Chapter 6: The Paladin's Inquisition
The morning sun bled through the crimson curtains like a wound, painting the chamber in shades of rust and gold. Candice lay awake in Morgana's bed, her body still humming from the night before—three rounds, each one more depraved than the last. Her cunt ached in a way that felt almost holy. Her mark pulsed with stolen power, and she could feel her mana reserves swollen, straining against the limits of her Level 30 frame.
She should have felt guilty.
She felt incredible.
Morgana stirred beside her, purple hair tangled across the pillows, her full lips curved into a smile even in sleep. The mark on her stomach—the imperfect one she'd carved into her own flesh years ago—now glowed with a steadier light, closer to Candice's perfect brand than it had ever been. The sex was working. Both of them were growing stronger.
Candice slipped out of bed and padded to the window.
The village square sprawled below, a sunlit patchwork of chipped cobblestones and iron lanterns. Children chased each other between market stalls. An old woman fed scraps to a mangy dog near the well. The blacksmith's forge coughed smoke into the pale blue sky.
Normal. Peaceful. Everything she'd sworn to protect.
A flash of silver caught her eye.
Her blood turned to ice.
A squad of riders had entered the square—eight of them, mounted on white stallions with braided manes. Their armor gleamed with an unnatural luster, polished to a mirror shine that hurt to look at. Holy symbols hung from their saddles, from their necks, from the tips of their lances. The air around them seemed to shimmer with divine energy.
Paladins.
Candice had seen them before, years ago, passing through on their way to some crusade in the eastern kingdoms. They'd been arrogant then, dismissive of the village and its people. But they'd also been righteous. Pure. Dangerous.
The man at the front dismounted with a fluid grace that spoke of decades of training. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with cropped silver hair and a face carved from granite. His eyes swept across the square like a predator surveying its hunting ground.
"Inquisitor Aldric," he announced, his voice carrying across the cobblestones. "By the authority of the Holy See, we are here to investigate reports of demonic corruption in this settlement."
The villagers froze.
Then they started talking.
Candice watched in horror as old Marta pointed toward the Crimson Lotus with a trembling finger. The baker, a man she'd saved from goblins three winters ago, nodded vigorously and gestured at Morgana's establishment. Even the children—the fucking children—were nodding, their little faces twisted with fear and excitement.
They'd been waiting for this. They'd been desperate for someone to blame.
The paladins moved as one, their formation perfect, their hands resting on the hilts of their blessed blades. Inquisitor Aldric led them straight to the brothel's front door.
Candice turned from the window and shook Morgana awake.
"Paladins," she hissed. "Eight of them. Inquisitor leading."
Morgana's eyes snapped open. "Fuck."
"Yeah."
They dressed in seconds—Candice in her leather armor, Morgana in a simple black robe that did nothing to hide her curves. The sounds from below were getting louder. Boots on stairs. Voices barking orders.
"Out the back?" Morgana whispered.
"Too late."
The door exploded inward.
Inquisitor Aldric stepped through the splintered remains, his greatsword already drawn, its blade blazing with silver fire. Behind him, four more paladins crowded the hallway, their shields raised, their eyes scanning for threats.
"Well, well," Aldric said, his gaze landing on Morgana. "The whore of the Crimson Lotus. We've heard stories about you, witch. The villagers say you consort with demons. That you fornicate with creatures of the night."
Morgana's hand drifted toward the dagger hidden in her sleeve. "The villagers say a lot of things. Most of them aren't true."
"We'll see."
Aldric's eyes shifted to Candice, and something flickered across his face—recognition, confusion, then cold calculation. "Candice Dixon. The hero of this village. I've heard your name. Level 30 mage, protector of the innocent, slayer of goblins." He tilted his head. "What are you doing in a place like this?"
Candice's heart hammered against her ribs. "I was investigating."
"Investigating." Aldric's lips curled. "In a brothel. In the early morning. With the door locked."
"I can explain—"
"You reek of lust." The Inquisitor's voice dropped, becoming something darker, something hungry. "Both of you. I can smell it on your skin. The stench of fornication. Of demonic congress."
He raised his blade.
"SURRENDER YOUR FLESH FOR JUDGMENT."
The silver fire erupted from his sword, filling the room with blinding light. Candice threw herself to the side, rolling across the floorboards, feeling the heat of the holy flames scorch the air where she'd been standing. Morgana screamed, diving behind the overturned bed.
"Kill the witch!" Aldric roared. "Take the mage alive—I want to question her personally."
Two paladins lunged at Candice, their swords singing through the air. She called on her mana instinctively, and pink light exploded from her hands, forming a barrier that deflected their blades. The impact sent shockwaves through her arms, but she held firm.
"What sorcery—" one of them started.
She didn't let him finish. A blast of concentrated mana caught him in the chest, sending him crashing through the window. The other one swung at her head; she ducked, kicked his knee, heard the satisfying crunch of bone.
"PINK MANA!" Aldric bellowed. "SHE'S A SUCCUBUS MAGE! HERETIC! ABOMINATION!"
The remaining paladins converged on her, their weapons blazing with holy light. Candice fought with everything she had—spells, kicks, elbows, knees. She'd trained her whole life for combat, and even against blessed silver, she was faster, smarter, more desperate.
But there were too many.
A blade caught her shoulder, slicing through leather and flesh. She screamed, stumbling backward. Another paladin grabbed her arm, trying to pin her down. She headbutted him, breaking his nose, but a third had already circled behind her.
Morgana appeared from nowhere, her dagger finding the throat of the paladin holding Candice. Blood sprayed across the walls—dark and hot and arterial. The man gurgled and collapsed.
"Move!" Morgana shouted.
They ran.
Down the stairs, through the brothel's common room, past the bodies of paladins Candice had already killed. The front door was blocked—two more knights standing guard, their shields interlocked. Candice didn't slow down. She gathered her mana, compressed it, shaped it into something sharp and deadly.
"Get down!" she screamed at Morgana.
The witch dropped.
Candice released the spell—a lance of pink energy that punched through the shields like paper, through the paladins' armor, through their bodies. They didn't even have time to scream.
She burst into the village square, Morgana right behind her.
The villagers were waiting.
They stood in a semicircle around the well, their faces twisted with rage and fear. Old Marta held a pitchfork. The baker clutched a cleaver. Even the children were there, their eyes wide and terrified.
"Demon!" someone shouted. "Succubus whore!"
"Burn her!"
"Kill the witch!"
Candice stopped dead, staring at the people she'd protected for years. The people she'd bled for. The people she'd nearly died for.
"You don't understand," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm still me. I'm still Candice. I've spent my whole life—"
"LIAR!" Old Marta spat. "We saw the pink light! We know what you are! Filthy demon spawn, spreading your legs for power, fornicating with that whore!"
"I did it to protect you!"
"LIAR!"
A stone struck Candice's cheek, splitting the skin. She staggered, more surprised than hurt. Another stone flew, then another. The villagers surged forward, a mob hungry for blood.
Morgana grabbed her arm. "We need to go. NOW."
"Where?"
"The goblin woods. It's the only place they won't follow."
Candice looked back at the village—at the home she'd known her entire life—and felt something break inside her chest. But she nodded. She ran.
They sprinted through the fields, past the smithy, past the temple where she'd prayed as a child. The mob chased them, but fear of the goblin woods held them back at the treeline. They stood there, screaming curses, throwing stones, calling her every name they knew.
Morgana and Candice vanished into the darkness of the trees.
They ran until the sounds of pursuit faded, until the shadows grew so thick that even the midday sun couldn't penetrate. The goblin woods were ancient, twisted, full of things that hunted in the dark. Candice had never ventured this deep—never dared.
Now she had no choice.
Morgana stumbled on a root, and Candice caught her. They leaned against a massive oak, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion.
"Your shoulder," Morgana said, her voice hoarse. "You're bleeding."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. Let me—"
"It's fine." Candice pulled away, pressing her hand against the wound. Pink light flickered between her fingers as her mana tried to heal the damage. It was slow—she was too weak—but it would hold for now.
Morgana was silent for a moment. Then: "I told you."
"Don't."
"I told you they would turn on you. I told you they didn't care. I told you—"
"I said don't." Candice's voice cracked, and she slid down the trunk of the oak, sitting on the damp earth. Her eyes burned. Her chest ached. Everything she'd built was gone. Everything she'd believed was a lie.
Morgana sat beside her, close but not touching.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For what it's worth."
"It's worth nothing."
"I know."
They sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the forest. Something howled in the distance—not a wolf, but close. The trees creaked and groaned, shifting in the darkness.
"We can't stay here," Morgana said finally. "The paladins will regroup. They'll follow us. And the goblins—"
"Will kill us on sight."
"Maybe." Morgana paused. "Or maybe they won't."
Candice looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"Thresh."
"The Goblin King?"
"He's Level 60. He controls this forest." Morgana's voice was thoughtful, calculating. "He might be willing to negotiate."
"Negotiate? With a goblin king? He's our enemy."
"He was our enemy when you had a village to protect. Now you don't." Morgana met her eyes. "He hates the paladins more than he hates us. If we offer him something he wants—"
"What could we possibly offer him?"
Morgana didn't answer immediately. When she did, her voice was barely a whisper.
"Ourselves."
Candice stared at her. "You're insane."
"I'm realistic. We have succubus marks. We can grow stronger through sex. Thresh is a goblin king—he'll have soldiers, ambitions, needs. He'll see value in two demon-marked mages who can become stronger by fucking. He'll protect us if it serves his interests."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then we die. But we'll die anyway if the paladins find us first." Morgana took her hand. "I know this is hard. I know you hate the idea. But you have to trust me."
"Trust you? You've spent the last month trying to turn me into a whore."
"And look where it got us." Morgana's smile was bittersweet. "We're alive. We're stronger. And we're together."
Candice pulled her hand away.
"You're right," she admitted. "I hate the idea. But I don't have any better ones."
They walked deeper into the forest, following a path that Morgana somehow knew. The trees grew darker, more gnarled, their branches reaching down like grasping fingers. Candice felt eyes on her—dozens of eyes, watching from the shadows.
They were being hunted.
A goblin scout appeared on a ridge ahead, his yellow eyes gleaming. He was small, quick, armed with a crude spear. Behind him, more shapes moved in the darkness.
Morgana stopped. Raised her hands. Spoke in a language Candice didn't recognize—something guttural and harsh.
The scout tilted his head. Said something back.
Morgana responded. Then she turned to Candice.
"He's taking us to Thresh. He says the King has been expecting us."
Candice's blood ran cold. "Expecting us?"
"We're not the only ones who can feel the mark. Thresh has been watching you for weeks. He's been waiting for you to run out of options."
They were led through winding tunnels, past goblin soldiers who leered and snarled, past pits filled with bones and refuse. Finally, they emerged into a vast cavern—a throne room carved from living stone, lit by braziers of green fire.
At the center, on a throne of skulls and rusted iron, sat Thresh.
He was enormous—easily twelve feet tall, with muscles like knotted rope and skin the color of old blood. His tusks curved up past his ears, and his crimson eyes burned with intelligence and hunger. He wore armor made from the bones of his enemies, and in his hand, he held a jagged cleaver that had clearly seen decades of use.
"Candice Dixon," he rumbled, his voice like rocks grinding together. "The Hero of the Village. I've dreamed of killing you."
"You can try."
"I could." He leaned forward, studying her with those terrible eyes. "But I think there's something more interesting we can do."
He pointed at her stomach.
"Show me your mark."