This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

No. It wasn't fair. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. A feverish dream in which every complication in her life assaulted her at once.

Rosalie only knew of the Church from what Zoey and Delta had detailed to her of their foolish escapades. From what they'd said, Rosalie hadn't been overly concerned with retaliation on their part. Especially since the three of them were—while hardly the strongest wayfarers in the city—competent mid-rankers which the Church probably couldn't, or at least wouldn't, muster a force to contest. Zoey and Delta had seemed to think Helena was one of their strongest members, and she was only around their own progression.

But they had tracked them down. Either they were idiotic, then, or they had something planned. Or backup of some kind. Rosalie didn't have great hopes their actions could be ascribed purely to stupidity. Cultists were generally insane, obviously, but—especially ones who had such a large and growing presence—scheming and clever in their own right.

Lucinda being here alleviated the majority of the anxiety Rosalie felt at the development. Having a walking one-woman army between her and the enemy made most threats feel inconsequential. Nonetheless, Rosalie really, really didn't need another complication in her life.

There were four of the masked figures outside their door. They were dressed in inconspicuous daily clothing; they probably hadn't wanted to draw attention while sneaking into the Guild's quarters. The man in the front wore a goat mask. The woman to his left, a dog's, and to his right, a woman wearing the guise of some exotic bird. Finally, the last—a golem with bright white stone for skin, and donning a gorilla mask.

The threat offered by Goat-Mask, the apparent leader, hung in the air for a long second. Lucinda looked unamused. Rosalie suspected the woman was briefly considering simply breaking his legs and closing the door. But any sudden violence—on either party's side—was interrupted by Delta peeking her head around the corner. She hadn't even finished dressing yet; she had her breasts covered with a hand.

"Oh, shit," she said, ears twitching. "It's you guys, already? Uh, give us a second, we'll be right there."

Rosalie pinched the bridge of her nose. Delta, like usual, failed to recognize the severity of the situation. Especially considering that she had no idea they had a seventh-advancement wayfarer on standby. It should be an obvious assumption that the Church knew Zoey and Delta's general strength, having already encountered them, and so that they had come here meant they had a plan—or sufficient firepower to threaten them. The foxgirl shouldn't sound amused by their appearance.

Lucinda stayed in the doorway, blocking the four cultists' path. Goat-Mask and his associates glared at her, with Goat-Mask even towering over her—he was quite tall—but Lucinda remained unperturbed.

"I think you should come in," Rosalie told her mentor carefully. "We shouldn't do anything rash."

The worry in her voice was, funny enough, mostly from the possibility of Lucinda making the situation spiral even further out of control. While relieving to have her here, it was a bit like having the world's most dangerous, and slightly unpredictable, guard dog. One that could rip up buildings by the roots. Lucinda added another layer of complexity to the encounter.

At least the request bolstered the cultists' confidence. That was a good thing, since Rosalie wanted them to enter. She recognized an opportunity to learn more about them, and possibly the ultimate threat: the world ending, which the organization was at least tangentially founded around. Since they were in zero real danger so long as Lucinda was present, Rosalie didn't mind inviting the invaders inside and letting them 'intimidate' her and her party.

Lucinda, as perceptive as any woman of her status, looked over her shoulder at Rosalie. She deciphered her intent: the silent request to let them pass. She didn't seem pleased by the idea, but nonetheless, she turned—putting her back to them, emphasizing her extensive lack of concern—and walked through the hallway and into the room.

Zoey and Delta were just finishing throwing their clothes on, and Lucinda spared a quick scan of the two women—who blinked at her in return. Lucinda simply gestured at the doorway, indicating a sort of exasperated, 'well, get this over with, so we can talk,' then plopped herself onto the chair in the corner of the room and sprawled out. Taking a seat, readying herself to enjoy the show.

The cultists stalked in next. Soon enough, the room was entirely too full. Eight people in total. Presumably, all of them were wayfarers of appreciable advancement—hence why they felt confident to force this confrontation.

"Alright," Delta said, looking at Rosalie. "Just let me do the talking."

"Absolutely not," Rosalie said instantly. "I will." She faced Zoey. "Please, control her."

"Be silent," Goat-Mask interrupted, sounding irritated. "You four are here only to listen and obey. That is it."

"Kinky," Delta said, continuing to not take the situation seriously. "So, which one of you is Helena?" She peered around, studying the various animal masks as if she could decipher the answer herself. "Oh, and, how's Jacky doing? Can you tell her we're sorry she got dragged into this? She was nice."

Zoey placed a hand on Delta's shoulder. Delta looked at it, then raised an eyebrow at Zoey. Rosalie inferred the majority of their earlier rashness—their involvement with the Church—came from the foxgirl, not Zoey. Rosalie had noticed, by now, how willing she was to go along with Delta's misadventures, despite her own better judgment.

"Let's see what they have to say, yeah?" Zoey suggested.

Rosalie snorted. It was her conciliatory way to tell the woman to be quiet for once in her life—not willing to let her spiral this even further out of control. Delta also seemed vaguely amused, rolling her eyes. While troublesome, she did seem mostly self-aware. Blessedly, she faced forward and didn't continue taunting the cultists.

"Helena's membership is under review," Goat-Mask replied with derision in his voice. "We've found her judgment questionable in recent weeks. But that is beside the point. We're here to claim reparations for the grievances leveled toward our organization. The attack on our Church."

"It was hardly an attack," Delta countered.

"You invaded our recruitment ceremony. Stole the body of one of our members. Then interrogated a prominent officer under false pretenses."

"Half false pretenses," Delta corrected. "And we were mostly invited."

"Delta," Zoey said a little more firmly, squeezing her shoulder.

"I'm just saying."

"What do you want from us?" Rosalie asked, apparently the only one of them who wanted to get to the meat of the matter. "Why are you here?"

"Want?" Goat-Mask repeated. The carved white mask made it difficult to read his expression. His eyes looked angry, though. And a bit crazy. "As I said, reparations. You have something we want. We'll be taking it off your hands."

"We do?"

"An artifact. Of similar nature to our own. Your discussion with Helena made it clear you possess one. So, we'll be taking it, and with that, consider the matter settled."

"Yeah," Delta said. "About that. Definitely not for sale."

The man's eyes narrowed inside his goat mask. "I think you'll find us persuasive," he sneered.

Delta shared a look with Zoey, then Rosalie, and finally with Lucinda. The older woman had remained quiet as she lounged in her chair, cheek on her fist. Rosalie wished she would try to look worried, and therefore less intimidating, but that might be impossible for a woman like her. The more the cultists believed they had the upper hand, the more likely they were to speak freely.

Though she supposed Lucinda could simply squeeze any information out of them, if Rosalie requested it. That was a possibility.

Zoey spread her hands to the side in a placating way, and Rosalie knew her girlfriend well enough to predict what she was about to do. Mediate. Try to calm them down. It came in comical contrast to Delta, who was at the other end of the spectrum, who was trying to aggravate them. Though perhaps not intentionally; she might genuinely be unable to help herself.

"We really are sorry about all of that," Zoey said, managing to sound earnest. "Things got out of hand. But we had our own reasons for doing it. You recognize the importance of—" she glanced at Lucinda, hesitating. "All of what's going on with those shards. And so did we. So we took some liberties, trying to find out more. Liberties we shouldn't have. But let's not rush into anything. We're not enemies. We could work together, even? Share what we know?"

Rosalie appreciated the attempt, but it wasn't particularly convincing. Especially since, by their very presence, the cultists thought they could bully and intimidate them into doing what they wanted. An offer of an alliance had next to zero chance of working.

With a sneer in his voice, he replied—not at all to Rosalie's surprise—"We're not interested in cooperation.

Or discussions with you people at all. You will give us your artifact, then you will leave the city. Consider yourselves lucky our Church isn't a violent organization. This is a merciful outcome, considering your transgressions."

"Okay, first off," Delta piped in, "Stop being so dramatic. Transgressions? Come on. We barely even did anything. And secondly, really, how are you gonna do that? You didn't even bring Helena."

"Do you think she's our strongest member?" Goat-Mask threw his head back and laughed. "Perhaps at one point. But the impending end of the world—apparent to all, growing more obvious by the week—has bolstered our recruitment. And we have connections, regardless. We didn't bring Helena because she's a liability we didn't need to entertain."

Delta digested that claim.

Her eyes flicked between the four masked cultists, and the first hint of apprehension appeared on her face—something Rosalie detected only because of her familiarity with the woman. She didn't wear it on her sleeve.

Finally, Delta understood the situation they were in.

Or, the situation as it appeared. Rosalie, of course, remained unconcerned. In fact, she was relieved that their threat seemed to be entirely of a violent nature. They planned to strong-arm them. But with Lucinda there, they had nothing to worry about.

On the other hand, if the cultists had, for example, learned that Fe had possession of their corrupted artifact and gone after her, things could be much worse. But that didn't seem to be the case.

And speaking of Lucinda—at the cultist's words, the referenced 'end of the world', she had leaned forward, seeming suddenly less relaxed, and far more interested in the conversation.

The phrase had caught her attention? Resonated, for some reason? What did that mean? Did Lucinda herself know something of the approaching cataclysm? Or was the claim simply fantastic enough to interest her? Rosalie didn't think so; it seemed a very poignant reaction.

Did Father know something about it too, then?

Was that, even, why Lucinda had been sent to find her? If anyone would know of a world-ending peril, it would be her father. The Guildmaster of a Highguild. And it would be important enough to send Lucinda to fetch Rosalie as quickly as possible.

While conjecture formed entirely from Lucinda's reaction, several things did make sense under the explanation. But Rosalie didn't get to digest the possible realization for long. Her thoughts were interrupted.

"But," Goat-Mask said dismissively, lips curling up. "If you find our mercy unsatisfactory, we won't offer it at all. I can tell further persuasion will be necessary with you three."

He slipped an item from his coat: a small hourglass with a dark wood frame. Rosalie instinctively inspected it.

 

Ho??g???s of Ha??i?g: Lo?k b??h th? u??r and t?e t??get in f?o?en t??e.

 

Rosalie's stomach dropped.

A corrupted artifact?

One that he planned to use on them?

Tension thickened the air, and almost in slow motion, the cultist's attention turned to Lucinda. Rosalie understood immediately: Lucinda had been, appropriately, identified as the biggest threat. He was going to use it on her.

But what would it even do? Rosalie couldn't read the description. It was a jumbled, distorted mess, like the artifact they had found in Mel's shard.

Before anyone could react—even Lucinda, so caught by surprise, and reasonably unconcerned by the threat the cultists represented—the man tipped the hourglass sideways.

And so, chaos erupted.