Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius found Natalya's general demeanor somewhat odd.

--not bad.

--merely... odd.

Overall, she had been... softer than he had grown accustomed to?

She brazenly invaded his private room with a series of demands. That, he could expect, considering her domineering personality.

Ah.

What was odd was that Natalya had yet to threaten him with a grisly execution or show her displeasure with an excessive display of divine mana.

...Granted, she did motion to gut him with her sword.

...And within the same breath, she had a dagger's edge pressed against one of his jugular veins.

Those things, however, were more akin to play and posturing than they were actual threats.

Tycon found it especially odd that Natalya hadn't mentioned crucifixion even once-- or affixing him to a rack and having her way with him. Those were her favorite threats...

"You... can't give up... stupid... snake."

He wasn't certain what Natalya was referring to... but he wanted to do as little as possible until *after* dinner.

However...

Unfortunately...

...his damned conscience did not allow him to ignore the woman.

Natalya looked miserable. She lazed on the armrest of the couch, her lips quivering and her eyes unfocused.

...Though Tycon *loathed* doing so, he left the comfort of the bed to sit beside her.

When did she remove her padded armor? The scent of sweat and rose oil suffused in her tunic threatened to cloud his senses.

Natalya looked to him with glistening eyes, "That's... why you brought us all here, right, Tycon? To mount a resistance?"

"Tss," Tycon scoffed, which made Natalya's face twist in disappointment.

In an effort to be considerate of her feelings, he adopted his usual, forced-neutral expression and spoke in an even, thoughtful tone.

"Due to the implications of recent events... I thought it best to deliver the news in person. Thus informed, you'll all have ample time to... make peace with your gods or whatever your cultures think appropriate before the inevitable and quickly-approaching mass extinction."

Tycon was necessary to the meeting not as a Tactician, but as a messenger. A harbinger announcing the end of all suns required a certain level of authority to be believed.

"But... we'll all fight together, won't we?" Natalya asked.

"Tss. Against an elder god?"

...Despite the absurdity of  her request, Natalya's expression bid Tycon to treat it as if she were serious.

"Do you humans not have... historical warnings or... ancient texts detailing the Tyrant God?"

"Playing the non-human card, Tycon?" Natalya growled, "We do. So what? Why are you being such a coward?"

Tycon took a deep breath. His nostrils were filled with the whiskey scent in Natalya's breath.

"It's not a question of cowardice, Natalya. Because of my bloodline... I instinctively know the lizard god's capacity for destruction.

"Even against its avatar, mortals have no hope against it...

"It is... akin to an uncontrollable force of nature, able to manipulate the world in ways beyond the ken of scientific and magical understanding.

"The only guarantee we have of the elder lizards is that they seek not to oppress or enslave... but to destroy."

The more Tycon spoke, the fiercer the flames in Natalya's eyes burned.

"That was-- tens of thousands of years ago! Our technology has grown a hundredfold since then! We have Orkish Sugar! We have Divine Armors! Multi-layered Spell scrolls! Hextech siege weaponry!"

The Archbishop of the Church of the Eternal Flame readily admitted that they had technology imported from the seven hells.

...Tycon decided not to call attention to the fact.

"Natalya," He said... "What are the Church's plans... concerning High Order: Exterminatio?"

The Archbishop's gaze hardened, her hostility clear, "How did you learn of that?"

Tycon smirked, "So such a thing *does* exist."

Exterminatio was reserved for situations where a 'heretical' mutation or corruption was in danger of spreading to catastrophic proportions. Tycon had seen it before with City-State Caeruleum.

It was only logical that the Church would have a contingency plan if the scope and scale of their beloved Exterminatio was deemed... not enough.

Also, according to the Church's naming system, each 'Order' naturally had an associated 'High Order.'

Natalya laid back, crossing her arms, "Sometimes, it's scary what you know."

"That," Tycon frowned, "is the level of threat the lizard god's corruption will bring. The lands around Whitehearth will fall to ruin... then the rest of the Eastern States. Eventually, the continent will be transformed to the lizard god's will... and so on and so forth."

"And you're implying the Church should call for a Realm-Wide Exterminatio... destroy everything so the corruption can't spread to other Realms beyond ours?"

"I was analogizing," Tycon smiled politely, "though I would like to be informed should the Church decide to act. Concerning our Realm, I've already sent word to the Gatekeepers."

"You think... the demonbloods will help us?" Said a shocked Natalya.

"No, that would not serve their agenda," Tycon chuckled. "The Gatekeepers exist to prevent and control interplanar war. I suspect they'll close off the Gates for an eternity or so."

Natalya grew quiet... stewing in what was most likely varying, tumultuous, and conflicting emotions.

With the woman distracted, Tycon decided to lie back on the opposite end of the couch. There was plenty of room, but he chose not to extend his legs fully to ensure Natalya had space to herself.

He was fairly certain he looked like a slovenly lout... but, in the privacy of his room, he prioritized comfort over professional appearance.

Also, it wasn't his couch.

Tycon closed his eyes. He'd already accepted that proper sleep would elude him in the interim. Thus, he decided to gamble on a five-minute nap and its potential benefits.

Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed by the scent of whiskey, the bubbling of its container, and the delicious liquid sloshing in the glass.

"There is no High Order Exterminatio," Natalya said in a low voice. "It's only a theory... Every attempt to sanctify it has been stifled by the Senate-- even before I became Archbishop."

There was good reason for that. Tycon was planning on assuaging Natalya's concerns, but she once again finished her glass in a single pull.

"I'm going to fight against the dragons, Tycon," She said.

"Dragons don't exist," Tycon reminded her, "Well-- besides the one."

"Troia will fight too!" Natalya continued, "I'm-- ssshurre of it!"

That was to be reasonably expected.

Tycon sat up, crossing his legs underneath himself. He took Natalya's glass away, as well as the whiskey bottle.

There was more than enough left for him to enjoy-- but that was only a minor relief.

Natalya had imbibed a substantial amount of alcohol.

He was concerned for her well-being... but he was also impressed. Despite her shapely legs and generous other-curves, Natalya was not a large woman.

She didn't weigh much either... a fact made obvious when she pushed him down and straddled his waist.

Tycon tried his best to ignore the heat between her loins and the nigh-overwhelming haze of pheromones in her sweat.

"What are you doing, Natalya?"

"Mounting... a resistance... it's... why you came, right?"

Tycon opened his mouth to retort when Natalya suddenly placed her lips on his.

It was a clumsy kiss... one too thick with desperation to be satisfying.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Natalya said as she pulled away, "You haven't... come just yet... or have you? I know men are supposed to be mindful when it comes to... you know... that."

The sudden shyness... made lights flash in Tycon's lizard-brain. He did his best to quell his instinctual desire to mate... but what remained was a sense of confusion.

"Natalya..."

"I need your help."

Tycon distinctly remembered the woman's insistence on *not* needing him, only a few minutes prior.

What Natalya *needed* was a cleanse-type Spell to dispel her drunkenness.

Still, the request was an amusing one. One of the last people he expected to ask him for help was doing just that.

However, she was wrong.

"You don't need my help, Natalya-- not for anything. Besides your overwhelming personal strength, the power in your station--"

The Archbishop leaned down, her scarlet hair falling on the sides of Tycon's face. If she was trying to kiss him, she failed terrifically.

She did, however, succeed at gnawing lightly on his cheek.

Suddenly, Tycon felt a twinge of harmful intent as Natalya reared her head back. To defend himself, he quickly grabbed a couch cushion and positioned it in front of his face.

As expected, he felt Natalya slam her forehead into the improvisatory barrier.

"It has to be you," Said the cushion.

Tycon felt Natalya slide down his body. She ended up nuzzling into his chest-- or rather, against the linen of his unbuttoned shirt.

With that, he felt safe enough to move the cushion away (though he made sure to keep it within arm's reach.)

"Natalya," he said, "why does it have to be me?"

"Because... I enjoy your company?"

"Well," Tycon twisted his mouth to the side, "I don't blame you."

",