09

Disclaimers still apply.

Major thanks to Kerrik Wolf for proof-reading and offering spelling and grammar abuse corrections for this chapter. All corrections are his, all mistakes are still mine.

I've never taken so long on a chapter before that I know exactly how I want to go.  Yeesh.  Hopefully chapter 10 won't have everything and thier dog coming out to hound me.

If it's not clear, this starts up immeadiately after the close of chapter 8.

[Chapter 9]

"Roger," Euphemia called out, the redheaded G-splice orchestrating the command of the Airship's systems. The decking beneath them tilted as the airship began to turn. "Setting autopilot to extraction point."

"What happened to you?" Anya asked, summoning up the Bubbles Card to clean the blood off of Micah. "Did Sanctuary attack like we thought they would?"

"No," Micah gave a slow shake of his head. "The Capital League forcefully attempted to recruit me."

"They did -what-!?" Cornelia snarled.

"They wanted me to track down an associate of mine, one of my fellow Creators whom apparently has been a busy little bee since his arrival," Micah went on. "And prove he  was not a threat. I refused for a myriad of reason."

"Why were they so terrified of him?" Ludmilla perked her ears in query.

"Apparently he killed Jenova, lopped her head off, and mailed it to them with a request to pass the impromptu kick ball along to Sanctuary's high council." Micah gave a fang-edged grin. "Which explains why they'd be terrified. If you came home to find someone's head on your bed, you wouldn't care that it had a neat envelope attached that said 'Please pass this along to so-and-so.'"

"Master," Nunnally whispered, her voice weak and thready.

Micah immediately pivoted and gathered the evolved pokegirl up in a wing-wrapped hug, which involved a slow navigation of dealing with eight separate wings all trying to maneuver for cuddling. "Shhh," he murmured. "It's okay."

Anya looked over, a worried expression on her face. "What happened to her?"

"She evolved," Micah explained, running a hand through Nunnally's hair. "Into what I called the 'Arkhangelsk'. I won't go into the impossibilities of such an event occurring, other than to note that it happened."

"Why is it an impossibility?" Ludmilla queried, tail wagging.

"Because it's an artificially created breedline," Micah noted, "And the person who did so doesn't exist in this world."

"Wonderful stuff," Cornelia noted. "But perhaps we can discuss this when an unknown pokegirl -isn't- listening in."

All attention immediately went to the Chibi-Lucarda, whom was kneeling patiently near Micah's feet. "I can't fault the help you gave," Micah noted, not moving from where he and Nunnally were wrapped around one another. "I have to question the 'why', though."

The Lucarda smiled. "I choose you, my Master," she replied in a husky voice. "I wanted to see what kind of man lay behind the masks you wore and the bestial visage you convey." A fang-edged smile. "You did not disappoint."

Micah's expression went a little odd at the 'bestial visage' remark, yet smoothed when she finished. "Ah." Pause. "May I ask what you name is?"

"I have no name, Master."

"Ah," Micah repeated, mentally translating that into a whole mess of possible interpretations; I don't wish to have the name I possessed under my old master, I want you to claim ownership of me by giving me 'your' name. Hell, given his skewed luck, she may have evolved during the festival, got amnesia, and then glomped onto him for lack of anything better. Stranger things had happened.

No. Correction. Stranger things had occured to -other people-. He wasn't used to them happening to -him-.

Micah absently stroked out Nunnally's silver hair, pleased to find that she had stopped shaking, and went on, "You'll excuse me if I come across as slightly preoccupied. I'm currently juggling ten things, and you're something I wasn't expecting. So don't take it as a slight if I come across as ignoring you. I'm not." A beat. "Excellent job on surprising Linda, by the way."

The Chibi-Lucarda gave a leering grin. "Thank you, my Master."

"That doesn't explain everything." Ludmilla folded her arms underneath her breasts. "How did you find about him in the first place?"

An indulgent smile. "The same way every other Infernal pokegirl at Sadie Pokens day learned of the infamous 'Demon Lord'. Alexstraza."

Anya blinked. "You're -joking-." Micah stared at the Chibi-Lucarda, expression one of near-horror.

Ludmilla frowned. "I don't know the name." She glanced at the StarMystic. "This is a Capital League thing?"

"Yes," Anya nodded slowly. "I'd only -heard- about it, but... week long celebrations? Give a lot of time for pokegirls to pick and choose what they want from a Tamer. Some... help the process along. With pictures. And -posters-. And selling -contact information-."

Micah carefully did not whimper. "Lovely." He flicked a glance over at Ludmilla, and carefully thought at her, /You think she might have been a plant?/

/Might still be,/ Ludmilla's ears flicked, but she didn't look over at him. /More than just the Leagues and Sanctuary are involved in this./

/We'll talk about this later, but I'll trust you to catch the things I miss./

"Autopilot path compiled," Euphemia noted. "I've got the software hacks in place that'll let me control the Kite remotely."

Micah thought a moment, then grinned suddenly. "Euphemia, I'm giving you more work to do. Slight change of plans. We're altering the Autopilot's destination."

Euphemia blinked. "Master?"

"Re-task the set destination from Ruby to the Blue League."

Cornelia frowned. "I thought you said you didn't want to go to the Blue League?"

"I don't," Micah replied. "The Author Vince wanted me to track down is Kerrik. And if he's active, he'd be active in the Blue League." He smirked. "People will likely assume  that I utilized the airship to make a run to the Blue League, either to meet up with Kerrik somehow or to find him." A minute shrug. "It'll give them something to worry about, and give us a smokescreen to move around elsewhere."

"May I ask a question?" Anya inquired.

"Always."

"I'm just curious as to your reasoning behind not taking up Vince's offer," Anya queried.

"Aside from Vince and Linda's assumption that I'd be more than happy to do what he asked because he was in charge?" Micah replied. "Multiple reasons. What can they offer me? Money? No. Pokegirls? Hah. Capital isn't known for its Sorcerous Education, so they can't offer me magical tutoring or tomes. Protection? No. Consider Sanctuary's response if they learned - and we all know that they would - that the leaders of the Capital League effectively had their own Author in their employ. They would either request I be turned back over as one ally to another - or they would have an 'oops' involving a group of Tyrannodames and apologize to the corpses afterwards. Because if another group starts seriously gathering Authors to counter-act what Sanctuary attempted, then that group would be a threat. And guess what? From a certain perspective, that's -exactly- what Capital just attempted to do." A hissing sigh. "Though I'll admit some irritation. If Linda hadn't snatched me up in a blatant spectacle, my knowledge of still being in the Capital League would be hidden. So I'll admit to being slightly cranky that she ruined my plans. Well, some of my plans."

Anya smiled. "Fair enough."

"Okay," Micah let out a gust of a sigh. "Next-"

"Next, you have a new pokegirl to tame," Ludmilla pointed out. "The rest of us know what needs to be taken care of."

Micah glanced down worriedly at Nunnally. Nunnally smiled back, the expression faint but honest. "I'll be fine." Gold eyes looked up at him, so unusual to see on her face. "Master."

"...I'll trust your judgment." He still didn't feel quite right about all of this - leaving a potentially emotionally fragile girl to head off and gleefully fuck another one, never mind all the work they needed to get done. But if pokegirls were weapons, then it was his  personal responsibility to make sure said weapons were properly secure and functional.

"You'll want to head back to the manor to tame her," Euphemia said. "I checked the captain's cabin. Trust me, no room at -all- for you."

Micah gently disentangled himself from Nunnally. "Anya, you'll be support. Ludmilla, I'll trust you to remain in charge until I get back."

Ludmilla nodded. Anya gathered Micah and the Chibi-Lucarda together, reality distorted, and they were standing in Micah's bedroom back at the manor.

Anya moved off quietly to a corner to watch as the Lucarda spun in place, white-blonde hair flying behind her as she took in the bedroom, and smiled. "Is the Dire Wolf your Alpha, my Master?"

"I don't have an Alpha," Micah replied, running a hand through blonde hair, absently rubbing along the curve of one ribbed horn, shaking his head as he settled on the bed. Straight from combat to running to now sex? He felt -exhausted-. "I tend to delegate roles as necessary." He pinched at the bridge of his nose. He could have sworn he was forgetting something. ... Ah. That would be important, wouldn't it? "Change into your adult form, please."

Before, the Lucarda's choice of clothing - leather jacket with too many belts and buckles, knee-length skirt, platform knee-high boots, and white camisole top were modest enough, albeit odd. As an adult, they were blatantly pornographic, her formed curves filling, and in some cases, almost oozing out of the fabric and leather with just barely restrained sexuality. She gave a shake of her head, hair twirling around her as she gave a fang-edged smile, a classic female expression of 'like what you see?'

Micah couldn't help himself as he smiled at the sight. "I see why you go around in your younger form - so you're not causing riots."

She didn't blush, but the lambent glow of those red eyes seemed to intensify. She moved closer to arrive in front of him, looking as if she was about to crawl into his lap, and only then was there a brief hesitation.

Micah carefully did not roll his blue-on-black eyes, regarding the Lucarda without any trace of hesitation or fear. The one element of his ability to pick out and scan pokegirls was the information that came along with it; hence, he knew the likely reason for her pause. Terrifying megalomania and unholy revels in their inhuman capabilities, Lucarda's were still pokegirls at their core. "Get over here and bite me, woman."

The Lucarda did not so much crawl as sinuously writhe her way into Micah's lap, legs straddling him as her mouth brushed to his shoulder and teeth sank into flesh with a disturbingly grateful-sounding whimper.

Micah had been expecting the pain. In a way, it was manageable, its initial burst akin to that of a needle before something more - pleasurable - seemed to emit from the bite wound. What he hadn't been expecting was his own natural reaction to the bite as he instinctively leaned in for the Lucarda's neck and sank his own fangs into her flesh, licking up the rivulets of blood that spilled out as his lips sealed against her skin.

A muffled shriek emerged from the blonde-white haired pokegirl's throat as her entire body began to shake, flushing from orgasm as her arms tightened painfully against his ribs, causing bones to creak - and elicited another instinctual response from Micah, claws unsheathing and sinking into the Lucarda's flesh, blood spurting from the multiple wounds and making the Lucarda's muffled screams and spasms intensify.

She tore herself away from Micah's shoulder, gasping heavily as rivulets of blood ran down her mouth and chin, Micah breaking away from her neck in turn with a groan of pain. He flicked an irritated glance down at his hands, not thinking as he quickly licked up a rivulet of blood that threatened to drip on top the bed. The Lucarda, sucking in desperate gulps of air, glowing red eyes dilated, throat flush, dive-tackled Micah to the bed to the sound of Micah's pained groan.

-[***]-

Micah stirred faintly, stifling a pained groan as he tried to recall where exactly he was and what the hell had happened last night. The answers came quickly enough, Anya tucked under one wing and pressed tightly up against his side, the Lucarda in her chibi form pressed up against the other.

And I thought Nunnally's workouts were bad, he thought to himself as he tried to push himself up, failed, then tried again and only partially succeeded. The phrase 'used, abused, and put away wet' seemed to apply well to his situation. Anya's Lovers and  Healing Cards, while miraculous, weren't without their price to pay, but he'd be damned if he couldn't keep up with one of his pokegirls. Dimly, Micah thought that perhaps it would be best if he eschew study into the arts of magical combat and instead work on spells with more immediate applications, such as endurance, stamina, and regeneration.

The smell of food hit, and Micah's stomach literally snarled as hunger suddenly made itself known. That gave him the impetuous to pick himself up out of bed, ignoring the dismayed sounds from the Lucarda and Anya both, clothing himself.

He paused in lacing his boots as the Lucarda, still nude, slipped behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Mmmm... my Master..."

Micah glanced carefully behind him, mindful of his horns. "Illya."

She paused, red eyes glancing at him. "Master?"

"Your name. Illya."

Anya yawned, stretching, careless of her nudity as the mussed up StarMystic sat up in bed. "Where did you find that name?"

Micah smiled at the sight. "Carrying a theme. Cornelia, Euphemia, and Nunnally were all named after a fictional trio of sisters. Ludmilla and you both choose your name. So I picked Illya, after a favorite character of mine from a book I'm heavily fond of."

Illya purred softly, grip tightening as she rubbed herself up against his back and wings. "Master..."

"Get cleaned up and dress, both of you." Micah waited until Illya had peeled herself off of his back before giving her a light swat on her bottom to get her moving. "I'm going downstairs to investigate the kitchen."

Matching word to action, Micah found Euphemia managing breakfast. The redheaded G-splice took one look at Micah and shook her head slowly. "You look like utter hell, Master."

Micah gave a weak laugh. "Illya and Anya put he through my paces, yes."

"Illya?" Euphemia handed him a plate piled high with hash browns mixed with cheddar, eggs cooked over-easy and two biscuits smothered in white gravy. Micah eyed the mass of food only briefly before he discarded any notion of restraint, breaking the yolk to mix with the hash browns and scoop up fork-fulls of food into his mouth as he settled on a stool at the kitchen table, wings arched carefully behind him.

"The Lucarda's name," Micah went on between mouthfuls, cutting up the biscuits to sop up both yolk and gravy with. "Carrying a theme, the name is from a favorite character of mine from a book I like."

Euphemia blinked. "Which book?"

"Alastair Reynold's 'Revelation Space'."

"...ah."

"I'll let you read a copy of it later," Micah replied as he sipped a glass of water Euphemia had laid out for him. "How goes the transfer?"

"Long-term supplies have been laid out at the cache," Euphemia replied without missing a beat. "We've been staggering meal breaks, and Ludmilla wanted at least one of here to watch over you. I've been manning the kitchen. The rest of the harem are currently, I  believe Ludmilla borrowed a phrase she had heard a while ago, 'bored out of me wee arse', end quote, while on the transport ship."

Micah nodded slowly, shoveling another forkful of food into his mouth, feeling much improved now that he had some sustenance in his belly. Stealing the airship had only been one of the possible escape routes, and he never had any intention on keeping it beyond use as a red herring. The real traveling would be done on board a transport ship out of Capital, in a secured and hollowed-out container.

"Master, there was some confusion last night," Euphemia went on. "Where's the Grimorum Astra?"

Micah didn't glance at her as he gave a sharp snap of his fingers, the Grimorum appearing in mid-air next to him.

"It's a function of the artifact, nothing that my magics are doing," Micah went on as Euphemia stared. "It has a number of useful albeit minimal capabilities I can control. Such as," he gestured, and the book pivoted open, pages flying to the spot he had wished it, "Floating and mental commands. The summoning effect is more a sort of side-step spatial pocket the Grimorum generates while it's locked to me."

"Why wasn't Jericho using that?" Euphemia asked.

Micah shrugged. "He... she, might very well have. I haven't asked." The matter of the Grimorum was, admittedly, a slightly sore spot with the mage-turned-mage/Catgirl. "Speaking of Jericho, where the hell is she?"

"Uh, still asleep, I think."

"Asleep?" Micah shook his head slowly. "What time is it?"

"8:30am."

"Lucky bastard can still sleep when the sun's out," Micah groused. Something that he no longer really was capable of, much to his irritation. And given that Illya would likely be keeping him up at night a lot... well. Micah sopped up the last bit of gravy and yolk with the remains of a biscuit. "I'm going to go get cleaned up. Make sure Anya gets something to eat, and I want Jericho up before we leave."

Micah had finished cleaning up - not an easy thing to do, as most bathrooms weren't built with having large, heavy wings in mind that you had to corral into a shower stall, never mind all the water needed to at least sluice them down - and was currently attempting to shake his wings dry whenever Jericho knocked on the door to the Master Bedroom.

Micah nodded to the catgirl, combing back wet hair, and frowned when he traced her staring back to the flesh of his wings and the mass of skin and muscle where they met his back. Mentally shook it off - he wasn't used to having people -stare- like that.

"The Manors and it's lands are yours," Micah stated without preamble. "Enjoy."

Jericho nodded distantly, then blinked and did a double-take. "What?"

A wing-accented shrug. "I can't stay in the Capital League. If I do, sooner or later, I'll have people find me." Vince - well, to be fair, Vince McMahon could likely care less what happened to him by this point. The man might have a temper, be a bit naive, and hold his League together more by sheer force of personality that any extreme skill at the diplomacy game, but he didn't seem like the kind of person to hold a pointless grudge. But Sanctuary was a whole different kettle of fish. "And that would be bad."

Silence.

"I honestly don't get you," Jericho replied slowly, as if the words were being reluctantly dragged out. "You do these things, as if they're right and proper. The way you treat me and Delilah. And I know for a fact that if our roles were reversed I would never have done all these things. And then I think about what -could- have happened. What likely would have happened."

Micah snatched up and began buttoning on one of the paneled shirts Anya had devised for him to wear. He wouldn't admit to the conflict, but a part of him balked at the notion of covering up his upper body, preventing wings from rubbing against skin. Logic won  but - people tended to react badly to people going shirtless in casual society. "You're a product of your society as much as anything. You've never had a chance to consider an alternate method of dealing with things."

Jericho grimaced. "Still. There's parity. But..."

"The message can get lost in the attitude in which it's conveyed," Micah replied, still only half following the conversation.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

Silence. "I'm coming with you."

Now Jericho had his full attention. "I don't recall the matter being up for discussion."

"You're the only friend I have anymore," Jericho murmured, tail drooping behind her. "The only one I can trust." She glanced up at him. "Please don't leave me alone here. Please."

"It's because I consider you a friend that I'm making you stay behind here," Micah stated. He considered elaborating further, and decided against it - he wasn't sure exactly what he was dealing with - abandonment issues, sheer emotional stress, the influx of female hormones after living life as a male, or pokegirl biology. With his luck, it was a combination of all of the above, and explaining how dangerous his life was would likely get interpreted as 'You're not good enough to stay with me', and if Jericho went that route Micah would likely tie her to the bed so he could metaphorically smack some sense back into her, and that would take a while. "Nor am I disappearing off the face of the earth. If either you or Delilah need my assistance with anything, my contact information hasn't changed."

Jericho didn't look very convinced.

Micah smirked, mentally changing tactics. "What, think I'm lying?"

Jericho blinked. "No, it's just-"

"Barring something cataclysmic, I'm not going to just up and disappear on you."

Jericho frowned. "Define 'cataclysmic'."

Micah's grin was positively feral. "Well, if the Dark Continent gets wiped off the face of the earth, then I'll likely be the individual responsible."

Jericho let out a hissing sigh. "Be serious."

"I -am- serious." A quirk of an eyebrow. "Consider for a moment that I personally flipped off the Grand Harem Master of this League and escaped relatively intact." A soft sound of padded footfalls from the hallway beyond the Master Bedroom cut off further commentary. Ludmilla stepped into sight, raising an eyebrow.

Micah shrugged it off, stepping over to ruffle Jericho's hair, receiving a foul look in reply. "If you'll excuse me..."

Micah made sure he and Ludmilla were well out of hearing range before he reached up and rubbed at his face, letting out a groan. "That woman."

Ludmilla grinned, telepathically reaching in to pluck out the issue from his brain without pre-amble. "She likely recognizes a good thing, even if she doesn't consciously realize it. You could have been well within your legal right to tie her to a nearest tree and fuck her submissive and senseless. And I see you like that mental image."

Micah glanced over at Ludmilla. "Mmmm." Time for a topic change. "So, my Adjutant. You had some concerns regarding Illya."

Ludmilla actually jarred to a stop in mid-walk at the term 'Adjutant', but recovered quickly and hurried to keep up. "I'm more worried about her being a plant of some sort. The likely hood of you gaining attention of a powerful pokegirl like that to the point that she actively seeks you out..."

Micah quirked an eyebrow. "Why not? That's what Sadie Pokens week is all about, isn't it? Isn't that the entire -point-?" A wing-rustling shrug. "And besides, gaining a powerful ally like her just about fits in with my luck. Hellaciously beneficial, yet everyone's going to assume I'm fucking a ten-year-old. Wonderful."

"Anya told me you didn't seem that freaked out about her chibi form last night," Ludmilla pointed out.

Micah pivoted to a near halt, glancing at Ludmilla with a look that was more calculating than accusatory. "You all talk about me behind my back a lot, don't you?"

Ludmilla looked briefly stricken, as if she was fearful that he would be angry, white-furred ears laid flat back amidst her bright blonde hair, then nodded firmly. "We do."

"Hmm." Micah nodded absently, then pivoted back and continued walking - no destination in mind, just a firm desire to keep the conversation between him and Ludmilla private. "Just because I'm not taming her in her younger form doesn't mean that I'm going to react with disgust whenever she's nearby in said form, regardless of her non-clothed state." A casual shrug. "It's a facet of her, and I'm not going to engineer some sort of emotional damage by reacting badly to it. How would you like it if I ordered you to lop your tail off?"

Ludmilla went paler than usual. "That's-!"

"I wouldn't, but the point is still applicable." Micah paused. "You mentioned a plant. Who?"

Ludmilla let out a sigh. "Have you had contact with any of the Legendaries?"

Micah looked as if he'd bitten into a sour lemon. "Them. Ugh. Wonderful. And thankfully, no."

Ludmilla blinked in surprise. "You don't favor the Legendaries?"

Their walk had taken them outside the manor and toward the outbuilding that housed the electrical generator. Micah leaned carefully up against the wall as he considered the question. "The idea, the role, the character concepts - no, I had no issues with them." A shake of his head. "Then whenever I considered introducing them for a story I was working on, I wanted to have a fresh perspective on them. And I realized that dealing with them 'in-house' would have it's own mesh of troubles. You're referencing a group of individuals whom have firmly sat in the role of 'Queen Bitches of the World' for three hundred years. That's going to engineer some personality quirks. Coupled with the facet that they're literal idols in many cases, receiving the sexual adulation of thousands upon thousands of people just by merely existing... Well. How do you think one of them - any of them - would react to being told 'no'?"

Ludmilla frowned, green-eyes somber as she considered that. "I never thought of it that way. You're correct - they are, in many ways, an assumed facet..." She trailed off, and carefully asked, "Out of them, though... if you had to seek out help, which one would you choose?"

"Given my druthers, it's an easy answer; I'd pick the most human-like one of them all. Sexebi."

Ludmilla opened her mouth, closed, opened it again. "-Human-like-? Sexebi? I don't follow. How did you come to that assumption?"

"Because, despite her power, she's easily the most fragile of the Legendaries. For all their various roles, the Legendaries capabilities effectively come down to who has the biggest goddamn stick. Hers doesn't. So she exists in an interesting dichotomy as one of the most powerful of the Legendaries, able to surmount the limits of time and space, while also being the weakest. So her pacifism is less a life-style assumption, such as in the case of  Moan and Whore-Oh, and more a conscious choice. Because the only option she has to successful pursue a battle of destruction is to utilize her abilities in the more horrific manner possible. As a result of all of this, if Sexebi wants something? She can't demand, she can't give you special favors, she can't make you famous. All she can do is -ask politely-. She doesn't have the implied threat hanging behind her of 'Do this or I hurt you.' That makes her human in that she has to conform to a lot of human social mores - such as being polite, cordial relationships, and forming bonds based on trust. Just like humans normally do."

"You," Ludmilla smiled, "Think about things -way too much-."

"I get bored easily. If I may ask, why did you inquire as to my preference...? -Please- tell me it was just idle curiosity."

Ludmilla hesitated.

Micah didn't - quite - groan aloud. "You can get in contact with some of them, can't you?"

"No," Ludmilla replied in a serious tone. "No, I can't. But I may be able to contact some pokegirls than can. But it's not a sure thing. It's been several years since I've done any correspondence, and some of these pokegirls I know by reputation alone. It wouldn't be a sure thing."

Micah briefly toyed with the idea of actively hunting down some of the Legendaries to get their patronage. The mental image of busting down the door to one of Hilde's hidden sanctuaries with the battle cry of 'SURPRISE BUTTSECHS!' was almost too good to pass up. Then reality reasserted itself, and he tossed the idea away. "Worst comes to worst, we'll keep that idea in reserve." A shake of his horned head. ?till. Back to the original topic. If Illya is a plant, she's a very bad choice."

Ears perked, a wholly lupine cant of her head, Ludmilla looked at him. "How so?"

"I know what the Lucarda breed was based off of. And I had several habitual quirks in mind for the breed whenever I revised their entry. She's sampled my blood - her loyalty should be on-par with yours, now. However, there's a problem with my logic - it's heavily biased." Micah smiled. "I'll be relying on your observation to cover what I miss."

Ludmilla nodded, slowly, even as her tail wagged behind her. "And if she is a plant?"

"Then I'll do what's necessary."

-[***]-

David Kines held his R-4 multipurpose assault rifle in an easy slung grip, finger carefully off the trigger as he eyed the activity surrounding the Capital League Airship 'Kite'. Supposedly all the nastier surprises had been cleared of the carefully moored airship - as well as it could be, sans tower - but frankly, he didn't care and would be quite content to let his 'girls handle the nasty business of rummaging around in the tight interior of the airship. They were tough, he was not.

The BLSF Tamer bit back a sigh - there were other people present, never mind the Capital League 'oversight' sent over to help take back their bloody airship - and wondered quietly what the hell the world was coming too. Twenty, thirty years ago, something like this would have been unthinkable. Teams were typically bloody well nice enough to contain their shenanigans to within their League of choice, and not cause a ruckus for other people, thank you very well enough!

Of course, it was questionable exactly what the hell was going on with all of this. There wasn't even an official explanation - yet - as for what the hell a Capital League Airship was doing, nice as you please, moored in the wilderness of the Scotland region of the Blue League when said registry said it was supposed to be stations out of Juneau in the Alaska Region. The lack of any official explanation was the weird part. Common sense said this was a Team biting off something bigger than it could chew - but if a Team had managed this somehow, common sense said they'd have the resources to sell it in some of the more out of the way ports that no one really wanted to talk about. Kines didn't believe in luck enough to carry off something like this.

Worse, were the rumors that Mister Mouth and Trousers himself, Vince Bloody McMahon, had a little bit of showmanship get just a touch out of hand.

Which didn't explain a stolen airship at -all-.

Kines glanced over as his Valkyrie walked up, the red-haired and freckled pokegirl carrying an R-4 identical to his own and wearing similar fatigues and body-armor. "So, what's your verdict?" he asked without pre-amble.

Rather than a clear-cut, no-nonsense expression on her pretty face, his Valkyrie's lips were curled into an expression of annoyance tinged with confusion. "I'm not certain, Master. It's... conflicting."

"Walk me through it."

The Valkyrie nodded slowly. "Yes, Master." A glance back at the airship itself, then at the Capital League 'observers' who should have just taken the damn things off their hands by now. "A Team operation doesn't fit. They're pre-mediated. If the objective was to steal an airship, they should have had something to do with it, not dump it in the Scottish highlands."

"So spur of the moment thing. Ballsy."

The Valkyrie's lips made a soft mou. "I'm not sure, Master. I think it was pre-meditated, but the only reason I can think of is if the entire point was to get to the Capital League to the Blue League for some reason."

"Which doesn't make sense," Kines finished. "Because there are better options for it. What was missing from the airship?"

"Not much," she admitted. "A few military-grade compression backpacks. Pokeballs, some MRE supplies." Pause. "There was a message left, though. Even if it didn't make any sense."

"What was it?"

"Someone had taken some black paint to the Airship's bridge and written out 'Kilroy Was Here.'

"..."

-[***]-

Micah was thankful he wasn't claustrophobic. Even if he wasn't, the closed-in space of the cargo container that he and his harem had hollowed out as an impromptu apartment for their by-sea journey would be a case-study in how to acquire such a mental shortcoming. And if it had been by his lonesome... well. A small corner, a good amount of books to read; yes, he might have been comfortable for a few days. But introduce the close-space jostling of seven different people, and it quickly became another issue entirely. And as far as taming went... If it hadn't been for Anya's Cards, the entire container would have quickly devolved into smelling like a well-used whorehouse.

Teleportation and pokeballs got a healthy workout.

Micah absently let his claws tick against the exterior of one red and white orb, contemplating the implications of the S-Goth contained therein, flexing and sheathing according to his internal rhythm as they clicked against the exterior. The latest acquisition, checking down the list of Sanctuary Goths that he and his harem had acquired before Sadie Pokens week - now was the perfect time to enact said plan, while people were reeling and action was least expected.

He flicked a glance up at Illya, the Lucarda looking less than pleased to be let out of the action, and Nunnally, whom hadn't been trained during the initial test runs; if anything, the silver-haired Arkhangelsk had been the dummy target, scenarios deliberately stacked in her favor. If Ludmilla, Cornelia, and Anya could handle a fully prepared Armsmistress, then they'd be more than capable of handling any recalcitrant S-Goth that somehow didn't get taken by surprise.

"Master."

Micah glanced up as he toggled the compression backpack and sent the pokeball into stasis. Gold eyes returned the gaze, Nunnally's expression conveying in her subtle manner that the pokegirl had something she viewed as serious she wished to discuss. "Yes?"

"What am I?"

Micah blinked, then flipped through his recent memory, holding back a wince as he realized in the rush of the past week or so, the matter had simply not been brought up. He stood, mindful of his wings as he nodded slowly. "Arkhangelsk. The Penultimate Angel of War pokegirl. A dreadnaught. A mobile weapons platform, the epitome of blistering speed and crushing power." Lambent eyes glowed softly off to the side as Illya watched the two of them curiously. Micah gave a wing-rustle of a shrug. "The breed was over a century's worth of effort by one man with a single goal in mind - the creation of a pokegirl that would exceed the limitations set down by Sukebe. No psychological quirks. No crippling emotional weaknesses that some of the breeds possess. A weapon in the purest sense, unfettered by mental limitations."

Silence. "...why?" 'Why make me?' those eyes asked. And more, 'What did you do to me?'

Micah gathered Nunnally up in a familiar leathery embrace. "What son doesn't hope to someday surpass his father? That was the core of the efforts in creating the breed, despite the tactical applications of having such a thing." He smoothed out silver hair. "You've been feeling differently?"

A slow nod. "...yes." A deep breath; she had mastered the arts of blind fighting and survived when other pokegirls would have given up and died. She would master this. Even if a part of her just wanted to curl up in her Master's lap and let the rest of the world go to hell. "It's as if the entire world has changed."

"And you don't know how to react." Micah's grip on Nunnally tightened. "It will settle, in time. Admittedly, this isn't the best point to be having a minor mental breakdown, but we rarely get to choose our moments of revelation." A careful smirk. "And, if nothing else, you have me."

Nunnally, hesitantly, smiled.

The rest of his harem choose that moment to teleport back in, looking slightly weary, albeit whole and healthy. Only Ludmilla showed a hint of injury, one arm streaked with blood that hinted at a recently healed injury.

Micah quirked an eyebrow, even as he stilled that gut-wrenching spike of concern. "Problems?"

Ludmilla gave a purposefully casual shrug. "Dameosaurs are annoying." She handed a Master Pokeball to him that he reached out from his leathery cocoon to take. "Master, from our records, this is the last Sanctuary Goth we could track down amid the Capital League. Congratulations."

Micah grinned. "Excellent job, all of you." Celebratory grins and looks were shared all-round amid the four. Only Euphemia was preoccupied, the redheaded G-splice mentally reconnecting with the shipping vessel? electronic systems to make sure nothing had happened in her absence.

And froze.

Euphemia was turned away from everyone, but Micah could clearly read the tension in her back, even as her voice took on a tremulous tone. "Um... Master...?"

It was like an electrical current running through the group as a whole, that damning sensation of 'What happened?' and 'How bad? And 'How fast do we need to run?' settling in like a too-familiar friend. Micah bit back a sigh, a snarl, or a stream of curses - exactly when had 'running for one's life' become so common place that the sensation was -familiar-? "Do we have time to get our supplies out?"

Euphemia wordlessly flicked over a holo-screen, showing a security feed of the ship's main bridge. The ship's captain was lying prone on the bridge floor, hopefully asleep, while a black-haired girl with tattoo? running up and down her arms, wearing a sundress, was leaning back in the Captain's chair, feet kicked up on a nearby console, expression somewhere between patient and bored.

Micah found that his heart was trying to beat his stomach and lungs on the exit via his throat. Close on the heels of that gut-wrenching terror was something akin to an incandescent hatred, with a serious, -serious- reconsideration to feed Illya all the S-Goths they had captured until her gut was full to bursting -

- No. NO. That preternatural, inexorable calm slammed down upon his brain was an audible click. Think. This wasn't the way S-Goths approached things. They always attacked from a direction of assumed superiority. Even Linda McMahon had to bring down one of Vince's ball-breaker of a harem sister just to drive the point home that he was helpless and had no chance of refusal. And unless the shipping vessel was packed to the gills with Dameosaurs and Tyrannodames, this, this was simply -odd-.

"Sweep the rest of the ship," Micah ordered, voice low and tight, and managed to relax his grip on Nunnally in his arms. "Anything?"

"Uh." Euphemia's expression of fear had progressed to one of pure puzzlement. "Nothing. Wait. Nothing?"

A glance at Ludmilla. "You've got nothing in the psychic band?"

The blonde-haired Dire Wolf had a similar expression of confusion. "I'm not picking up other pokegirls, and my foresight isn't giving any warning."

"Lovely." Micah frowned. "Illya, break the container's seal, sweep the entrance, and let's go talk to our guest."

"Crazy," Anya whispered, even as she drew several Cards. "Why did I have to marry a husband who's completely insane...?"

Micah smirked. "We're not married -yet-, woman. We're just engaged."

Nothing attacked them as they made their way up to the bridge, no traps laid as Illya and Nunnally held point and opened up the bridge's exterior hatch.

Micah kept his expression stilled as his ability confirmed his suspicions upon first sight of the pokegirl; she was, indeed, a Chibi S-Goth. He then held back a thoughtful frown. He wasn't aware that S-Goths -could- have templates, though nothing in the literature  aid otherwise. A skin-crawling shudder ran down his spine as an errant notion occured to him. It -would- be his luck that he developed some sort of demented blood curse that was a type of Chibi attractant. He suddenly had the mental image of being surrounded by a  plethora of Chibi Pokegirls and had to work hard to not break down sobbing right then and there.

A suspicious wag of Ludmilla's tail caught his attention, emerald eyes with that certain mirthful sparkle letting Micah know that she had heard that thought.

Focus. Said S-Goth hadn't moved from her seat, though she was regarding them with an easy, pleasant expression that didn't break into an outright smile or some triumphant smirk of superiority. Neutral. Waiting.

Micah kept his wings back and carefully still as he cleared his throat. "Whatever it is you're selling, I'm pretty sure we don't want any."

One slim leg kicked errantly free from the console it had been propped up against. "So quick to turn away the resources Sanctuary could offer?"

A piercingly loud shriek echoed through the bridge, making everyone, S-Goth included, Micah exempted, jump in startled surprise. Only the fact that Micah hadn't moved from his spot kept his harem under control, though it didn't explain the noise at -all- - until  Ludmilla glanced downward, and saw that his toe-claws had unsheathed and bitten deep into the metal floor.

From the S-Goth's sudden gulp, she had noticed the source as well.

Micah carefully worked his expression under control from the snarl it had assumed, wondering when the loving hell his temper had gotten this bad. "You'll excuse me," Micah said, slowly, carefully, "If I come across as impatient. But attempted enslavement and worse does tend to kill one's good manners. So if you don't mind telling me exactly what it is you're doing here...?"

Something in Micah's expression had cut away any meager remnants of superiority in her manner. "We want to help you."

Micah opened his mouth. Paused. Re-ran her words over in his head. "-What?-"

She smoothed out her sundress. "We want to help you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Quite frankly?" Micah replied. "-Yes!-" He closed his eyes, drew in a breath. "Alright. Obvious question. -Why?-"

The S-Goth looked down at herself. Looked back up. "Because some of us," she replied, "Are on the edge. We can see the cracks of the society we live in. And how wrong some things are."

"I'm sure," Ludmilla cut in, her tone wry, "That Jenova getting her head lopped off has nothing to do with you not acting until just now."

The S-Goth gave her own wry smile in return. "Thanks for the assumption of omniscience, but frankly? Do you honestly expect those S-Goths in charge to let the rest know about -everything-?"

A shift of bright blonde hair, as Ludmilla canted her head to the side, accepting the point.

"I'll momentarily ignore my qualms of disbelief and move on to the next important question," Micah noted. "-How-?"

"How did I find you?" The S-Goth seemed to be recalling a rather unpleasant memory if her expression was anything to go by. "-Not- easy. First I had to eliminate any feasible ground escapes you could have taken. Once I knew you weren't on the airship, it was just a case of trying to cross off every possible avenue of escape. Once I narrowed it down to ships..." A shrug of slim, bare shoulders. "I tried to scry for each ship that left port during Sadie Pokens. The one that I couldn't find..."

Micah stared at her. 'Holy shit,' he thought. 'An S-Goth that isn't afraid to do honest work.'

Cornelia scowled. "How did you know he wasn't on the airship?"

"Because I could magically track it, that's why," the S-Goth gave an easy shrug. "That ability of yours is great, but, well, while -moving- like that, it's a catch-22."

Micah glanced at his harem, suspecting that their look of astonishment mirrored his own. 'It's always -something-,' he thought. "Thank you for the tactical information," he said aloud. "It'll be something to consider in the future. But beyond that, I don't see how you could assist me."

There was a slight hint of a smile in her expression. "Not even tutelage in the magical arts?"

Micah didn't dignify that with a response; he simply rose one clawed hand and let black fire erupt around it.

The open look of shock on the Chibi pokegirl's face was well worth it.

Micah snuffed the magical fire with a gesture. "If that's all you've to 'assist' me with, then I'll have to decline."

Euphemia made an audible whimper, catching Micah's immediate attention. The G-splice had a look of pained misery on her face, looking up from a holoscreen. "Master..." Closed her eyes, and pointed out in the distance. Where a ship under full sails was heading directly for them.

Micah eyed the approaching ship for a moment, then turned back to the S-Goth, calm as you please. "Friends of yours?"

"Do I look like someone who's got a crew of Limbec pirates on my payroll?" she scoffed, despite a trickle of fear-derived sweat that ran down the side of her face, as if suddenly and acutely aware what kind of danger she was in.

"You're right," Micah commented. "You don't look it." Earning a slight giggle from a few of his harem, and a scowl from the S-Goth. "Despite that, this is a prime opportunity. And what you do in the next hour or so depends on how willing I am to listen to you and your request to 'help' me." Micah smiled. "Ladies, we need to prepare for our guests."

-[***]-

Laelia had not always been a Drow Zee, nor had she always been a member of the Limbic. Thoughts of when she had been a good little catholic girl, saying her prayers rigorously, like clockwork, in some vague attempt at stemming off the horrors of threshold. It hadn't worked, of course - for weeks she had tried to ignore how her skin had began darkening, how her ears had hurt as cartilage re-arranged itself - and for a long time she had devolved into a sense of self-loathing at her obvious lack of piety and childish theological logic. But those lessons, outlook, and stories had stayed with her ever since then, coloring her approach to things.

Which is why whenever she rounded a corner to find an entity sitting, calm as you please, fingering a flute glass with a milky greenish fluid sloshing within, her throat constricted as she let out a shriek and yelled, "DEMON!"

Her companions, a Naga and Heroleee, eyed her both with a measure of disgust and wariness. She swallowed in embarrassment, having the opportunity to get a second and third look at the unexpected discovery. No. This was no demon - an impossibility, surely - merely someone whom had gotten a plethora of blood gifts - or, more likely, blood curses, given his overall appearance.

Granted, the deep, sonorous laughter that emerged from his fanged mouth at her exclamation did not help things. At all.

The Herolee made a sound of irritation in the back of her throat, then leapt forward with blinding speed for a crippling strike, leg glowing with the contained chi energies therein - only for the attack to detonate in a high-pitched scream of conflicting energies as her leg came in contact with spherical shield of protection that manifested around him, a shell-like emblem with a black wing sprouting from it gleaming from where it was attached to the shoulder of his surcoat.

The Herolee stared at him in shock as this... individual grinned fearlessly at her, and stated, "You're quite powerful, woman, but this defense is more than enough to counteract any force you should bring to bear against it. Now allow me to teach you some manners!"

Darkness pooled at the Herolee's feet before she had a chance to react, a slim, pale arm snaking upward from the floor to grip her leg with crushing strength, yanking the Herolee's now phased body through the floor. Beneath them came the sounds of horrified, desperate screaming and the deep, thudding 'booms' as two powerful pokegirls wrestled with the other - and with a sickening crunch, terrifying silence.

Laelia glanced worriedly off to the side of her remaining companion, and felt a warm trickle of liquid run down her thigh as the Naga's  upper body slowly sectioned off the lower, her bowels uncoiling as the two halves of the now dead pokegirl pooled on the ship's deck.

"Now," the - demon? - gestured at her with his left hand, claws unsheathing as he smiled, still sitting upon that low-backed chair. Laelia could have sworn those unnatural, blue-on-black eyes were glowing as they eyed her like she was a piece of meat. "I believe I have made the matter clear enough. Go to your captain, and tell her, she and her crew now have a new Master."

-[***]-

/Ladies,/ Micah thought to Ludmilla, trusting the Dire Wolf to carry the words to his harem, his mental tone glowing with exultation and glee, /You do -good- work./

Micah took another sip at what Ernest Hemmingway had called a 'Death in the Afternoon' - a Champagne/Absinthe cocktail - mulling over how, despite it had taken three pokegirls to pull that fancy trick of showmanship off - Anya for her Shield Card to protect him, Illya indulging in a little snack, and Ludmilla teleporting in behind the Naga to eliminate her fast enough - it had gone off near perfectly.

/What are things looking like over there?/ Micah inquired to Euphemia via Ludmilla, the G-splice observing the Limbics via the ship's security cameras.

/You got their attention,/ Ludmilla mentally replied. /Looks like our Drow Zee had a bit of a screaming fit and got the Captain's interest riled up. She's coming over as we speak./

/Good,/ Micah replied, mentally running over his plan. A thought occurred to him. /The Limbic Captain. She isn't a Tigress, isn't she?/

/Uh?/ Ludmilla paused as she checked with Euphemia. /No. She looks to be a Lupina. Why?/

/Pity,/ Micah replied. /It appears that I'm not that lucky. I was half hoping it was Tigre Caliente./

A pause. /Why would you hope for something like -that-?//So Illya could have Panthress for dinner, and I could express my personal displeasure with our dear Ms. Caliente,/ Micah replied, his mental tone calm and ruthless. He let a sip of alcohol roll over his tongue as he waited patiently, Ludmilla giving him a warning of /She's almost there,/ so he could finish downing the remainder of the cocktail and toss the flute glass away as the captain of the Limbic Pirate ship came into view, the Lupina wearing nothing but her battle form and trailed by several of her crew.

"So you're the blood cursed-freak one of my crew was raving about," the Lupina smiled, flesh pulled back to reveal a row of sharp canine teeth. "Don't worry, kid. We'll treat you nicely. I'm sure you'll get a chance to fuck every last one of us before we kill you." Her tongue lolled. "Hell, we've got an Angel in the hold we haven't turned. I'm sure watching you tame her will be great entertainment."

"Perhaps my messenger didn't convey my demands properly," Micah replied as he stood, wings moving in a smooth, liquid manner as they arched high overhead, seeming to fill the corridor. "Very well. You'll serve under my command, Captain, from this moment forward."

The Lupina let out a chuffing woof, flicking her head sharply to the side. "You're cracked inside that pretty skull of yours, boy."

Micah shook his horned head slowly. "Do this, or I'll kill you all."

The Lupina snarled at him, even as her entourage shifted slightly, as if unnerved by his use of words.

Micah grinned, fangs gleaming as he chuckled. "Yes. I said -kill-. Not capture. Not convert. Not defeat and fuck at my leisure. -Kill-. I will destroy your precious pirate vessel and pick off the survivors for my sport. First chance, Captain. You only get two of them."

"Even if I thought you could pull that off, boy, I don't think you've got the balls for it," the Lupina snarled, eying him as if feasting on his entrails was the least of things she'd enjoy doing to him. "We've got prisoners in our hold. Destroy our ship, and they die."

"I don't care," Micah stated, his tone flat and dead, even as he mentally ordered Ludmilla, /Tell Nunnally her part of the plan is a go./

This had been the part he personally hated, even if he had come up with it and told Nunnally flat out to refuse it if she thought she wasn't capable. She had been practicing her flight and teleport capabilities for the past week, that was certain - but if she miscalculated any part of what she was about to do, death was certain.

Several miles out, Nunnally floated, holding a large piece of metal from ship stores. At Ludmilla's mental permission, she pivoted sharply, and accelerated hard, heading straight for where the shipping vessel and the pirate ship were lashed together.

She had passed mach one a mile out from the ship - in an act of near supernatural split-second timing, the Arkhangelsk let the metal go just as she teleported out, leaving the impromptu mach-plus missile to continue on it's way. Even if it hadn't been designed for this role, sheer kinetic force made the piece of scrap do it's job beautifully, impacting the bridge tower with an ear-rending sound, causing the entire ship to rock on it's keel.

The reaction from the Lupina was near instant - her eyes literally glowed with power, teeth drawn back in a horrific snarl as she neatly pivoted and launched herself directly at  Micah.

The two locked eyes as she butted up against the effect of the Shield Card, Micah not flinching away from her hate-filled gaze, even as licks of blue saint Elmo? fire erupted from where her claws were attempting to get through the magical forcefield. Hatred that dimmed to surprise as an energy blade erupted out the front of her stomach. Blood urbled up from her throat, the Lupina turning around in disbelief, finding one of her own entourage at the end of the killing blow; a Dark Lady, whom promptly withdrew the blade and then lopped off the Lupina's head.

Once the body had fallen over, the Dark Lady knelt on the deck. "My lord, please have mercy on us, and temper your anger and hatred. Allow me to retrieve the XO - once the matter is explain, she will surely bow to your wishes."

Micah eyed the Dark Lady for a moment longer, then gestured with one clawed finger. "Rise," he uttered, "Go. Your former captain has used up one of your chances; I am not merciful or forgiving enough to grant you any more."

The Dark Lady bowed, then rose and hurried away, the other three pokegirls following her in an obviously confused and hesitant fashion.

Micah glanced down curiously at the two corpses on the decking, and tangently wondered how high the butcher's bill was going to get today. "Though if this keeps up," he muttered quietly to himself, "I'm going to quickly use up my allotted quotient of melodrama."

He wasn't certain, but he could have sworn he mentally heard Ludmilla snicker.

Several minutes pass until the XO finally showed; Micah carefully did not react as a white-and-black furred Mini-top wearing nothing but a short skirt and a pistol/knife belt stalked up, carrying along with her a large bottle of alcohol - rum, if Micah's practiced nose was anything to go by.

The Mini-top gave the Lupina's body a disgusted look, lightly kicking at the head, sending it rolling a short ways away. "Stupid bitch." She glanced up at Micah, giving a slurp of her bottle before she stated, "So you're the one who's going to kill us all unless you're the new Captain, eh?"

"No," Micah replied patiently. "-You- are the new Captain. -I- am the Master." He grinned. "I'm sure you're well suited to the role of running the ship."

"And then what?" the Mini-top replied, absently fondling the long neck of the bottle. "You're just going to cruise around in charge of your pretty little Limbec Pirate ship, fucking it's crew and having a grand old time?"

"Of course not," Micah replied. "You're simply going to convey us to our original destination, the Forest League. Once that's over and done with, we'll be quite content to wash our hands of the other."

The Mini-top grinned, showing off teeth that were more certainly not designed to gnaw on carrots. "So you won't mind if we grab everything our hot little hands can carry off this boat, do you?"

"As long as you take nothing of me and mine, feel free to grab whatever you like."

A snort. "So I'm guessing you're the reason why we didn't find any crew on board."

Micah shrugged, leathery wings shifting as he did so. "I was hungry."

The Mini-top stared at him, as if waiting for the joke's punchline, even as her pokegirl entourage jostled nervously; the Dark Lady looked as if she was about to orgasm from the way her thighs were rubbing together. "...right," the Mini-top finally replied. And held out a hand. "So we have a deal? Fuck!" The profanity was from the pool of liquid darkness that surged up from the floor. Illya, in adult form, reared upward, her blonde-white hair having shifted to impossibly long. She was near splattered in blood, her tongue long, distended, stretching near to her breastbone, her teeth having shifted to needle-like points as she leered at the Limbec pokegirls.

"Yes," Micah replied calmly as Illya melted to his side, her tongue returning to normal as she let it run along the outside curve of one of his horns, lambent eyes a-glow as she glared at the other pokegirls. "We have a deal. I'll trust you to keep your crew under control, but should any of them attempt to kill me, I'll be certain to keep my retribution to a minimum."

-[***]-