Red MJ couldn’t use Coldphasing or Bane or anything truly suitable. She thought of Quenching, and tilted her head before ruling that out as well, although it was well suitable.

No, they were nice options, but she didn’t need them. The heat wouldn’t bother her unless she was immersed in the lava, and that wouldn’t happen unless she was stupid and let this thing fall on her. She would read it like a book, it would flail at her, maybe miss her closely a couple of times... and then she was going to cut it apart.

The Ways of the Seven Dragons coiled around her, reverberating in her Aura, which began to spike as combat was imminent. Her eyes were focused on it as she closed in without fear, Sonja rising off to the side, ready as she entered charge range if it tried something. It lifted one bulky arm up as if to ready a blow, the other in the lava, as if to scoop it towards her in a wave of superhot liquid rock.

Neither option was dangerous to her. Cuts the Waterfall was ready, One Strike was ready, and if this thing moved on her, it was instantly going to eat a very, very dangerously powerful hit.

The submerged arm seemed to tense, and swirls of liquid light played around Sonja as MJ tensed, ready to explode.

“Don’t,” she said, staring at the thing, the Dragon of Fire in her Voice, staring at the burning eyes as she warned it in Geoic. The word was almost a roar, an expression of wrath ready to be unleashed.

The Fire Dragon was all attitude and emotion, and the Skill most closely attuned with it was Intimidation.

It froze despite itself, staring at her, and she just nodded to herself.

She hadn’t been told to fight it, or kill it, but to defeat it.

Furthermore, Sama had none of the attitude she’d had when she’d brought MJ to extraplanar battlegrounds and had her play. They were places Red Sonja had never seen, but the battlefields and war were second nature to them both, now. The corpses, the gore, the strewn weapons, the senseless loss, the blood and shit in the air, the constant edginess of violence ready to erupt... and of course the sounds, the screaming of the victors and the dying, the skirl of metal, the crash of meat on metal, the sobs of the dying...

Yes, Red Sonja had known them all, and MJ had, despite herself and her hate that such places still existed, lived through them all, too.

The creatures she’d slain in those alien places, however, were not anything humans were ever meant to face. But then, she wasn’t a human they’d ever been meant to face, either.

Sama was a very practical teacher, and had a violent streak a mile long. She had cut her way through these creatures dismissively if they dared to approach her, merely accompanying MJ, watching her fight, giving her advice.

She hadn’t said why they were there, why they were picking on these creatures, or even who they were. MJ had trusted that for some reason, these creatures had to die, and indeed, might serve no other purpose BUT to die fighting, and she was merely helping them do so.

She’d seen many horrible creatures while accompanying Sama Rantha, and so this elemental didn’t awe her in the slightest.

Red Sonja might have thought it a god, or at the very least a mighty servant of one. Red MJ looked up at it and knew it was a fairly powerful servant creature, and she had fought stronger things.

Even handicapped, she knew she could kill it without much problem.

It started to lift its other arm, and MJ’s arm snapped out to point at it. “Last warning,” she stated firmly, and it froze in place.

Yes, Sama and her students had been here before. Yes, they had beaten this thing, and it knew it, and remembered them. It couldn’t ignore her Aura at all.

With a great burning sigh, it brought both of its limbs down on the edge of the stone, and seemed to pour itself forwards. MJ didn’t retreat, and didn’t even look worried as the tons of molten stone bulged towards her... and then began to recede.

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when the elemental shrank and cooled and reformed, redefining itself into a robed man in black, orange, and yellow robes, Hispanotribal by the look of him. He was staring at her in an irked manner, but not daring to be displeased with her.

“You are definitely one of hers.” His eyes shifted sideways, and he blanched as Sama came out of nowhere next to MJ’s Sword, pushing down Sonja firmly. MJ withdrew her soulsword and slid her Focus back up into her arm. “Back again, I see, Lady Rantha!”

“Melliantro,” she returned shortly. “Standard reason I’m here.”

MJ was amused to see him grit his teeth. “This is the greatest holy site to Fire on the entire world, and you treat it like a rest stop for empowering any students you feel like!” he ground out resentfully.

There was something of a swirl, of intent, and the hot wind in the caldera stopped blowing, rendering the whole place suddenly and utterly still.

The Druid Keeper of the Summerheart swallowed as he looked at Sama’s narrowed eyes. “Are you hinting that it is time for the Summerheart to get a new Keeper?” she asked him calmly.

“I... No, no, Lady Sama, that was not my intent at all.” He bowed deeply to her, trying to get control of his expression, and the forcible idea that a very rapid removal of the current Keeper might come into play.

“The power I take from here is infinitesimal and unmissed by the Land, and is used in defense of the Land. If you feel that my ability to do so impinges on your authority and some right you have as the final arbiter of who can wield the power here, well, then...”

There was no sound but her voice. The vibrations in the ground, the bubbling of the lava, the least whisper of wind... it was all quiet, as if holding its breath.

He plopped right down to his knees, keeping his head down. “Your forgiveness, Lady Sama. I, I do not get many visitors, and I lose myself in the Fire sometimes...”

“You have indeed been here too long, Melliantro. I will have you moved to Kamchatka, and the Circle there will bring you back to us. Also, it is time you found a wife.”

“I-I... yes, Lady Sama.” Resentment gave way to relief in his voice.

“Cheer up, Melliantro. Three years is a long time to be the Keeper of the Summerheart. This experience will lead you to greater things, as it did those who came before you. Now, up with you, and let’s get the Ritual of the Burning Heart set up.”

“Yes, Lady Sama,” he agreed softly, and a warm wind began to blow once again, the earth to hum gently underneath them, and molten rock to bubble and pop...

==============

Back to the Present Day...

“Where did Sif get that dress?” Gwen asked, a little wide-eyed.

“Tony Stark zipped her down to a local dressmaker someone recommended to him, and she spent some Galactic Credits from her vids,” I said, glancing at her out on the dance floor with Thor. Shi’ar tended to only like very formal, choreographed dances, but such things were simplicity itself for gods to learn, so they joined the pattern with casual ease, as if they’d been doing a twelve-part Shi’ar waltz all their lives.

“I think Thor is drooling on her,” whispered Cindy. It was certainly something worthy of a goddess to wear.

“That... is all according to plan!” the aforementioned billionaire announced smugly as he swept in with a new tray of drinks for everyone. “Nothing made from bugs,” he assured Peter, who was eying them dubiously. Visibly relieved, Peter took one with everyone else. “I see the combicha was a mad hit,” he noted to no one in particular.

I glanced over at where Dealer and twenty Simulacra were still serving people. The Combicha Five display where she was sitting notably had far, far fewer than all the others. Naturally, Combicha One was getting most of the business after some acutely embarrassing displays of eating Combicha Two, and there were plenty of supposedly tough non-humans who had failed catastrophically at even trying to finish Combicha Three.

The funny thing was, combicha was spicy to everyone, even those who didn’t have actual taste buds, because Alchemy. Those were the races who were naturally the most ardent about trying some now, of course, as tasting food like that was an entirely new sensation to them.

“As I understand it, the Mexarcana Institute is starting up a specific Alchemical Cuisine course just to satisfy the incredible demand for combicha and its like among alien races. If you want to get into space, being able to make combicha will one HUNDRED percent get you there, if you want it to,” I informed them idly.

“There’s half a billion hits on the Praetor going through The Burn on Combicha Five already,” Cindy told us all. She didn’t have to replay the vid, as there had been a LOT of people here watching as he strode up to Dealer at Five to get his serving made special for him. He’d done a good job, and she agreed he could try Combicha Six next time after enduring it... and he was wearing a “I lived through Combicha Five” t-shirt over his uniform, like literally hundreds of feast-goers were doing, albeit for lower Burn levels.

Seeing the Strontian Praetor of the Imperial Guard going through that was enough to keep just about everyone else off of Five. I’d seen only three other new people try all evening, and two of those had been Stygians, thinking that having micro black holes inside them made them tough somehow. Neither had been able to tolerate more than five seconds of The Burn, and they’d barely finished their servings.

Thor and Hercules had sat down across from one another to try Five. That vid was getting a lot of hits, too. Sif and Brunhilda had alternately mocked and cheered them mercilessly.

Lilandra was sporting a t-shirt as a half-cloak, having upgraded to Combicha Two, and it was becoming the unofficial partywear of the coronation feast. Xavier had one tied about his neck like a cape, adding to the irreverent atmosphere.

Behind Dealer and her sims, Volstagg was slicing off chunks of pork from that immense Asgardian boar on a spit, Hogun was tenderizing them, and Fandral was slicing them up in blurs of motion, all of which didn’t hurt their partying image at all. The Warriors Three had their own Combicha t-shirts on, all of them up to Four and raring to try Five.

Dealer already had the video rights to that when it happened. At least the Warriors Three had learned that just because they were Asgardians they shouldn’t take godly-sized portions of combicha...

“Any Widows enrolled in those courses?” Tony Stark asked rhetorically.

“At least two?” I shrugged, earning me an exasperated look from him. “I think both of the Mexicana Shielders are enrolling, too.” My voice dropped a bit. “The terrifying thing is that they already know how to teach it, and just never got around to doing so.”

Stark’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh, damn.” He glanced around furtively. “So, you think the Hag and the Bear-?”

“If they can’t eat Ten, I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

He sighed despite himself, looking down at his fine suit. “I think I need to downgrade my attire with some crass commercialism.” He got back up. “Anyone want to join me for some milk?” he asked.

I watched most of the table get up and walk off with him for their chance at spicy heaven and hell. Peter stayed behind, watching the last of MJ’s fights and saying he’d go with her when she came up to join them.

I just sipped my drink, looking over everything. Thing had a kick, but alien alcohol was still alcohol, and it was neutralized within seconds of hitting my bloodstream. No buzz for poor Dyna Morgan Ouilette!

Xavier had come over to quietly relay that of the eight triggers activated, they had custody of six of the trigger-pullers and were circling one of the others, while the last seemed to have burned out his brain to prevent such things from happening. As for who had suborned the Silver Raptors, well, their former commander had been an ardent supporter of Deathbird, and was probably going to lose his position and tarnish the reputation of his regiment when he did, so he figured a little helpful regicide would only help his star rise instead of fall forever.

Mmm. Hadn’t worked out that well for him.