Smoke and dust rose from the wreckages. Rubbles trickled down from them whenever explosions and gales blasted past. Muffled cries, of excitement and insanity, of grief and anger, lingered throughout the maze arisen from the remain of Yellow Dandelion Orphanage.

Amidst the irritant haze, soft blue vapour seeped out of cracks in concretes and floated skywards, raining onto heaven. These droplets gathered above the earth and assembled into a reflective blob of slime.

Milky air stirred around it, revolving like the halo of an archangel. Invisible energy intertwined with the surroundings, dancing for the arrival of its master.

The blob quivered. Its surface bubbled, shone, and burst into a swarm of star-like particles. A silent song praised the greatness of Fate and commended Iris’s resolution. Iris herself, although unable to hear the music sung by the world, could feel a subtle gaze overlooking her.

Her body reformed as an ordinary Slime Girl, with her Shadow Heart Core suspending in her abdomen, its dark purple colour flickering deep blue. Pink patches tainted her membrane, and searing heat permeated her chest. Her every breath expelled her strawberry scent, perfuming the surroundings with an aroma irresistible.

That invisible gaze caressed her naked body. She pressed her hands against her breasts and dragged her fingers across her sensitive membrane. Her Cloak of Destiny Obscurity materialized over her body, shrouding her figure

The influence of Threads of Love lingered in her soul.

Her chaotic Corruption Power, coupled with her overflowing lust, clouded her vision with redness that pervaded her slime. She pursed her lips, covered her mouth, and bit her thumb. The pain only intensified the storm inside her. Her every little movement only excited her, stroking her body with the fabric coating her.

She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her slime moistened her membrane and her cloak. It dripped from her melting silhouette and formed a river beneath her.

She craved a touch; she needed a touch; she must have—

A series of footsteps echoed nearby. Iris shivered. She lifted her head and turned to the unexpected visitor. Her reddened eyes, still golden in their majesty, traced over the two strangers.

A man and a woman, whose tattered bloodstained mantles radiated insanity, followed a pleasing scent to its origin. They looked up to atop a hill of ruin, and there existed an angel on earth, a paramount of beauty herself.

They had never seen such a holy creature . . . yet they also couldn’t mistake the Corruption Power plaguing her otherwise divine features.

The woman retreated behind the man before she flicked her sleeve, her fingers rotting until her bones exposed themselves. The man stepped forwards and flexed his muscles, his muscular size rapidly expanding.

Iris tilted her head. Her gaze fondled every part of her guests. She flashed a smile and vanished from her spot. Her fingers touched the man’s right arm, feeling his muscles, before she reappeared behind the woman, embracing her with the utmost tenderness.

The woman’s eyes contracted. She screamed, but only a soft moan, filled with endless ecstasy, came out of her. Bubbling passion overfilled her heart and replaced her every thought. The world closed in on her, confining her perceptions, touch, sound, smell, sight, to her one and only lover.

Her struggle melted into a sweat as her body temperature flared up. Her feverish emotions dyed her flesh pink, her nerves painfully sensitive. She grabbed Iris’s arms and, tensing up, held them so close their bodies threatened to merge.

As the woman lost her sense of self, the man darted towards Iris, but his right arm, which Iris playfully tapped, refused his command. Crimson tattoos expanded from the point of contact to his upper arm before moving to his torso. The air surrounding him thickened, and he found himself unable to walk, or even swim, through it.

He could only watch his partner lose herself.

Iris glanced at him, smiled, and drew her head close to the woman’s ear. She lightly blew and, biting her earlobe, whispered words inaudible. Her heavenly voice violated the last resistance, and the female cultist willingly cried out as she took in Iris’s embrace.

Her hands wrapped around Iris’s arms until they reached her breasts, where they separated, one rising above, the other descending down. The lady turned to face Iris and reached out her tongue, licking that pair of alluring lips.

Iris chuckled. She nibbled on that tongue and coiled around it with hers. Her saliva soaked her partner’s and her mouths, tainting both with her dense Corruption Power, which permeated every part of her being and would soon do the same to her beloved.

So weak, so feeble, so adorable . . . she only needed one touch, and these mortals would willingly abandon themselves to her. Pitiful.

It was their privilege to be liberated by her, to realise their true feeling under her embrace . . . to lose themselves under her whim.

The lady’s eyes reddened. Her last bit of sanity slipped away. Teardrops dripped from her eyes and, mixed with her perspiration and saliva, evaporated by her bodily heat.

Iris tightened her hug and smirked. Her Corruption Power formed a cocoon which concealed her intimate acts from the world.

Here, she would rip out logic and morals, Corrupt the very essence of her chosen maiden, and transform her forever into a Monster Girl, one who would praise Iris for freeing her, one who would chide her past self for rejecting this magnificent gift, this—

What . . . was she doing? What . . . had she become?

Iris’s face contorted. The foreign lust plaguing her body and mind intensified her pleasure, but she could no longer enjoy them. She pushed away the lady in her arm and covered her face. Her fingers felt her neck, where she could make out an invisible yet corporeal choker.

The lady crashed onto the cocoon, eyes widened. She couldn’t understand why her soulmate pushed her, but the thought of being denied the promised bliss scared her.

She slowly, nervously reached forwards, her trembling fingers yearning for connection.

Iris recoiled. Her back pressed against the cocoon. The intense fragrance of love and lust flooded her soul. Her heart palpitated, yet she dared not let herself go.

She averted her eyes from her victim and swung her right hand.

A wave of blackness distorted the space between her and the cultist lady, pushing them apart. The cocoon shattered, and the shadow flung the lady towards the restrained man.

They tumbled onto themselves and groaned, though the lady’s eyes remained murky, lost in the marble-like haze.

“What did you do to her?” The man glared at Iris, shivering. “Undo your spell, you witch!”

The lady froze. Her brows furrowed; she turned to her partner and slapped him. Its crisp, stunning sound quietened the atmosphere.

“How dare you badmouth her?” the lady said. “We might’ve been friends, but I won’t stand your insolence. She’s . . . she’s too lovely to do that.”

As the two argued, Iris touched the unseen choker on her neck. She gripped it and tore it apart, yet it refused to leave her. The heat in her chest only grew brighter, devouring her rationale.

She was slipping. Her newfound power was still unstable!

“Please take me with you!” The lady sensed Iris’s conflicting emotions. She raised her voice, which pitifully muffled as she gasped for breaths. “I’m willing to serve you; you only need to . . . accept my feeling.”

Iris looked at the lady, whose eyes stared into her soul, begging to be taken and made complete. These eyes accepted no rejection, accepted no defeat, and accepted no compromise. Either they became Iris’s, or they died trying.

Iris shook her head. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands, and lowered her head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that . . . I’ve broken you. I’ll fix everything now.”

Iris twisted her palms. A series of blades of light pierced through reality, hanging above the two cultists. They instinctively looked up, and the blades descended.

The man shouted a war cry. His muscles hardened until their shades greyed, yet the blades punctured through him like a knife through a watermelon.

The woman didn’t resist. She beamed a smile and widened her embrace. The blades sifted through her, and she welcomed them, immersed in the agonising pleasure bestowed by her loveliest.

Even when her body collapsed to the ground, her smile never ceased, lingering after her death, after a bloody puddle dirtied her hole-ridden corpse.

Iris turned away from the scene.

What a coward. What a coward she was. Intoxicated by pleasure, she shattered the mind of someone she fancied, turning them into . . . someone else. Her Corruption Power . . . it changed its victims.

Those tainted by it . . . were no longer the same.

She . . . killed someone . . . annihilated not just their body, but their soul, their essence.

Every Monster Girl—

“Mistress?”

Iris lifted her head and turned to the side. Smokes and explosions still rang in the background, but that familiar voice, penetrating all distractions, sounded ever so clear to her.

Black patches manifested all over the wreckage. A shadowy figure rose and dispersed, getting nearer to Iris after every jump. Secain emerged out of Iris’s shadow and hugged her from behind. The blood and dust and other questionable fluids didn’t deter her. She needed to hug her mistress, or she might slip away again.

As Secain’s hands and arms wrapped around her, Iris’s bleeding heart ceased hurting. A comforting warmth coursed throughout her slimy, murky body. She tenderly held her maid’s hands and smiled, her previous thoughts vanished from her face.

“I’m back, Secain,” she said. “Do you miss me?”

“Please . . . don’t ever disappear again.” Secain tightened her unsteady hold. “I, we wish we could be of help, but you, Mistress, you refuse to let us.”

“You’re hurt, my dear. You must take better care of yourself.”

Iris caressed Secain’s exposed hands. Blood diffused out of her cut wounds and soaked her tattered gloves. Secain drew back her hands.

“You’re doing it again, Mistress. You’re . . . avoiding the subject again.”

Iris lowered her head. Though she couldn’t see her maid’s expression, she could tell the sorrow from her tone.

“I’m doing this for you, Secain. Those who harm you, I shan’t let them go.”

“Then, do this for me, Mistress. Tell me where you went . . . and how much you suffered.”

Quiet winds blew around Iris and her maid. Another explosion shattered the moment of contemplation. Yet Secain disregarded all else, pinning her focus on every micromovement of her mistress. She could never read her lady, but she still tried, in hope of a miracle, of a fortune.

As Secain felt her chest tightening, her heart clenching, Iris grabbed Secain’s wrists and, squeezing her fingers, drew Secain’s arms away from her. She stroked the backs of the hands and let go of them before she spun to face her maid.

Her bluish, ocean-like hair flowed like deep currents. Each strand concealed a tiny part of her face, contributing to her carefully crafted mystique. Her golden eyes, dancing with unwavering clarity, pointed at Secain.

There existed no grief nor panic within them.

“Have I ever done anything without confidence?” Iris said.

Secain shook her head. She peeked at a pair of corpses not too far from them. “You’ve never shown me your weakness, Mistress, but I won’t mistake them for invincibility.”

Iris also peeked at the two corpses, at the man whose anger pained her, at the woman whose delight chilled her. Her eyes dimmed, and she averted her gaze. The visage of that woman, the unnamed woman, imprinted itself into her lens.

“You lied, didn’t you?” Iris said. “My weakness, my instability, you saw it all.”

Secain lowered her head. Her hands reached for Iris, pinching her hands. “I saw your mercy . . . and I saw your sorrow. Why?”

Iris’s smile stiffened. “Are you not afraid?”

“I cared not whom I’d become, Mistress. I only wish to be with you.”

“But I care, Secain. Do you not fear death, not of the body, but of the soul?”

Secain drew Iris’s hands to her chest. “We live through our changes, our changes through us. My affection for you will never change; I’ll never change.”

“You saw her. She was no longer herself, her heart altered beyond recognition. She became mine, mine and mine alone. I . . . do not want to lose you.”

“No matter how I change, you’ll assemble me back.” Secain leaned forwards. Her heart loudly, excitedly beat. “Mistress, would you please break me, shatter me, and then rebuild me?”

Secain moved her face closer to her mistress. Her lips trembled as they lightly caressed her mistress’s lips. Her hands shifted from holding Iris’s fingers to arms. They drew Iris towards her, though their gentle movement implicitly asked for permission at every step.

Iris’s furrowed brows relaxed. The dissipating flames in her chest reignited. Despite its weaker influence, it still swayed her. She didn’t resist her maid, whose soul had always connected with hers. She didn’t change Secain; Secain’s love was authentic, built by bonds unbreakable.

Even if she Fell . . . she would stay herself.

It wasn’t Corruption. It was Liberation.

Iris shivered. Her hands drifted around Secain’s body. Her lips pressed against Secain, and she pushed her kiss onto her beloved. Her Corruption Power once more awakened from its stillness.

“Sorry to interrupt, Iris,” Morbi said. “But we need to leave. The Churches are coming.”

A series of white bandages and fabrics flowed from every direction and wrapped around empty air. It formed a curvaceous figure, which morphed into Morbi. She walked to Iris, tapped Iris’s right cheek, and chuckled. Her white drapes wound around Secain and dragged her to Morbi.

“Your mistress is unravelling, Little Secain,” Morbi said. “She had yet to control her newfound sensations. You shouldn’t have taken advantage of her.”

Secain and Iris both blushed. They merely pretended not to understand their conditions.

Morbi shook her head. “Congratulations on your Condensation, Iris. Unfortunately, the orphanage is no more. We have to head for our other hideout.”