Sari had taken off running but Myranda was in much less of a hurry. She walked slowly down the hall now that she was alone, taking stock of herself and her thoughts. She’d completely misunderstood her vision of what was to come. Though she supposed she should have known that was going to happen. Father Tovan had impressed that upon her from a young age when she’d begun training as a priestess. He’d warned her to take visions from the gods with a grain of salt. ‘See them for what they are, acknowledge that they will come to pass, but do not attempt to interpret them on your own’. She wrung her hands, taking a breath and trying to center herself with mana.

She’d faced the suffering she’d endured in the King’s prison while in her sanctuary in the wastes. It would haunt her for the rest of her life, but she knew that she would never let it define her. She’d come to that conclusion on her own. Teyva had come knocking and just like when she’d had her vision, she misunderstood what was presented to her. Her Goddess had come to her in the flesh and she had chosen violence over welcome. Once again she was humiliated, once again she was defeated, and once again she was left with nothing. A prisoner again.

But the suffering didn’t come. Teyva tried to understand her, had learned what she’d been through-most of it-and instead of turning on her, Teyva had taken her in and schemed to reunite her with her family. Mryanda had seen her mother again, her father again, she’d learned for a fact that her father regretted what he’d done to Anya. It was more of a gift than she could have ever asked for. More reward than she felt she deserved. Again, she misunderstood, Teyva decided she deserved more. She’d restored her connection to Myranda, her powers coming back to her in full. She could feel strength rushing through her veins, her devotion multiplying her attributes.

Then, before they parted aways, one final gift. Teyva had given Myranda her trust. She’d welcomed Myranda into her inner circle and given her the most precious thing any greater being can give to a follower. Myranda held out her hand and the magic worked its way up her arm, a strange window appeared over her hand with the word [Dominion Pool] engraved at the top. She’d chosen Myranda to receive the [Aspect Stone of the Mother of Monsters]. Lord Paraklytus had been the one to activate it and it had taken several minutes for her to stop crying. Fortunately, Sari had been there to help pull her together.

She wondered how long it had been that she’d felt so worthless and unworthy. She wondered as well when the exact moment was that she’d accepted that she had value, that she was precious, and that she deserved what had been given to her. She clasped her hands tightly together and closed her eyes, “Mother Goddess, Queen of Monsters, I am going to sever the last tie that binds me to my wretchedness. Give me strength.”

Myranda exhaled and held out her hands to her sides as she walked, from the very walls faceless humanoid forms pulled themselves into being. Four Manikins taking shape and falling into step behind her. twenty points toward her Dominion Pool total of sixty-five. Their arms changed shape into wicked blades. They started altering their appearances and she stopped them, “You’re beautiful as you are,” She murmured, twisting her fingers and cupping her palms. “Come to me,” She whispered, and a small white mote blossomed to life over her hand. It coiled and twisted, stretching and yawning to life. A pair of wings sprouted from the back of the white-haired feline that appeared in her arms. She felt her mind start to clear rapidly as the small creature’s presence began to restore her mana.

It looked up at her, its eyes narrowing, and spread its wings wider before leaping into the air, circling her once, and landing on her shoulders. “I am Jihuri,” the deep, feminine voice purred into her ear. “My mother has sent me to your side.”

“I am Myranda,” The Priestess breathed. “It’s good to have you.”

“The feeling is mutual, I will aid you in any way I can,” The sphinx said.

She came to a stop at yet another intersection of halls and exhaled, holding out both of her hands and concentrating. A pang of guilt rippled through her chest as she went through the mental motions. She wondered at how easily the Goddess had created her creatures, how she had just gestured and they had come into being. Myranda licked her lips as the Behemoth formed of a billion particles of light. The great beast hesitated in the hallway, examining its surroundings in confusion. Myranda looked up at the creature’s back, “Behemoth?”

It turned to her and she reached up to its arm, placing a small hand on it, “I am so sorry for how I treated you.”

The mighty summon looked down at her thoughtfully, its two monstrous eyes glinting once before it raised its hand and reached for hers. It placed one gentle finger on the back of her hand and pushed it off and away before nodding raising that same hand to its chest. Myranda swallowed and pressed her lips together, “You are too good to me,” She choked, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath and reminded herself who she was, she was the High Priestess of the Mother of Monsters, she deserved the respect of those creatures, but they deserved it from her as well. Monsters were not tools, they were living things with wills of their own.

“Your faith is strong, Priestess,” Jihuri purred, “Summoning a Behemoth so easily.”

Myranda smiled and checked her dominion pool, thirty-five. She still had just under half of her dominion pool available to her. “Today I examine my limits.”

“Let me see your devotion firsthand,” The sphinx said aloud.

Myranda wrenched her arms apart and gestured to the suits of armor that lined the halls. “Live!” She growled, forcing life into the inanimate objects. Four suits of armor shuddered and growled hungrily. Horrible eyes formed on their shoulders and chests. One of the statues let out a gargled rasp and its helmet parted down the middle, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth and a tentacle-like tongue. The true mimics shuddered and twitched, getting used to their bodies before marching over to join the procession. She checked her pool one more time, sixty-five. She’d just have to make do.

The next step in her preparation came in the form of her own aspects. She coiled her hands into a ball and formed a little moon before releasing it and letting it leap into orbit around her head. [Lesser Satellite] provided her with additional passive mana regeneration and occasionally would attack without having to be ordered to do so. She raised her hands up and vines began to spread across her skin that sank into her flesh. [Elfkin’s Regeneration] would keep her alive longer. Finally, she whipped her hands out and reached out to her summons. Frost spread across their bodies before condensing on their attacking limbs. [Enchantment: Frost] was unique to the aspect of the [Lord of the Wastes]. She did not know if the aspect being still approved of her, but she didn’t care, this was not power that came from prayer. This was hers to use as she wished.

Her preparations complete, she rounded the next corner and marched down the hall, her black robes billowing around her as she was accompanied by her small army. She spotted the door to the High Priest’s personal quarters up ahead and froze when the door opened. The wretched old man stepped out, several sacks in his arms and a wild look in his eyes. Gold coins trickled out of one of the bags while scrolls and other artifacts stuck out here and there. He blinked and turned his head and looking straight at her. She felt her skin crawl as his eyes shrank into his head. How could she have ever looked up to this man? His eyes flicked to the creatures around her before looking back at her.

“M-Myranda? What is the meaning of this?” He demanded.

“I’ve come to claim what is mine,” She said evenly, holding her head high, “Whether or not you die in the process is unimportant.”

His nose wrinkled, “And these? What monstrosities have you brought into this sacred palace?”

“Mother’s children,” Myranda said, “The offspring of The Mother of Monsters, the Age Eater.”

“False god,” He snapped, “There is no such being! I ask you again how you have brought these things into this place? Have you no shame?”

“I’ve been ashamed long enough,” Myranda growled, “I’ll ask you once to repent your vile words about my Goddess.”

The old man threw down his bags and snarled, his fingers curled and a winter wind passed over the both of them. It filled the chamber and cast frost over the walls, floor, and the creatures within. “The true gods of the Elves will not tolerate your heresy! I’ll bring you to your knees once again and deliver you to the king. Perhaps this time he will train you himself. Apparently, your punishment in the prison was not enough to teach you your place!”

Myranda laughed, “A test of faith then!” She bore her teeth and gave the High Priest her most wild look, “Fine! Let us see whose belief is stronger! Mine, in a living god or yours in gods who haven’t whispered to us in generations!”

“Silence!” He bellowed, lashing out with his arm and a dark ribbon erupted from his fingertips. That very ribbon had been what had crippled her in their initial confrontation so long ago. Wrapping around her head and silencing her powers. The very thought of not being able to speak the will of her goddess made her physically ill. She snarled, gathering moonlight around her fingers and whipping them up at the ribbon, slicing it to pieces. She gestured at her summons and they moved to encircle the High Priest. The old man barely paid them mind, she knew he was powerful enough to deal with an individual summon easily. He kept his focus on her, throwing out his hands and creating several dark ribbons. One caught her on the wrist and pulled her hand toward the ground as she cut through two others with her free hand.

He spun on his feet as soon as he saw the restraint land, turning his eyes on the Behemoth. The great grey creature roared at him in challenge, raising its arms over its head and charging at him. The old man practically danced across the ground, sweeping his arms and legs out and setting a wave of ice reaching across the floor. He drew his hands up and the ice gripped the legs of the Behemoth. Myranda pulled at her restraint and cut it with her hand only for another barrage of ribbons to fly in her direction. She darted to the left, avoiding them and a flash of white light burst out of her [Lesser Satellite] striking near the old man who curled his arms and created a shield of ice.

The old man threw his arms into the air, “Mighty lord of the glittering deeps!” He prayed, thrashing in a circle and sending dozens of razor-sharp crystals hurtling through the air. They peppered the walls, the ceiling, and Myranda’s summons who immediately reacted to the attack. They charged at the High Priest, his assault their invitation to engage. Mimic’d suits of armor raised their weapons and brought them down on the High Priest who created a dome of gemstones over his head. The Manikins darted down low, trying to drive their weaponized arms up and into the High Priest’s body. The old man snarled and ribbons burst out of his mouth, grabbing their limbs and pulling them down. He slithered out from the crowd as Myranda took a few steps to the right, firing off shot after shot of moonlight in his path. One of the white spears finding its mark and burning through his arm.

The old man howled, “Witch!” He shrieked, “Enough out of you! I should never have taught you a thing! You and your family have been nothing but trouble for this realm!” He dropped to a knee and slapped his palm to the ground. “Kneel and be silent!”

Myranda blinked, she’d never seen that ability before. That hesitation was costly. Black ribbons burst from the ground at her feet and grabbed her legs, her arms, and her neck, they pulled her to the ground. Tugging her to her knees as Jihuri let out a cry of surprise, her own body caught in the binding. Finally the ribbons wrapped around Myranda’s mouth and her [Lesser Satellite] winked out of existence. The regeneration of her elfkin powers faded from her veins. Even her summons froze in place, their bodies strangely locked. He gripped his fist tight and pulled tugging down harder until her forehead was pressed against the ground.

“That’s more like it,” He hissed.

Myranda thrashed, struggling against the binds that squeezed tighter every time she moved. Not again! Never again! She pushed her head against the ground, forcing her shoulders up until it felt like her joints were going to pop. She slipped a little and her head tilted to the side. She righted herself and landed on her chin, looking up at the High Priest as he sauntered in her direction. His chest was rising and falling. “You put up a good fight! It’s too bad you’ll be nothing more than a mindless slave once I’m done with you. You would make a good attendant for the King.”

He placed his boot on her head, “Nice and quiet, that’s how it should be.”

Myranda closed her eyes, struggling wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Rage would just cloud her judgement. Her goddess was real, her goddess was alive, her goddess had given her real power. The summons weren’t the faint echoes of an aspect being that had long since abandoned the elves. Did the gods of the elves even know the names of their priests? She let out a small laugh, it was almost pitiable. There was being forced to silence and then there was having no one to listen at all. There would always be someone listening to her, Teyva was real, she was alive! She let out a breath through her nostrils. She didn’t need a voice to pray. She didn’t need words to express her faith. She didn’t need her powers to be loyal.

Teyva had put her faith in Myranda. She’d trusted her with her most precious gift. For the rest of her life, Myranda would be the first to sing her praises. She would be the first to ordain priests in her charge. She would be the first to spread the word of The Mother of Monsters. No, she couldn’t be silenced. Not even this perverse, wretched old man could silence her.

I am the Voice of the Goddess

The bindings began to melt, they tore and ripped like simple threads. She forced herself to her feet as reality twisted and bent around her. The world ground a bit slower, her senses were that much clearer, her voice was unrestrained. She settled on her feet slowly and looked down at the High Priest. Confusion played across his face and with a growl he released another cloud of bindings. They melted the moment they touched her. His eyes widened and he stepped back a few paces. “Ascendant?”

Myranda looked him up and down and shook her head, “So afraid of what is coming, but all you can do is try to silence it. Quiet or Loud, this era has come to an end,” She said with a sigh. “You have no power here anymore.”

His eyes bulged, “We will see about that!” He raised his hands up and froze, “What? Where are my abilities?”

“Deaf as well as old,” Myranda said, “You have no power here,” She turned her back on him. “Get it over with.”

The old man turned around, realizing who she was talking to. The Behemoth loomed over him, the hungry mimics eyed his body as hungrily as he had eyed hers, the Manikins drew closer seemingly with bloodlust in their empty eyes.

Myranda closed her eyes and savored the screams.