This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

The wooden box creaked as Rosalie’s empowered body shoved with full strength. Wood tore as nails ripped, metal popping and wrenching from their securements. Underneath her, Rosalie’s body shook with exertion. Her awkward positioning didn’t help, hands and knees finding leverage wherever it could in the shared, cramped space. 

With a final snap, the lid sheared, then buckled from its nailed-in edges, flying and clattering somewhere to the side. Orange light, and fresh air, flooded in. Zoey and Rosalie clambered out, then rolled over and collapsed onto cold stone. Zoey’s cum clung to their bodies, and it wasn’t until the air of the room reached her nose that she realized how musky their shared space had been.

Though they’d already rested briefly from their grinding, intimate pleasure, the next series of panting as they lied shoulder-to-shoulder and stared up at a crumbling stone ceiling was born from relief of a different kind: that they weren’t doomed to slow starvation in a wooden box.

Zoey had used the word ‘coffin’, earlier, to describe where they’d been stuck, and it turned out that’d been accurate. A tiny, glossy black box laid to their left, the previous nailed-in lid discarded somewhere to the side.

Rosalie patted Zoey’s stomach in a ‘let’s get to it’ gesture, then stood. Zoey did as told.

She took in Rosalie, in detail, for the first time. 

She was short, five-three at a guess. But at the observation, Zoey paused, because her judgment was likely impaired from the changes to her body. Ephy had sprouted her height up by six inches or more, and so Zoey should be six foot or taller, now, though Ephy hadn’t specified what exact changes she’d made. So maybe Rosalie was average height, or even taller. Her perception when it came to height was in disarray.

Her body, though, was the kind women would kill for. Zoey’s cock had become delightedly acquainted with Rosalie’s hard stomach, and the sight in front of her confirmed what she had learned by feel: this woman was a warrior. Not only was her body hard in all the places Zoey liked (despite the soft curves, wide hips, and shapely breasts), more than a few scars littered her stomach, shoulders, and a cute, faded streak ran horizontally across her nose, which the darkness of the coffin hadn’t allowed her to see.

Her skin, of course, glistened in the dim light of the wall torches, covered equally in sweat and Zoey’s cum. 

Zoey’s cum. That was her sticky fluid marking Rosalie’s body in nearly comical amounts. Hers. It was hard to explain the intense, dominating pride she felt at the sight. Her cock twitched, though didn't harden again. It was spent from earlier escapades.

Zoey wasn't the only one to appraise her partner. Rosalie’s eyes had been crawling across Zoey’s body, taking stock of the woman she’d been thrust into strange circumstances with. Hers was likely of a more clinical nature.

“Well,” Rosalie finally said, her appraisal not something Zoey was privy to. Her face was cool and collected. Impassive. “I suppose it’s time for a proper introduction.” She stepped forward and held her hand out. “Rosalie. Lancer. Second advancement. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Zoey was taken aback by how the composed, intense demeanor had returned, especially after what had happened. But maybe that was Rosalie’s natural state, and their erotic circumstances had simply resulted in a break of her composure. In fact, perhaps it was the circumstances themselves that had Rosalie needing to impose formality between them.

"Zoey, for the second time,” she returned, shaking her hand. “And, uh, I’ve got no clue what Lancer means, or second advancement.”

Rosalie paused. “Right. Memory problems.” She withdrew her hand. Zoey wondered if they were really pretending Zoey hadn’t drenched her in cum just a few minutes prior, and that this was their first meeting. But whatever. If it made Rosalie more comfortable, then sure. “Lancer is—” she paused. “Let’s ensure we’re safe, first. Then talk.”

Zoey nodded; that was a smart idea. She turned and inspected the room they’d escaped into.

On first inspection, it gave the impression of an abandoned temple, though she wasn’t sure whether they were underground or above; there were no windows to check. Thick green vines sprouted from various places, wiggling through the cracked stone brick, and giving the room an overrun-by-nature feel. Decaying red banners, moth-eaten at the edges, draped from the walls. Three more coffins laid in an aligned square; she and Rosalie had woken in the front-left. The others had their lids parted, not having been nailed in. Only they’d received that pleasure, Zoey guessed.

She walked to the wall and studied the vines. She rubbed one of them between her fingers, wondering why they were covered in a slippery, clear fluid. Water? It didn’t feel like it. Honestly, it felt like lubricant.

Which, uh, gave her a bad feeling. Zoey was from Earth, after all, a twenty-first century girl, and she’d spent her fair share of time on the internet. Considering how this ‘shard’ had introduced her and Rosalie, finding slimy green vines coated in what felt like lubricant implied some … concerning things. She almost opened her mouth to mention it to Rosalie, then realized how insane she would sound. Careful of the vines. They might want to molest you. Zoey was surely being ridiculous. The vines hadn’t responded to her touch, anyway. 

Just paranoia. Or perversion.

At a sudden ripping noise, Zoey turned to see what Rosalie was doing. She had torn one of the red banners off the wall and had started wiping herself down. Which was fair … but Zoey frowned, because she’d greatly enjoyed the sight of Rosalie’s body covered in her seed. But it was only practical. Ephy had said saving the world wasn’t all ‘conquest of tight, nubile bodies’, and that there would be genuine danger ahead, mountains to climb, and obstacles to overcome. So cleaning themselves off and focusing on practical matters was for the best.

Once Rosalie was done, she tossed the fabric to Zoey, who did the same. It didn’t do the greatest of jobs. Her cum had dried a slight amount already, and without water, it wasn’t the easiest thing to clean off. Oddly, Zoey felt satisfied at that. No small amount of the girlcum she’d splattered Rosalie with would be left over, caked onto her. Possibly for a while. Until they could shower or bathe, which Zoey didn’t see in the short foreseeable future.

Seriously, cool it with the perviness. 

Zoey wouldn’t ever have called herself the most chaste, blushing of people, but she didn’t think she’d ever been this sex-obsessed. Was it the addition between her legs? Definitely a contributor … but maybe it was what she had just been subjected to, and the implication by Ephy more would be coming. Though with Rosalie? Zoey had her doubts. She didn’t seem the type of woman to be pouncing on someone she barely knew. That first time might have been their last, since it’d been strictly necessary.

But she hoped not. Zoey’s eyes locked to Rosalie’s ass as she moved around the room, watching the way it swayed. Such a small, defined girl had no reason having a butt that perfect, that filled-out. 

A stirring between her legs forced her to look away. It seemed the refractory period was ending, and Zoey would rather not have to explain another erection. She wouldn’t have the excuse of being piled on top of a naked girl, this time. Rosalie would know she’d been staring, and imagining lewd things in the safety of her mind.

“Find anything?” Zoey asked.

Rosalie turned to Zoey, and Zoey maintained firm eye contact. Rosalie’s perky, pale tits were still plainly in her peripheral vision, and further down, situated beneath defined abs, a neatly-trimmed patch of platinum hair, same as the shoulder-length tresses above. But if Zoey tried hard enough, she could pretend she didn’t see any of it. Settle down, girl, she said to her stirring lower body. Or was it boy? Cocks were obviously pretty masculine … but she didn’t like the idea of calling it such. And besides, hers was kind of cuter, more feminine, wasn’t it? Okay, that was a lie, it was huge, veiny, throbbing, and definitely an angrier, more impressive piece than any man on Earth could wield, but it was a girl anyway, damnit.

“We’re safe here, I assume,” Rosalie said. “Only one exit, that door. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like my spear or armor is here. It must be somewhere in the shard, but it could take time to find. So. Considering we’ve been given a reprieve, now’s the opportunity to form a plan of attack.”

Talking business. Absolutely. It would help tremendously with not embarrassing herself by raising mast in front of her impromptu partner. And there was a lot of business to talk.

“Okay,” Zoey said. “Can you catch me up? Shards. That’s where we are, you said, but what’s that mean? And the Fractures. Haven, too? And advancements … you said you were second. And—”

Rosalie raised a hand. There was a casual, assumed authority in the movement that gave Zoey pause. 

Don’t you know who I am? Rosalie’s words from earlier echoed in her head.

And that. Zoey should probably bring that exclamation up. Who was she? Somebody important, based on her arrogant posture, her ramrod-straight back, the way she carried herself with such assured confidence and commanded Zoey around. 

“I’ll give you an overview,” Rosalie said, “but I’m hardly going to explain everything you’ve forgotten. It’s a world’s worth of information, literally.”

Ironic phrasing. “The basics are fine.” And finally addressing a matter Zoey knew had to be addressed, she said, “And can you, uh, cover yourself up? With one of the banners? I don’t want to, uh, embarrass us again.”

Rosalie’s eyes flicked down to Zoey’s cock, and at the attention, it twitched. It didn’t fully stiffen, but only at great effort by Zoey, who ran through the least arousing scenarios in her head that she could invent.

“Right.” Zoey could tell by the stutter in Rosalie’s voice, and the flush and blinking, that something along the lines of, why didn’t I think of that, crossed her mind.

They each made impromptu clothes from the decaying, moth-eaten banners. They wouldn’t be functional for moving around, and definitely not fighting, but it bought them some temporary modesty—and Zoey some reprieve.

Though not having such a gorgeous woman on display … Zoey hated herself for being the one to suggest it.

“Shards,” Rosalie said firmly, corralling them back to topic. “Shards are pocket dimensions separated from the greater clusters that makes up the Fractures. Deeper, further removed—little is known for certain, and theoreticals are irrelevant. Functionally, know they’re dangerous pocket realms that need to be cleared before we can return to the Fractures.”

“Which is where society is?”

“Wayfarer societies,” Rosalie said. “But yes.”

“And that means?”

“Civilians live in Haven, not in the Fractures. The Fractures are for … the adventurous.” She paused. “With exceptions, of course. Plenty delve down to provide services to Wayfarers. Even tailors make good money in the Fractures, many times what they could up above, because of the implied risk.” She shook her head. “But that’s not important. Yes. Society in a vague sense lives in the Fractures, not within shards.”

“And we’re trying to return there.”

“Sure,” Rosalie said. “You, at least. I came here intentionally. Shards are lucrative, and evolve runes faster than the monsters found above. So my real goal was to clear this shard, emptying out any resources I could find. Routine. The usual goal of a Wayfarer.” Her lips pursed. “You’ve complicated that. You’re unfit for delving a shard, and memoryless, so I’ll need to escort you to safety, rather than taking my time to loot the structure dry, as I normally would.”

“Hey.” Zoey didn’t know why she was offended. Obviously she was unfit for adventuring; this woman exuded competence, and Zoey knew without demonstration that she could fight, that she might have been trained for it since birth. “I guess you’re right, but—” 

But what? Zoey didn’t like being treated as dead weight? Well, she probably was, and that didn’t change regardless of if she wanted to delve the shard (the new terminology felt a bit odd to use, but she’d have to get used to that). But did she, even? Want to? Ostensibly that was what Zoey’s mission here was, as delivered by Ephy.

Speaking of mission, what if Zoey refused? To ‘save the world’, whatever that meant? Could she go settle down somewhere? Live a normal life, for a sense of the word? Did she want to? Would Ephy intervene? She wouldn’t get her memories back, for sure. Did she care if she didn’t? They’d been excised so thoroughly the fact they were tattered in incoherent patches didn’t even bother her. She was missing the faces of her parents, siblings if she had them, friends, and so on—but so what? They didn’t exist to her anymore. Weren’t ‘distractions’, as Ephy had put it, the exact reason she’d done it in the first place.

Her head started to hurt. Now that she had a moment to think, the enormity of everything that had happened slammed into her. No small amount of dread, either.

For her own mental health, she went along with things as they’d been laid out for her. She would acquiesce to Ephy’s orders … until she had time to actually think about all this chaos. At a minimum, she could shelve it until she found civilization, a place with people, and safety. They were far from out of the woods, regardless that they’d escaped from the coffin.

“I guess that’s true,” Zoey finally said. “But I’m sure I could do something to help. Two pairs of hands is better than one, right?”

“Not remotely. You’d get in my way, and I’d expend more effort saving you than you’d offer in return.”

The words stung, but again, they were probably true.

Rosalie bit her lip. “But … your runes … I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Well. They’re quite useful.”

“They are?”

“They’re the strongest first-advancement skills I’ve ever seen. And your Rune of Bonding. It’s … I’ve never even known a person with a mythic-tier rune. Even my father—” Her teeth clicked shut. 

Smooth, Zoey thought. Real subtle. So she was trying to keep some things about her past under wraps? She wasn’t good at it. But Zoey didn’t point that out. “Mythic-tier?”

Rosalie waved her hand dismissively. “Just know it’s quite rare. Vanishingly so. I mean, this bond you formed with me … it accelerates the evolution of my own runes.” She sounded disbelieving, though she’d read the words from Zoey’s tabula anima herself, so the legitimacy of the skill wasn’t in question.

“That’s good?” Zoey asked.

Rosalie gave her a flat look, not answering outright. Zoey could put two and two together.

“There’s a gap between us,” Rosalie said, “a significant one, but perhaps … well, I’m curious to see how you develop. You might be useful.”

The cold analysis amused Zoey. “Not interested in me for me, huh?”

“I’m sure you’re a delightful woman to be around,” the compliment was lost in the impassive way she said it, “but I have goals a little loftier than to be picking my teammates on merit of how well they deliver a quip.”

She really was a bundle of seriousness, wasn’t she? It was kind of cute. “Okay. So. You do think I can help.”

“Depends. Do you remember how to cast spells?”

Zoey hadn’t been flinging fireballs around back home, so no. She shook her head. Then for full disclosure, “Never even been in a fight.”

Rosalie blinked at that. Zoey guessed in this world, the modern standard of non-violence wasn’t quite the same.

“I thought you don’t have your memories,” Rosalie said, having been blinking at her for a different reason than Zoey had assumed.

Zoey paused. She’d just a second ago been amused for Rosalie poorly keeping things under wraps, and there Zoey went, doing it too. “I remember … some. It’s foggy.” Honesty was the best policy here. “But I guess I can’t say I haven’t been in a fight for certain. It’s all in tatters.”

Rosalie studied her for a second, then seemingly shrugged it off. At a guess, whether Zoey was lying or not didn’t especially matter. “Well. You see the problem, then? You can’t cast spells, much less fight.”

“I’ll get the hang of it?” Zoey suggested hopefully. “I’m sure I can do something to help.”

Rosalie bit her lip, considering the claim. She glanced at the wooden door, then a decision solidified on her face. “We have time to find out. Let’s see if we can get you acquainted to flinging a basic ice spike, and we’ll go from there.”