2.y For Yuri, I Build a Better Monster

“Everything that I am is yours to take… Dearest Katalina!” cries a deranged voice from my laptop’s speakers.

“Oh, wow,” Sophia comments, “you really weren’t kidding about that girl.”

“Vira’s great!” I say with a grin. “She’s not on the level of Gasai, but she has the yandere spirit down pat.”

In a minor miracle, Sophie managed to carve an hour out of her schedule to spend time with me, to make up for missing our card game not-a-date. That hour happened to line up with when I was going to play fighting games with my nerd friends, and we don’t exactly have the time to go back to the card shop, so I offered to teach her how to play a fighter. One-on-one, of course, because no way in hell I’m sharing my darling Sophie with those freaks when I have a rare opportunity to spend time alone with her.

The match starts and I mash buttons. I’m actually not very good at fighting games, but I know enough to demonstrate a few different attacks and how to block or counter, and Sophia’s always been a quick learner. She’s incredibly cute when she’s concentrating on learning something. Quiet, calm, and absolutely focused.

“So,” I start, fully intending to break that focus, “what do you think of the characters in this game?”

Sophie graces me with a knowing look before returning her attention to the game. “I’d appreciate Katalina’s design a lot more if her armor wasn’t so figure-accentuating. I prefer it when knights look serious and sensible. Though at least my character is wearing armor at all,” she says as she manages to block another attack from the dress-clad Vira.

“Ah, but there’s a very important practical reason behind Katalina’s boobplate, and the sculpted belly button, and the way that armor hugs her ribcage like it’s skintight.”

“Let me guess,” Sophia says dryly, “is it to attract women?”

My beloved is onto my usual game, but that’s why I always run more than one. I snort and say, “What? No, of course not. It’s to sell gacha.” I pause while Sophie rolls her eyes, and then I add, “Vira dresses like that to attract women.”

Sophia lets out a little snort of amusement, and I immediately capitalize on her distraction to rush her down with a flurry of attacks from different angles—nothing fancy, but requiring different inputs to block or counter. To her credit, she almost survives it. Vira announces my victory with another lovingly manic line read, making me so happy that I was able to convince Sophia to pick Vira’s object of obsession after first trying a few of the other basic fighters.

“Good progress!” I announce happily. “It took me months to be able to block as consistently as you do.”

My darling roommate doesn’t quite have my good humor about it. “I’m trying to internalize that, but it still stings to lose ten matches in a row. Not that I want you to go easy on me,” she adds quickly.

“I won’t,” I promise earnestly. “I know you, Sophie. I’ll give you the challenge you deserve. Just tell me if you need a break.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, that wondrous ray of sunshine. Then she’s back in her analytical mode, head tilted and chewing on her lip. “It seems like the core skills being tested by these games are memorization, dexterity, and pattern recognition, with memorization being the most foundational. Is that your understanding as someone with more experience playing fighters?” Words cannot express how much I love this woman and her big beautiful brain.

I hide my adoration with a shrug. “That’s basically it, yeah. There’s some argument over how much reflexes really matter, and at a certain level it’s more like a guessing game than pattern recognition, but memorization is definitely the root of it all. If you don’t know what move in your arsenal counters the move your opponent is about to pull out, it doesn’t matter if you’re fast enough or if you can predict it, ‘cause you’re still dead when it lands.”

“I see. May I look at the moves list for our characters again?”

I nod and she does so, giving each entry a few seconds of study before moving on to the next. When she’s satisfied, we get back into the games.

Sophia’s counterplay is even more consistent now, and after a bit of back-and-forth she actually manages to take a match from me, so I lock in and start using all the tricks and combos I know. And then everything goes wrong.

I see it coming, but I’m too caught up in the joy of spending time with Sophie to change course. Tightening around the corners of her mouth, around her eyes, her grip on the controller. She says she’s fine when I check in, but I know she’s lying. She always lies to me about that.

I steal a round from her on a tiny sliver of health, and all those marks of tension fall away into cold, stone-faced focus. The next round starts and every move I make is predicted, countered, and punished. No matter what I try, Sophie—no, in this moment I can only think of her as Striga—has the answer lined up frame-perfect. I lose with my opponent on full health.

For one brief moment, vicious satisfaction crosses Sophia’s face. That look flickers into guilt and torment and something darker, and her eyes shut tight and her teeth grind, and then just as quickly her real emotions slide off her face and the mask of control returns. If I hadn’t been expecting it—waiting for it, as soon as I realized what was happening—I wouldn’t have seen it.

You used your power to beat me, right? I don’t mind. You can do whatever you want to me, Sophie, and I’ll never complain. I just want to know: why is it, my love, that every time you activate that power in front of me, I can see such hate in your eyes?

Sophie forces a little laugh, winces at me sympathetically, and lies, “Wow, that must have been some brutal beginner’s luck. I don’t even know how I did that.”

“Me neither,” I lie, forcing a smile and a sense of mirth that isn’t real. “Want to take a break and celebrate before we go again?”

She checks her phone and sighs. “If only. Sorry to do this to you, Rachel, but we’re coming up on my deadline and I’d rather end on a high note than walk away after you kick my ass another half-dozen times.”

I chuckle. “No worries, I get it. And, hey, Sophie.” I drop the mirth and put as much love and sincerity into my voice as I can. “This was a lot of fun. Thank you.”

Sophia waves me off, embarrassed, as she puts down her controller and rises from the couch. “I’m just glad it didn’t get interrupted like last time. I should be the one thanking you, really, for letting me make it up. You’re always there for me, Rachel. That means a lot.”

How could I not? You’re my everything.

We say our goodbyes and she takes off. Maybe she has genuine vet work lined up, or maybe she’ll be hunting for more signs of Echidna with her Vanguard helpers. I guess I’ll find out when I check all the sites and servers that report Striga sightings, like I always do whenever Sophie leaves the house.

Stolen novel; please report.

I’m kicking myself for not catching Sophie’s mood shift and doing something about it, but stewing in those emotions won’t do any good. I plug my headset into the laptop, disconnect the second controller, and join the voice channel where my nerd friends are all hanging out.

“—take an axe to your skull and cleave it in twain,” says Femur, who just got zoned out by Mordacity in a different fighting game.

“Ha! I can’t believe that worked,” jeers Mordacity. “This character is awful, I love her.”

“New person who this?” asks Mike rhetorically, having heard my entry ping.

“Your beautiful and terrible witch queen has returned to you,” I announce to the chat. “You may bow and offer sacraments.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Femur says with great exaggeration. “Expect moldy bread in the mail, provided your venerable customs agency doesn’t take offense at the brownness of my name and mistake the loaf for a bomb.”

“That’s a good one,” Mordacity admires. “I’ve gotta steal that for my book. Also, hit rematch goddammit.”

“I’m waiting for Alex to get in the lobby! Fuck you.”

“Do we have to play that one?” I groan. “Under Night is cool but it’s also complicated and I just grinded out like forty games of Granblue so I kinda need something where I can just mash buttons and hope.”

Mordacity chimes in, “What if, and hear me out, Melty—”

“No,” Femur and I say in unison. Femur continues, “You’re too annoying as Neco-Arc, and I know you don’t care about any other character in that game. No Melty Blood. Let’s just play Street Fighter.”

“Your agenda is transparent to all of us, Diamond-ranked player,” Mordacity complains. “But yeah, sure, that works.”

Mike, who does not do fighting games even a little, says, “So we’re going to talk about the Ossuary, right?”

That gets everyone’s attention. As I boot up the game and Femur sets up the lobby, I say, “Right, yeah. Ossuary. I’m going on Halloween. Gonna show up in the outfit I bought yesterday, transform inside after scoping out the ground floor—they’ve got back halls that lead to private rooms, I’m told, and the veil is even stronger inside than out. Oh, and Ferromancer told me that the Morrigan can hear anything spoken in her domain but can’t read minds. And there’s the photo thing, but I already knew that.”

The Ossuary does not permit recording of any kind within its boundaries. This is enforced by the Morrigan reaching into your phone—or other device—and replacing images, videos, and voice clips with pure nightmare fuel. In extreme cases, she outright destroys the offending device.

“So the interesting thing here,” Mordacity says, “is going to be when you get to the upper levels and start mingling with other witches. There’s very little information about what that part of the Ossuary is like, but we know at least one faction—the Coterie—has a dedicated private chamber thanks to their positive relationship with the Morrigan. I would assume the upstairs setup has both a ‘public’ space for the social experience and various secure backrooms for private deals.”

Mike asks, “Mord, when you mention the ‘social experience,’ what exactly do you mean by that?”

Mordacity clarifies, “I can’t imagine our Archon’s situation being normal, socially speaking. Most witches probably feel quite isolated from their old friends and loved ones, even those aligned with Visage. When you’re bound to a faction of magical aliens that may or not have been responsible for an entire planet’s destruction, who would you trust with that secret? While there are material benefits to networking with your peers, it might also be the only context in which many witches can express their true feelings to each other.”

Femur, who has been wrecking me in Street Fighter for most of this conversation, adds, “Loneliness is a very bitter poison. I have you guys online but I’m completely alone out here in Toronto and it’s physically painful.”

I say, “So lots of witches looking to interact as people with—Femur you’re being so homophobic right now stop anti-airing goddammit—with each other, in addition to whatever professional concerns they have. What can I expect on that front?”

“Recruitment,” Mordacity answers immediately. “Visage wants more stars, Coterie wants more believers, and Syndicate wants more bodies to throw between them and Striga. They’ve all got headhunters constantly on the lookout for independents that can be swayed or loyalists feeling disloyal. The Ossuary is a neutral zone, enforced beyond any of their ability to disrupt, so it’s the best place for witches of different factions to interact. As the newest witch on the scene, everyone’s going to want to know where your heart lies and how they can move it toward their own interests.”

I wonder how that changes with Ferromancer in the equation. I guess it depends how well-known she is outside the big names like Radiance and Lilith. Will the rank-and-file Visage or Coterie witches recognize her?

Femur says, “You should consider whether you wish the favor of Visage or the Coterie while you’re there.”

“That’s true,” Mordacity agrees. “They’ll be offering different incentives and expecting different services in exchange for their support. Playing them off each other and avoiding commitment could benefit you in the short-term, but in my opinion you should make inroads with Visage first for the financial rewards, then leverage your defection to secure a better position in the Coterie.”

“That could totally backfire on you,” warns Mike. “Worst case, you piss off Visage and make the Coterie see you as an opportunist. That could leave you without any factional support, unless you’re willing to go to the Syndicate.”

“Are you?” Femur asks. “Serious question. Mord, swap in so she can think on that, she is just pushing buttons at this point.”

I grumble but don’t disagree; my exchange with Sophia drained me more than I thought. “I don’t particularly see the value to joining the Syndicate. Material rewards can be better gained elsewhere, and I don’t want that kind of attention from Striga. I’m not ready to fight her, and against a Syndicate member she goes for the throat.”

“Quick route to a third and final death,” Mordacity says. “Anyway, you shouldn’t make any decision until you’ve actually entertained their initial entreaties. So I’d like to bring the conversation to the last element of all this: the Morrigan herself. A, you want to take the lead on this one?”

“Yeah, for sure.” My interest in the Morrigan can’t compare to my interest in Striga, but she’s an objectively fascinating witch to study. “Appearing nine years ago here in Forks, the Morrigan is one of the oldest surviving witches and by far one of the most powerful, though her incredible strength is at significant cost; while practically a god within her bespoke pocketspace, the Ossuary, she has little to no ability to affect the world outside her dimension. This makes her a significant player in the Pacific Northwest, but as a broker and arbitrator, not a warlord. Witches go to her for judgment on interpersonal conflicts or to guarantee certain agreements, and it’s known that she has the ability to exact a binding vow from those who consent.” I pause, then finish with, “When she first appeared, the Morrigan could only extend her Ossuary’s reach across the greater Seattle region, but today it reaches into Oregon and Canada. While we know very little of the Morrigan’s personal nature, she doesn’t seem the type to rest on her laurels.”

“Which has fascinating implications,” Mordacity muses. “It’s the nature of any power to seek its own security, but what meaning does geographic influence truly have to an entity sitting in an impenetrable fortress with, by all accounts, post-scarcity resource levels? Phage herself failed to conquer the Ossuary, so it seems unlikely that the Morrigan has anything to fear from peer witches or magical girls.”

Meaning the only threat to her security… would be the Jovians that gave her magic in the first place. I’ve never heard of them deciding to revoke a witch’s power, but it must be a concern for a witch like the Morrigan. Does that make her invested in preserving the status quo, or is she like Ferromancer and straining under the yoke of her masters?

It sucks that I can’t discuss any of that with my friends. I want to talk about the Jovians with them, but it might put them and me at risk. The only secrets I’ve ever kept from my friends have been to do with Sophia, but now… now there’s something new, and terrible, and I hate that I can’t share it with them.

That sense of bitter loneliness Femur described starts to seep in, and it sticks with me all through the rest of our conversation, even when we lapse into focusing on the games instead. I hope that, when Ferromancer and I go to see the Morrigan, she’ll be another ally in this dangerous conspiracy I’ve stumbled into.

Because if she isn’t an ally, she would make one terrifying enemy.