Testicular Torsion

SOLVEIG

I—I mean… it’d make sense right?!

The tales of my exploits must have reached far and wide by now!

And since they brought so many colleagues to detain me… it means my genes, my looks, my mana... it's all top-shelf slave material!

I never thought my life would turn out this way, but if they can see how useful I am, then it can't be helped right? I'll be the greatest slave to ever exist!

“What did I tell you, Cunningham?!” the principal hissed. “We should’ve sent more than a pittance’s garrison with us!”

“Heard the explosion, did you?” the Duke called out, ignoring him.

“Aye,” the slender slaver-man replied. “Close enough to the border to hear the explosion, we was—moving along some discrete ‘cargo.’ And boy was I ever grateful to listen to my instincts. LADS AND LASSES! We didn’t just get ourselves some valuable cargo—we got ourselves some ROYALS!”

“AYEEEEEE!”

The men and women around him cried at the top of their lungs.

She grimaced. Dealing with these types was never particularly easy. When dealing with human cargo… slavers had to get good at fighting back.

“You dare provoke a Duke of House Cunningham?” The Duke flashed his emblem on his chest, golden, silver and proud. “That would mean war. Your king would see you to the gallows for making a call like that.”

“Bah… as if you have any leverage for Illustria. Sir, you ARE the leverage—and as soon as you’re gone, the Quadrant can just waltz right in! Your little Concordat won’t have the soldiers to respond, I will be showered in all the gold and trinkets I could ever want.”

"And what makes you think you'd stand a chance," the Duke called back, "against the very people who captured the entity responsible? The very entity you planted here in Illustria’s borders to cause chaos?!" He drew his hands back, gesturing toward Solveig with unmistakable confidence. "Behold!"

…

The gang looked at Solveig for a moment.

"HAH!” One of the stocky men doubled over, slapping his knee. “You wot, mate?! HER?!”

Then the rest of his gang followed suit.

“HAHAHAHA!”

“The Quadrant would never have picked her!"

"She looks like a twig anyway!"

All around her, the jabs continued, relentlessly, mercilessly.

"Oi, twig! Want us to snap ya in half?"

"Careful, lads, she might cry...!"

The answer to Solveig’s earlier question was addressed resolutely.

Solveig curled into herself, small and tight.

Friend. Foe. It didn't matter which. Past or present. Different faces, different circumstances, thousands of years apart, and somehow it was the same exact laugh.

She remembered a time where she was still growing, when she had to stand on a chair so the chieftains could see her over the table. The one from the victory feast, too, when the elders gave the Chieftain's son the seat at the head of the fire and handed her whatever was left at the bottom of the pot because they thought she was just a servant.

The one constant in Solveig's life? Her whole life had been built out of cannot’s stacked one on top of the other. Nobody ever, ever , took her seriously.

It all felt so hopeless, sometimes...

Solveig just wanted someone… anyone at all… to care...

Glow…

…What?

She looked down, to her immediate regret.

Her skin shimmered faintly at the edges in white.

No…

She patted herself down in panic.

Not now not now not now!

“Time’s up, Royal,” the slaver eventually said, interrupting her thoughts. “Bow down or throw down.”

The Duke hitched.

“Fighting thirty people is a bit too tall of an order, Duke,” the principal whispered. “Even for an accomplished archmage like myself.”

“We cannot surrender, Mackenzie,” the Duke said grimly.

“Are you crazy?! We just have to pay the bail.”’

“The kingdom doesn’t have the gold…”

"WE DON'T HAVE THE—" The principal's voice cracked halfway through, drawing several curious looks from the treeline. He dropped back to a hiss. “You mean to tell me the big vault in the castle has nothing inside it?”

The Duke gave him a look that brokered no argument.

"If we don't win… Illustria as we know it forever changes."

“Whatever could you possibly mean?”

"Slavery," Cain finished, his face completely pale. "No... Not after what they did…"

He buckled his horse forward a step.

"NO!"

The Duke twisted around sharply in his saddle. "Cain?!"

"The Concordat will never yield to the Quadrant," Cain announced, his blade leaving the sheath with a snap. "Not while I still draw breath. Not after what their duelists did to my brother!"

The Duke's hand tightened on his reins. He said nothing.

Even the principal, half-turned in his saddle to size up the treeline, went still at that.

Then the slavers, blessedly unaware of what they'd just walked into, filled it back up.

“I’m gutting that boy…” one of the stocky men said.

"Not if I get to him first," the other replied.

Hngg…

HNGGG…!

My heart… my heart can’t take it any more!!!

BOOOOM!

Cain, the Duke, everybody shot their head back toward the sound.

Smoke billowed out from the cage.

"Impossible..." the principal breathed.

Solveig the Great stepped out through the smoke.

Her spine was small and her chin was low.

And she was… on the verge of CRYING?!?!?!

“Nyo!” She stomped the dirt below her repeatedly. “NYONYONYONYONYO! You don’t get to hurt Cain’s brother like that, treating him like he’s just some—some THING to throw away! Nobody gets to do that to people, you hear me?! It’s the worst thing you can do to somebody, it’s— ” She jabbed a finger into her own chest without seeming to notice she’d done it. “—it’s NOT OKAY. Also, I am NOT a twig!”

The slaver out front that led this merry band laughed heartily. “Exactly what a twig would say!”

“I am going for you FIRST!” Solveig cried.

“Step back, girl. This is not your fight,” the Duke stated flatly. “A prisoner under guard has no obligation to defend the realm.”

“I’m nyot fighting for you, I’m fighting for myself!” Solveig shrieked, before her voice immediately faltered. “W-Well, don’t get me wrong, I’m fighting for you as well! After all, they wish harm upon the ones who gave me this handkerchief... behold!”

She waved the soiled-crusted scrap of cloth in the air for all to see.

“Repaying the favor is the absolute least I can do for my new friends!”

“F-Friends…?” Cain whimpered.

“But more importantly… I need to beat this slaver’s ass!”

The slaver-man had two arms on his sides, chuckling. “And how do you suppose you do that?”

The henchmen behind him laughed.

She stood, paralysed. Good question, actually.

Alright, Solveig, deep breaths! Think! This is why you're supposed to think things through before you start screaming! But as they always say, you should always live in the here and now!

If you screw this up, the Duke will throw you in a dark dungeon forever…

So, zen mode: activate! Step one: display your immense, majestic power without looking like a damn animal driven by base emotions. Step two: prove you’re an elite, dignified asset who deserves royal treatment and definitely not a jail cell—

“I wanna see what this shorty has to say!”

Solveig's magic flared instantly. “I AM NOT SHORT!!!”

CRUNCH!

“G-Guh…!”

A white-black foot, conjured out of thin air, had shot up the slaver's crotch.

It was like physics itself had been waiting for him to finish that sentence. The moment he did, it got to work.

"YAAAAEEEEIIIIIIII!!!!!"

Up he went. And up. And up.

Launched, really, was the more accurate word. Like a trebuchet!

Actually, trebuchet was probably underselling it too, since he kept going and going until…

°. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ✩ ˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°‧₊˚

~Sparkle...~

What a pretty twinkling star…!

Solveig smiled, watching him go. The glorious rush she used to chase across a hundred battlefields, the one that made all the loud noise in her head go completely quiet for just a moment...

Gods, she'd missed this so much.

No… no… bad Solveig! her brain tried to lecture her. You’re not a slave to your emotions! The scary Duke is standing right there, watching you looking like you enjoy this…

Okay. Okay! Great heroes feel bad about violence! That's like, rule one of being a hero! You're supposed to say "I take no pleasure in this"! Say it! SAY IT, SOLVEIG!

You can change!!!

But the thought arrived too late, already being dragged off and locked away, some invisible jailor slamming the door on it the instant her addled brain remembered one crucial detail.

"Not even a passive ward...?" Solveig snapped her head toward the two remaining henchmen. "You don't even have a passive defense up?! He wouldn’t have gone flying into the stratosphere like that if he did! You did that on purpose to make me look like a volatile, overreacting psycho in front of the royals, didn't you?!"

"What in the blazes is a passive ward?!" one of them cried out.

"Even a kid would know what a passive ward is!” Solveig shrieked, fat, bitter tears welling up in her eyes again.

“Well, w-we ain’t kids!”

Solveig's hands moved to her hips. “You’re mocking me, then? You think I'm just some clumsy psycho who overreacts, don't you?!”

“Yes! I—I mean, no!”

Liars. Liars everywhere! Her skin shimmered white again.

The twins shivered. “We’re not mocking you! We swears we don’t know what you're talking about!”

That did absolutely nothing to assuage the roaring pit burning in her soul. "If you all want to treat me like a villain, fine! I'll play the villain! Just don't come crying when you find out I play for keeps!”

Unfortunately for them, someone decided they, indeed, wanted to play for keeps!

“Why are you idiots just standing there like a bunch of melons?!” one of the slavers cried out from the tree line. “She's totally unstable now! Rush her! ”

As if on cue, the twins shook themselves out of their stupor and charged.

And if there were any lingering doubts from the Duke watching her actions, Solveig had swiftly discarded them.

"You will find that incredibly difficult," she said.

This feeling of power... it was simply too satisfying to resist~!

[AURA: PRESSURE]

The twins stumbled a little as they advanced.

“For I…”

Her eyes glowed white.

“...AM SOLVEIG THE GREAT! NYAHAHAHA~!”