Fell Champions

Otter had never cockblocked herself before. It was a weird experience. Of course, she’d never actually had a cock previous to Fell Champions, but she’d always dove face first into whatever sexy circumstance had fallen her way in the past.

How many times in her teen years had she offered to ‘practice kissing’ with her so-called hetero friends, just to show them they weren’t as straight as they’d claimed? How many times had she allowed herself to be plied with liquor by friends in college so they’d have an excuse to experiment? How many lesbian bars and clubs with awful music and worse lighting had she subjected herself to with the intention of getting laid?

There were very few times Otter had ever turned down sex with a woman, and the only times she had were because she hadn’t been into the person proposing it. This would be the first time she’d ever turned it down when she was not only attracted to the two women involved – holy shit were they both hot, especially together – but genuinely cared about them.

So, why had she done it? Seemed kind of dumb.

Part of her wanted Rua to experience sex outside of her. Get a better feel for what she liked, maybe learn some tricks from Sami. 

But the real heart of it was… Otter didn’t think she was ready for that kind of intimacy with Sami. Not yet. Things just felt kind of weird. They weren’t there yet.

They would be again, she was sure. But it’d take time. And maybe getting Sami to rethink this whole “Sua’noa” nonsense. It only made a power imbalance between them, and Otter wasn’t sure she was comfortable with it.

She shook off her thoughts, or tried to. Her cock – still weird that she had one, even if she’d taken to it like a fratboy to beer – was now straining against her pants, eager to rut something into submission. 

She looked forlornly back at Rua’s Truthshield, but of course, she couldn’t actually see it. There was no black dome, or… anything really. It was like her gaze just slid off the area where she knew Rua and Sami were undoubtedly fucking like horny teenagers. Even focusing on it, trying to see past what she knew was there didn’t help. It was like she couldn’t maintain her attention on the area, kind of like when she’d been a hyperactive child on a sugar rush trying to do third grade math. Her brain just kept trying to do other things, anything but what she wanted it to do.

She gave up after only growing increasingly frustrated, and instead looked down at Holt and his little arena. Their tormentor was seated on his throne, seemingly having a quiet conversation with someone who wasn’t there. Either they were invisible, or he was chatting on a call.

On the sands of the arena itself was Fitzkim, getting absolutely pummeled by a small pack of what looked to be goblins. It was like a violent family reunion. Honestly, it’d be kind of funny if he wasn’t in trouble. She’d never really liked the little clout-chasing chairsniffer, but no one deserved to die for Holt’s entertainment.

Five goblins were dead on the ground, and Fitzkim himself was swinging about him with a big two-handed sword – where he’d gotten one, she wasn’t sure – in a desperate attempt to keep the remaining six at bay. His reach was the only thing keeping him alive, but he was visibly tiring out in front of her – and their – eyes. 

Otter’s feet were moving before they even asked for permission from her brain. She bounded down steps two at a time, then three as she picked up speed, and soon enough, she was leaping over the wall separating audience and arena to the sands below.

She landed in a roll and was back on her feet in an instant. Fitzkim, cornered and surrounded, perked up, noticing her arrival, and it was like his limbs had found all new strength. The speed of his swings doubled, and one goblin that got a little too close was cut down with a spray of green blood.

Otter activated her Thread of the Scourge, but visualized its appearance a little differently as she did. One end of the wire dropped into her hand, wrapping itself about her, and the other was tied tightly to the ring at the end of one of her throwing knives. 

She whipped it out of its sheath and threw it in one motion. Her accuracy was normally pretty good with spells – okay, it was amazing – but she was no Il-Su. She’d drilled on throwing knives and knew her way around them, but didn’t have the same pinpoint accuracy he did. 

Even so, her knife still took a goblin in the shoulder, hurled with enough force to put it right through the flesh and out the other side. The little green bastard screamed in surprise, and then absolutely shrieked and Otter yanked backwards.

Otter had no idea what a score of 18 Strength equated to in the real world. She was definitely more physically fit than she’d ever been in her life, but she didn’t exactly feel like He-Man, Master of the Universe. 

The goblin was about the size of a ten-year old human child. Not exactly heavy, but not the kind of thing you’d expect to be able to wield like your own personal wrecking ball just by stabbing a knife attached to a magic string into it. But as Otter willed it, the thread wrapped itself around the goblin’s arm, and she heaved.

The goblin was light to her, almost like swinging around a stuffed toy its size, and not a writhing ball of muscle, gristle, and hatred. Well, more fear now that it was being swung through the air. 

The goblin let out a strangled cry of fear as it was swung in a wide arc. Otter spun him around her in a circle once, twice, thrice, picking up speed the entire time, and one of its compatriots could only stare in wide-eyed terror as it was suddenly bludgeoned to absolute ground beef. 

Her tetherball goblin died – its poor heart might’ve actually given out before it hit, and that was probably a mercy – its screams silenced. But given that she had velocity on her side, Otter’s wrecking ball continued unimpeded. 

Fitzkim’s sword provided a good four to five feet of clearance around him, but Otter’s improvised goblin mace gave her a good ten feet, and between the two of them, they made short work of what should have been a random encounter.

The poor goblins didn’t exactly want to die, and as Otter slaughtered them, she felt a little bad for them. They ran, screamed in panic, and did whatever they could to escape their fate. The last one even stood, back to the wall, clearly pissing itself as Fitzkim cleaved it in two. 

When they were done, Otter dismissed her thread, put away her knife, and they proceeded to the grisly process of butchery. It was made a little easier by the goblins disappearing into puffs of black mist halfway through, which Otter wished she’d remembered would happen before she got herself completely covered in green blood. And of course the blood didn’t disappear either. No, that would’ve been easy. 

She was left with four soul crystals, all unattuned. She swallowed two, and pocketed the others, getting her a quick point in Strength and another in Awareness. She’d been using that as a dump stat for a little too long, and while she normally would’ve been happy to keep on ignoring it, that last stat choice had been between Awareness, Fortune, and Allure, and she was pretty sure goblins had fuck all for the other two stats. What kind of shit luck would you need to have to be born a goblin? 

“Hey, thanks for the assist,” Fitzkim said, hoisting his sword in something like a salute. It looked awkward and a little dumb.

“Why didn’t anyone else help?” Otter said, glaring at the crowd.

“Oh, because Holt said anyone who did would be volunteering for his next task.”

Otter slapped a palm over her face. Of course. Of fucking course.

She turned to look at Holt. He was positively beaming at her from atop his stupid throne that totally added +4 to his douche score. 

She sighed as loudly and as theatrically as she could manage. She was pretty sure that at least the first two rows of spectators could hear it. 

“Alright, what did I just volunteer myself for?”

"Forget that," Fitzkim said. "What about my reward? I want an elf--"

Holt waved a hand, and Fitzkim vanished from the arena, probably deposited right back to his seat. Holt leaned forward, a predatory gleam in his eye. 

“I’m so glad you asked.”

Otter waited for him to elaborate, and when the only thing she got was a creepy smile that steadily widened, she said, “Well?”

“You’re the one who gets the dubious pleasure of showing one form of magic to the audience through the time-honoured tradition of PVP.”

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