Sophie punched.
And punched.
And punched.
It was just her and the bag.
She had just gotten off the phone with Alex. An employee of Abraxas Paladin Academy had approached her as she was working out in the underground gym beneath the campus grounds. They had told her that Cadet Carpenter was on the phone asking to speak with her, and that they had routed the call to the front desk phone of the gym. It was a brief conversation, but she was just glad that he was safe.
Sophie threw a jab, then a cross. The good ol’ one-two combo. A good warm-up after the break for the call.
She paused, still in a boxing stance, bouncing slightly from side-to-side on the balls of her feet as if the punching bag were a real opponent.
A hook. Then another jab, followed by an uppercut from her rear hand. All thrown with expert precision and ruthless power, just as she had trained a million times.
Back to guard. She flexed her muscles in her arms and clenched her fists, feeling the wraps on her hands, how they held the bones of her hands together so securely, where they effectively fused into a unified blunt instrument. Weapons to wield for maximum efficiency in combat. Tools that could defend or destroy.
They weren’t the only tools at her disposal though. She spun on the ball of her front foot and threw a roundhouse kick. The bag absorbed it with a dull whomp as she returned to her starting position.
She practiced her strikes like clockwork. It was routine, and that was exactly how Sophie liked it. Practicing and pushing herself not only helped her improve, but it sated the beast inside, just a little bit. Within limits, of course, the tiger was allowed to sharpen her claws, like a knife being ground and honed on a whetstone.
Remember that you’re not a predator, she thought to herself with punch after punch, kick after kick.
She was a weapon. A tool for the Lord to wield, for the Church to use. She controlled her body. It did not control her.
Except … she did lose control last night. Her instincts had taken over.
She could hardly sleep when she got back home to her apartment. The nightmares kept waking her up in a cold sweat.
Her sheets had torn in her sleep. Claw marks. She had thrown them out and gotten a fresh set first thing in the morning at sunrise, when she decided trying to get more sleep was futile.
All the tiger had to do was whisper sweet sinful temptations into her ear, and she had unlocked its cage, by choice. She could blame the beast inside all she wanted, but deep down she knew it was her fault.
She didn’t just want to be ordered to kill Snake.
She had wanted to spill his blood.
To hunt her prey, on her own terms.
Why didn’t she stop herself?
Where did all of her paladin training and self-restraint against temptation go?
Why the fuck didn’t she DO something?!?
Sophie knew the answer.
Because she was WEAK.
She was nothing but a sinful, accursed, bloodthirsty, hideous, depraved, MONSTROUS BEAST—
Sophie roared.
She slashed the punching bag.
Like it was launched from a catapult, the punching bag rocketed across the room. It flipped end over end, sand spilling out in a spiral through the air from gaping shred marks in the vinyl, the chains still attached to the bag from where they had torn free from their ceiling fixture. It tumbled for a split second before slamming into the far wall with a loud thud, as the chains attached to it rattled and settled into place.
… God above.
Damn it!
That was the third punching bag she’s trashed this year. There’s only so many times she can claim it was defective and get away with it. She was lucky she was the only one in the gym right now. She needs to be more careful!
Sophie quickly cleaned up the sand off the floor with a broom and dustpan and threw it into a garbage bag in a nearby bin. She had just moved the broken punching bag and sand-filled garbage can into the utility closet, reminding herself to notify a janitor about it later, when she noticed what time it was on the wall clock.
Right, the meeting!
Sophie started to gather up her belongings to change out of her gym clothes, but before she could even finish, the door to the men’s changing room opened.
Bishop Saul Ironside, who she was supposed to be meeting in his office in a few minutes, entered the underground gym while carrying his gym bag, shirtless and wearing nothing but gym shorts, socks, and running shoes. If the bishop looked strong while still covered up by his armor and uniform, having his bare upper body and legs shown like this absolutely confirmed that his muscles were no illusion of his clothing. A sinewy beefy wall of man strode into the gym, obviously familiar territory to someone with his massive build, and wiped beads of sweat that were somehow already forming on his shaved head.
The man was absolutely ripped. Taken aback for a second, having not seen her superior officer in this attire before, Sophie recomposed herself and saluted the bishop.
“At ease, Templar Ryder,” said Bishop Ironside. “I accidentally scheduled our meeting over my gym session for today, so I figured we could have our meeting here instead. And don’t worry, no one’s going to walk in on us—the staff know that I’ve got the gym to myself for an hour. They even turned the cameras off a bit ago, so we could have absolute privacy.”
“Noted, Sir,” Sophie said, nodding and putting down her saluting hand. They must have turned off the cameras before she destroyed the punching bag, otherwise the bishop would have said something.
The bishop walked over to the deadlifting platform and motioned for Sophie to follow him. As she did, she noticed something else on his body, specifically on his back—magitech augmentations. Chrome metal plates were embedded symmetrically down either side of his spine, occasionally glowing with green runic circuitry as he flexed, and getting narrower in width the farther down his back they were.
Noticing that Sophie was staring at his back, Bishop Ironside said, “Presbyter Talbot implanted them on me, for strength enhancement and interfacing with other magitech.” He pulled weights off of the rack to add to the barbell. “They’re somewhat experimental, but he’s the best magitech engineer we have at this academy. If only you could see his work in-person—the man is a genius.”
Presbyter John Talbot was an older white-haired man who barely spoke two words to Sophie every time he saw her, always absorbed in his work. The only times Sophie really interacted with him were when she escorted Mac to his clinic, usually after an interrogation session with Sophie. Along with whatever other paladin she was working with at the time to guard the prisoner, Sophie would help chain the beastess woman to the table and then be ordered to leave the room. Presbyter Talbot was ‘not to be disturbed’ while he did … whatever he did to Mac in there.
“Want to work in with me?” the bishop asked.
“No thank you,” Sophie replied, “I actually was just finishing up to go to our meeting. In fact, I just got off the phone with Cadet Carpenter. He said his mission is going well, and he has a lead. He will be back at the academy by Monday or Tuesday.”
Bishop Ironside nodded and said, “Good, good …” His mind seemed … elsewhere. But all that mattered to Sophie was that the bishop saw that Alex was actually capable of carrying out the mission—a stark contrast from their last meeting.
The bishop kept adding weights, one by one, until the barbell was almost out of room to add any more. He chalked up his hands, casually assumed his position at the platform, and then with a grunt and perfect form he deadlifted the barbell.
Then he did it again. And again. And again. And again. The man lifted a staggering amount of weight for a set of five repetitions like he was doing something as simple as taking out the trash. His muscles bulged and strained, the veins popping out all over his body, but it seemed effortless to him to use his muscles like this. Then he started adding more weight for his next set, along with resistance bands. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie also spotted some custom-made barbells and weights that looked even heavier.
Sophie would have to somewhat unleash her inner tiger to get close to this level of strength, but here was a human man lifting this heavy as a warm-up. She didn’t know how much the magitech implants were helping, but regardless, the bulked-up bishop was undeniably strong.
As he loaded up for his second set, Sophie said, “A couple of days ago, on Wednesday, you said to me that you were … ‘looking forward’ to our meeting today with, uh, ‘great anticipation’.”
“Correct, templar.” Bishop Ironside smirked at her, before turning back to the weights. “Let me finish my compound lift for the day, and I’ll tell you why.”
After his deadlift sets, the bishop wiped his brow, drank some water, and picked up some humongous dumbbells from a rack by the mirror. He didn’t look at Sophie as he curled them—he just kept staring at himself in the mirror obsessively, almost mesmerized by the contortions of his body.
“How did last night’s mission go?” he asked.
Sophie tensed up for a second. Memories of carnage flashed through her head in an instant.
“The target was eliminated, as instructed. No witnesses. It was a piece of cake.”
“Good. I expect nothing less from the one and only Templar Sophia Ryder.” Bishop Ironside grunted as he switched to lateral raises. “You’ve garnered quite a reputation within the Church, you know that right?”
Sophie nodded. “Speaking of reputations … there was one thing I wanted to ask you about.”
“Go ahead.”
“The target mentioned something before he was eliminated,” Sophie said slowly. “He said he knew the archbishop was coming for him. The target said as he begged for his life, quote, ‘I won’t tell anyone what he did, I swear’. Do you know what he meant by that?”
Bishop Ironside stopped his exercise suddenly. He placed the dumbbells back on the rack.
His face was plain, unreadable.
Then … he smirked.
His smirk turned into a wide smile.
His smile then turned into a grin that Sophie could only describe as diabolical.
He tossed his head back in laughter, a hearty belly-laugh, then faced Sophie with that twisted grin on his face.
“Oh, Sophie, Sophie, Sophie …” he said in a terrifying gravely low voice, sotto voce, “... do I have a fascinating tale to share with you.”
What was going on with the bishop? Why was he acting like this? He was always intimidating, sure, but he was usually stoic and serious. This was … unusual.
Something was very wrong.
She looked around to gather her thoughts as her hands felt clammy and her heart raced, and as she did, she noticed something that she hadn’t before.
All of the magitech locks on the doors to the gym were red. Blinking red.
She was locked in, and all of the cameras were off.
… Oh sweet Lord above.
Bishop Ironside suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her throat. Not enough to strangle her, but just enough to keep her from running away.
“And, funnily enough, that’s the reason I was so excited to chat with you today. What that cretinous criminal mentioned to you last night has something to do with not only the archbishop … but your little sister Zoe as well.”
NO!
Sophie’s heart pounded so hard that she thought it would burst out of her chest at any moment. She clutched her throat on instinct.
She was an animal caught in a trap.
So weak. Stand up to him.
Hunt him down.
She fought her inner beast hard to stay put. Fighting back would only cause more trouble. This was a dangerous man, and her sister had only stayed safe because Sophie had always obeyed the bishop’s orders.
At least, it seemed, until now.
“What did you do to Zoe?!” Sophie yelled, her hazel eyes narrowing with incredible fury at the bishop. “You always told me she would be safe as long as I carried out these secret missions for the Church! I’ve never strayed from the Lord’s will—urgh!”
“QUIET!” Bishop Ironside boomed, tightening his grip to cut her off, as if he was also tightening a collar around her neck. “Let me tell my story, you insubordinate little bitch. And if I find out that you spoke a single word about this to anyone outside of this room, I will fucking kill you myself. Do you understand me, Templar Sophia Ryder?”
Sophie quieted down and nodded, tears streaming down her face.
“Good girl,” the bishop sneered with condescension, releasing her neck and stepping back. “This story begins with Archbishop Solomon Steele. Now, you must understand that being an archbishop in the Supreme Church puts a lot of pressure on one person. It’s a tough job being the leader of an entire megacity of millions of people, in both church and state. Who can blame the man for wanting to let off a bit of steam every so often? Father Sun is our tender farmer, our loving shepherd, and He says we shall reap the harvest we have sown. So if Archbishop Steele’s duty is to sow the seeds of faith into the people of Abraxas, surely he deserves to reap the harvest from those seeds, right?”
Sophie didn’t know how to answer that. She just nodded dumbly, trying to get him to make his point quickly.
“The thing is, the archbishop has a very … discriminating palate. So the type of crop, the type of bounty, the type of harvest that he wishes to reap is something very hard to find. It’s forbidden fruit, one might say.”
“W-what sort of ‘forbidden fruit’ are you talking about?” Sophie asked, not sure if she would like the answer.
The bishop paced around her slowly with his beefy hairy arms crossed as he continued talking.
“You see, Archbishop Steele prefers captive women. But not just submissive little waifs. No, no, no… he loves wild women. Women who fight back, like caged animals. Women he can break into his personal pets.” Bishop Ironside licked his lips. “Pets that he shares with other members of the Church who also have ‘unique’ tastes, just like him.”
The bishop leaned in close to Sophie, the pungent smell of his sweat flooding her nose, and whispered into her ear.
“Archbishop Steele loves to collect and fuck beastesses.”
Sophie froze up.
An icy chill down her spine kept her rooted in place, as her conflicting instincts to fight or flee collided, short-circuiting her brain.
“Is th-that why you had me c-capture Mac Fiero?” Sophie stammered.
“Partially,” the bishop answered, leaning back. “She is a unique case. We may give her away to Archbishop Steele when she is no longer useful to us. However, being the ‘beta’ of her organization, we are trying to gather intelligence from her … and she is also an excellent test subject for Presbyter Talbot’s experiments with wild magic extraction.”
Wild magic extraction? That’s what they’re doing to her? Sophie was surprised Mac was even still alive.
It was hard at first to talk to Mac. Sophie didn’t blame her—who would open up to their kidnapper, of all people? But once Mac realized that Sophie was just a ‘cog in a machine’, as she put it, and Sophie realized she would never get anywhere with her interrogations, their conversations slowly opened up, becoming more casual. Friendly. Almost flirtatious, even.
She could never fully bring herself to trust a beastess, but still, Sophie looked forward to seeing Mac every time. However, she also dreaded the haunted expression on Mac’s face and the fresh burns or injuries on her body every time Sophie escorted her from Presbyter Talbot’s clinic back to her cell.
Why would they hurt a soul so … beautiful?
“Your capture of our little prisoner aside,” Bishop Ironside continued, interrupting her thoughts, “usually only sinners can provide this sort of ‘crop’ … so some necessary compromises must be made. Kurtis Mandrake was an excellent harvester of ‘forbidden fruit’ for the archbishop—fitting for a snake like him—but he also had a big mouth. He threatened to blackmail the archbishop, to tell the world about his ‘tastes’ in beastesses. We couldn’t risk the leader of Abraxas being outed to the public—and we didn’t want to lose our supply of pagan pets either. So naturally, we had you kill him in secret, with no connection to the Church, just as we ordered. I knew you would do it. In fact, I recommended you for the job to the archbishop personally. You love your sister too much to ever betray us. Oh, speaking of her …”
The bishop pulled a blank white envelope out of his gym bag and handed it to Sophie. She hastily opened it and pulled out the letter.
It was from her parents, addressed to Bishop Ironside.
Ever since Sophie was a little girl, her parents had been loyal to the bishop. Whenever he presided over Sunday Mass along with the regular presbyters, her parents always brought her and Zoe to sit in a pew as close to the pulpit as possible. They absorbed every word of the bishop’s sermons, and expected their daughters to obey the Church’s teachings—especially Bishop Ironside’s interpretations of them.
In this letter, they were devastated to tell the bishop that they had some horrible news—they had found out one of their daughters had been cursed.
Sophie panicked. Did they find out Sophie was a beastess? How?! She had never told anyone, and always kept it hidden from even her family, so neither her parents nor her sister ever knew—
Wait. No. No, no, no.
Oh, God above, please, no!
Not Zoe too!
“Your sister is a beastess, Sophie,” Bishop Ironside said, shaking his head in mock solemnity as he snatched the letter back and placed it back in his gym bag. “A filthy pagan, eternally cursed to live a life of sin. It’s a shame, really. All it took was to catch her shifting one measly time. Your parents immediately disowned her when they found out that she had been hiding her secret from them—and from you—for years, living with them at home well into her early twenties, while you got a proper job serving the Church like the good little girl you always were.”
The bishop smiled so sweetly, which made Sophie’s blood boil.
“I simply couldn’t stand to see some of the most loyal members of my congregation in such anguish. So I told them the Church would happily take her off their hands and help … correct her sinful ways.”
“Give. Me. Back. My. Sister!” Sophie screamed.
Bishop Ironside slapped Sophie across the face, sending her sliding several feet across the floor. She felt like she had been hit by a truck. Blood dripped down her nose onto the gym floor.
“No,” the bishop replied simply, “although I’m not surprised in the slightest that you still give a shit about a sinful she-beast like her. You were always so … sentimental. That’s your weakness, Sophie. That is what makes you so easy to control, you little fucking brat.”
He slapped her again, harder. Sophie coughed and sputtered. She could taste her own blood. Bishop Ironside grabbed her by the throat once more and pulled her close to him, the heat of his body radiating off of him.
Glancing at the mirror, she could see the magitech implants in his back glowing bright green, the flesh around them pulsating with neon green vein-like structures just beneath his skin.
“You are not just a templar following orders anymore. You, Sophia Ryder, are mine now. You will do what I command. You will kill who I tell you to kill. And most importantly?”
Bishop Saul Ironside groped her breast and licked the side of her face.
“Your body is mine to do with as I please.”
Sophie’s entire body went numb.
“If you ever want even the slightest chance of seeing your heathen sibling again, you will never talk back to me, never question me, and NEVER disobey me, for the rest of your pathetic fucking life.”
He tightened his grip around her throat. Choking her with a collar of his own flesh.
“Do you understand me, bitch?”
The tiger inside of her was rattling and pounding against its mental enclosure with all of its strength and fury. Every cell in her body wanted to hunt, hunt, hunt.
… But strangely, a moment of crystal-clear clarity washed over her.
Her claws did not extend. Her teeth did not grow. The tiger inside of her calmed down … because she realized that the hunt was only just beginning.
She knew exactly what she needed to do.
“Yes, Sir,” Sophie finally replied.
He let go of her neck, spat on her face, and threw a towel at her.
“Clean yourself up. And not a fucking word to anyone, or else.”
The bishop gathered his belongings and walked back into the men’s changing room. After five minutes, the doors unlocked.
Templar Sophia Ryder slowly got up and sat on a bench, panting. She wiped her face with the towel and looked down at the bloodstained white terry cloth.
The paladins have crossed the line now.
What Sophie is considering is mutiny. Worse, it’s heresy.
But she is absolutely certain that this is the right thing to do.
Because Bishop Ironside was wrong. Because Sophie was wrong about herself.
She is not weak.
She is STRONG.
Sophie has to come up with a plan to get away scot-free, of course, but she now has three unshakeable goals, upon which she has set the deadly sharp knife of her focused mind:
She will set Mac free.
She will rescue Zoe.
And most importantly?
She will hunt and kill Bishop Ironside, Archbishop Steele, and anyone who stands in her way.
… Yes, even Alex. If push came to shove.
She really hoped it wouldn’t. She could keep him out of the way and in the dark about her plans, and hope he didn’t interfere.
Still, she can only protect him so much. If her self-control keeps getting worse as she forms her plan, and Alex, being the beastess expert he is, starts to realize that his best friend is a beastess …
No.
Alex is her friend.
He isn’t the enemy here. The Church is.
The Supreme Church has kept her on a tight leash for her whole life. They think they’ve finally broken her.
But they’re wrong.
All they’ve done is unleash the beast.