, pale lines against green canvas that told stories of battles won and pain endured, each one a testant to survival and strength.
The dark patch of hair between her legs was visible without sha or attempt at concealnt, and lower still her calves showed the kind of definition that ca from years of explosive movent and heavy lifting.
Behind her massive fra—and I an this literally, she was using her own body as a shield—stood Willow surprisingly, the succubus actually hiding from with a frightened expression that looked completely out of character on her usually confident features.
Her erald eyes were wide, her normally perfect posture hunched slightly as she tried to make herself smaller behind Grisha’s bulk, and I caught the tail end of what might have been a whimper before she clamped her mouth shut.
Just then, I knew that sothing was up.
The confident, sexually aggressive succubus who’d taught excarnic magic with casual dominance was hiding behind soone else like a frightened child, which ant either Grisha had done sothing to terrify her or Willow had betrayed so secret she desperately didn’t want knowing about.
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