Sickle's heroine in trouble and energy drain stories

[sickle]

What's this all about? What do I start with?

Spoiler: Do I even care?

Probably fastest way to see if this stuff is up your alley are the short stories. So, She had won, or Interviews.
My favorite story so far is Authentic heroine things. But my stories are a little different — you might prefer Energy Source, which has a more horror, less humorous style, or Perspectives (coming soon) if you want something more indulgent. There are tags in the index.

Do keep in mind that my stories aren't very indulgent, though. Not so much energy drain fetish stories — more actual stories meant to entertain, with stakes and a plot and tension, with a captured heroine / energy drain theme.
I *tried* writing fetish smut, I swear — but these heroines are just too plucky, they always thwart my plans, so we end up with something in between.
Guess you can use that as a base for what *you* like — giving room to your fantasies is what these stories are trying to do, after all. That's why it's not so clear when or where we are… or if the heroine is a superheroine, a magical girl, your OC, or that videogame character that would fit so well…
Depends on you, what you prefer!

Index

• Short stories
  • She had won — 10k, urban fantasy, psychological thriller
  • Interviews — 6k, fantasy, horror
• Long stories
  • Energy Source — 40k, science fiction, horror
  • Authentic Heroine things — 38k, urban fantasy, action, humor

 

[sickle]

Interviews

The heroine massages her forehead. She is getting… really, really tired of doing this.
She knows that stopping evil isn't just defeating villains on the battlefield — there's much more, and negotiations are a part of that. Even a "why are you doing this?" or "is that really the only way?" can eventually avoid conflict… save people.
But these interviews she's been doing for… what feels like *so long* now… are they *really* the best way to determine what monsters could be peacefully coexisted with?
She really wants to stop… she has more important things to do. Actually, she has the nagging feeling there's something *very urgent* she has to do, although she can't focus on what *that* was.
She crosses her legs on her chair, almost nodding off — from the chair on the other side of the table, the undead monkey leaves, and a slug replaces it. *Another* slug! The undead animals are already ridiculous, but every other one of these monsters is just an identical slug! Why is she even talking to those! It looks… ridiculous, standing there on its chair. *She* feels ridiculous, just… what could these creatures possibly say?
The heroine massages her forehead again, closing her eyes… she thinks how *surreal* this feels… almost like…
And, suddenly, she's somewhere else… laying somewhere damp and dark.
She's weak… a dull pain all over her body, she feels cold. She feels… groggy…
She is laying on a stone slab, in a dark room… somewhere abandoned. She's panting… Like she's tired, like she's been enduring something…
This sudden, absurd situation… it feels… familiar? Like she's… remembering, not discovering it. She somehow knows the myriad aches on her body come from differently-shaped bite marks all over her, the kind left by energy-absorbing wights… that the stickiness she feels on her is slug ichor…
She knows the noises she hears all around her in the dark… they are monsters. Hungry monsters, creeping in wait, and sated monsters…
Sated… oh, no… does that mean…
As she focuses, she feels her energy getting sucked out of her… she doesn't feel like she has much left…
She feel, then sees something… a slug is on her chest, drinking out of her in rhythmic pulses, glowing with her stolen energy, getting bigger — it'll soon be as big as the many, sated ones laying next to the heroine on the altar, bloated and disgusting, brushing against her…
She winces… she's light-headed from the drain, and she still isn't clear on what's happening… but she *must* get out! With great effort, she grabs the slug latched to her chest, starts pulling it off…
Then a hand seizes her wrist. "Leave my baby alone!" says a woman's voice. "Why is she awake, *again*?".
"Will you *calm down* already" another woman replies… a cold, frustrated tone. "Can't you see she's struggling more and more to wake? And she's not going to last long, anyway…". Another hand, from behind, touches her forehead. The heroine panics… she knows the spell that's about to affect her before she feels it — she knows it all too well! A counterspell! She remembers, *that* was what she had to do! She only needs a few seconds…
…but she doesn't have them. She's back in the interview room. Gets the feeling she's just had some sort of daydream? Makes sense… she's feeling more and more tired. She should get moving with those interviews — she has the feeling there's something *very urgent* she has to do, although she can't focus on what *that* would be.
The slug leaves the chair. Some large undead bat replaces her. Oh, *this* conversation won't be a waste of time at all.
The bat leaves and… another slug. Surprise. She should be getting used to those… but each of those feels somewhat worse, more taxing to handle — she's getting so tired…
The slug is followed by an undead pig. This one stays quite a while… too long. She can barely stand it.
It's replaced not by one, but *two* slugs. Somehow, the heroine doesn't feel like this change makes it better — it makes it worse. By the end, she has her head resting on the table, eyes closed. She's too tired… it's not like the undead… turkey or whatever she'll have to interview next will care.
But, instead, she hears a voice.
"Hello!".
The heroine raises her head, suddenly aware. She feels a sense of danger. Approaching the table now… it's the slug queen? She looks so happy to see her…
"Have room for two?"
Hold on. The slug queen isn't alone! Behind her… it's the necromancer!
There's something that feels wrong here… she has a strong feeling that seeing someone as strong as them is very bad… that the fact that they're… together…
Frantic without knowing why, the heroine gets up from her chair… and immediately falls to the ground, her legs unable to support her. How… how is she so weak? She was nowhere this weak, just a minute ago…
She struggles to get up… something urgent to do, what? Her two powerful enemies are kneeling in front of her… the slug queen is licking her lips, a gleeful expression in both the eyes on her face and the ones on her stalks… the necromancer has a satisfied grin, light shining off her glasses under her impeccable grey hair.
"Don't worry" says the necromancer, "we'll be finished… very soon".
The heroine feels her eyes closing… this feels strange… almost… like…

 

[sickle]

Energy Source
Post 1 of 3

The decrepit, ancient spaceship has been still for decades — dark corridors and silence fill the heroine with a subtle dread, as she explores with her flashlight.
But what she learned here, is even more dreadful… the enemy race attacking her planet, enslaving people, stealing their energy… they are definitely survivors from this ship. Are they even aware of it?
When she discovered this place, she had hoped to find information. Can't deny, she did — She couldn't access the dead ship's computers, of course, but the ship's long-gone inhabitants had left something written, and thankfully, she was fairly good with the enemy race's language. It's a skill you pick up, when you have to fight them every bloody day… when every defeat of your planet's resistance weakens your forces, spreads you thinner…
Lots, she gathered just from the ship's architecture, and decoration. The large wall prints depicting the enemy race stealing energy from all sorts of alien races was… not something she was going to remember fondly. Not after what she had seen them do to innocent people… and what they had threatened to do to her. It was getting harder and harder to hold them back…
And, the information she found… it's disheartening. They seem so strong… stronger than she thought. Better to know what she knows now… but she's feeling kind of hopeless, as she's heading to the exit.
Suddenly, her battle instinct kicks in — something's moving suddenly. Trap.
She doesn't react fast enough. Something hits her, knocks her down. Not… not the worst hit, but when she tries to get up… she can't.
Whatever hit her… what is it? Rope? Chain? It's… holding her to the floor? Somehow? It struck her… and now, it's all around her? It's wrapping her very tight… how did it hit her so precisely, what the hell hit just happened? It doesn't feel like a trap made to protect the corridor, it seems like a trap built specifically to trap her!
Scratch that… how did she get hit? She checked for traps — no, not just that… actually she already passed through here, how can…
From the corridor, a sound of small tracks approaching. A rusty drone, barely lit from her fallen flashlight, wheels in — painful clicks of consumed gears. It's approaching her…
So there was something functional on this ship… did it set this trap? How is it active after all this time… did it have some way of charging itself? Maybe it vampirized all the energy on the ship, over the years… any battery, stuff like that… mmh, doesn't seem like it, maybe it was a reserve?
"Drone 451-1: Charging self…" it says with a metallic voice, in the enemy race's language. A metallic tube-like appendage extends from the drone's body, approaching the power core on the heroine's chest. On second thought, it definitely could've vampirized the rest of the ship.
The probe latches to her core, with a 4-clawed probe. She winces, as she feels her energy being drained — a whirring sound, some small leds turning on and off on the metallic tube, as her energy flows from her in regular orange pulses of light. A small display on the base of the drone turns on, showing its battery filling up… 3%… 4%…
"Really?" she snarls. "Like that? Not even a greeting?".
6%… 7%… Never seen anything like this on her planet, the enemy race doesn't have anything like this drone… is it intelligent? Or, like a machine, brainless?
"I'm about to break out of this" she says through clenched teeth, still enduring the drain. "I'll break out, and you're going to the junkyard. Five different junkyards".
It's not reacting — it just continues absorbing her energy. 11%… 12%…
Alright then… seems like it's not understanding her. Well, it's going to understand very soon that she's not its battery and doesn't much like being treated like it… she figures it'll be very clear for it, after the first few essential components get… reorganized. Painfully.
The heroine's restraint cracks and deforms, beginning to give. Hopefully, that thing is not smart enough to notice she can free herself… or, if it is, it doesn't have other tricks up its sleeve.
17%… 18%… She keeps struggling, not long now. But then, the drone… just stops. She feels the drain stop, then the probe detaches, lifting from her chest…
What now? Did it… did it notice she was about to free herself? Or is it something automatic? What is it going to do, leave?
"Drone 451-1: Adapting…".
The drone's probe starts… shifting. Its tip seems to be rearranging itself — microscopic components moving.
When it latches on her core again, the sensation is… extreme. She arches her back, a yelp of pain. It's a shock that she feels in all of her nerves… it's like it's jamming them all, paralyzing her… it's nothing like it was before.
The drain is… much stronger, too. 26%… 29%… She feels it pulling at her… did that drone really adapt to her?
Is that how this… thing… restraining her worked? Is had felt so confusing, like it turned into… chains, or something perfectly shaped to hold her, after hitting her… Could the lost enemy race technology do that? She never saw it before…
31%… 34%… She's feeling weaker, her energy reserves are feeling this — but, truly, her pride is feeling it more. She fought the enemy race so long… so many times, she had a hard time… but, despite all of the close calls, despite how much they tried, no enemy ever managed to drain her energy. This senile, demented vacuum cleaner has been the most successful than all. If it manages to just top itself off and just wheels off, satisfied… she's going to hunt it down as soon as she frees herself — she doesn't care if it's irrelevant, it's a matter of principle.
This drain… it's paralyzing. She can't move a muscle… feels like it's impossible. 37%… 40%…
But, she's not giving up. She sets her jaw, narrows her eyes — focuses as much as she can. Pushes. It works — she feels the chain giving, her hand is sliding out…
The drone makes a mechanic sound, his probe retreating just before she has a chance to rip it out herself. She exhales at the sudden relief.
"Drone 451-1: Evaluating danger…".
"So, you do notice". She's not wasting time, using her free hand to undo her restraint. "Look… I'll save you the evaluation. Run. Fast".
"Drone 451-1: no other energy source available".
…is it answering her? Probably not, but it sounds like an answer. She turns from her almost-removed restraints to look at the drone, just in case… and sees the probe just above her. Different. Pointed. Crackling with sparks…
"Drone 451-1: Securing energy source…".
She reacts fast this time, grabs at the probe with her hand — stops it completely from moving towards her. Under her hand's pressure, the tube starts to deform, crack.
"Drone… four hundred whatever: getting my stupid probe ripped off…" she hisses.
She, just barely, doesn't succeed. An arc of something that looks like electricity sparks from the probe, striking her directly. She yells — all her nerves fire, her muscles jerking. She can't react… is this adapted to her, too?
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the drone's battery indicator. 35%… 31%… This painful attack is using her stolen energy… it…
She can't form that thought. The shock makes her lose consciousness, her hand falling limp from the drone's probe. The strange energy continues striking her, making her unconscious body spasm. 27%… 23%…
The drone stops its attack. "Drone 451-1: Evaluating danger…".
The heroine is immobile, jerking slightly at some residual sparks. Parts of her jumpsuit are smoking — small black burns left by the energy arc.
The drone seems to detect no threat. "Drone 451-1: Repairing self…". Energy starts flowing from the drone's body to the damage tube of its probe — an alien process similar to the one that modified the probe's tip. The battery indicator starts lowering — 21%, 19%, 17%… as the section the heroine had grabbed and near-broken starts glowing, and re-forming, and mending.
15%… 13%… Not just the probe, several areas of the drone glow — where old scratches and breakdowns scarred it. When the process ends, the probe looks perfect — better than before. The drone looks better, more functional.
It turns back to the knocked out heroine — extending its probe. "Drone 451-1: Charging self…". Its probe re-configures itself with small metallic sounds — then, it latches on her core again.
The heroine furrows her brow, her body contracting unwittingly, as her energy flows in the drone again — aside from the heroine's fallen flashlight and some leds on the drone, the orange pulses flowing from her body into the drone are the only light in the long-abandoned corridor. 19%… 22%… 25%…
It goes on for a while, uninterrupted. The heroine's chest heaves up and down, as if she's enduring a great effort. 43%… 46%… 49%…
The heroine's core changes color — dimming, slightly pulsating, a signal of exertion. 58%… 61%… 64%…
94%… 97%… 100%. The drone detaches its probe.
"Drone 451-1: Resuming tasks…". It spins on its tracks, then moves away in the darkness. It leaves behind the unconscious heroine — she is panting, looking disheveled.
The drone has left only a few seconds, and done nothing — but it already comes back. Whatever calculation, protocol it followed… it led it back here.
His probe's tube wraps around the heroine's ankles. "Drone 451-1: Securing energy source…". He drags her limp body on the metal floor, her hair and arms trailing behind her… into the darkness of the ship's depths.

 

[sickle]

Energy Source, post 2/3

When the heroine wakes up, it's all dark. She clenches her fists instinctively, trying to continue the fight she last remembers… she tries to clench her fists. She… can't move her fingers?
She focuses… What's her situation?
She seems to be inside some sort of metal… pod? coffin? Not vertical, inclined… 45 degrees, maybe? Even if she had a protractor, or something, it's not like she could use it… since her hands and legs are restrained. She's all covered, skin tight… more of that adaptable technology? Even her fingers are individually wrapped in… what is it, metal?
She pulls, tests the restraints a little… it does feel metallic… but, mostly, it feels heavy. It's not bulging at all… it's not like a manacle, more like a huge slab of metal. Feels pretty overkill, like something designed to hold some… large industrial machinery.
Can't break it… maybe it has a weak point she can exploit? Would help if she could see these restraints… Maybe she can, hack the pod, or something? Push some button? Hard to see how… voice commands? She does know some of the enemy race's language, and the drone was talking, so… Doesn't make sense, though, she doubts something like this would be designed to accept voice commands from its prisoner…
She's aching from the shock… mostly, she feels a hole in her reserves… that drone must have continued draining her while she was out. When she catches that thing, she's going to strangle it with its severed probe.
Yeah, she thinks, where's the drone? She looks around… and sees it immediately. Actually, she sees its probe first — approaching her.
"Drone 451-1: charging self…".
"Hey! Wait!".
The probe latches on her core again, then drains her once more. The battery indicator of the drone starts filling up again… 91%… 93%…
The heroine winces as she feels her energy flow out of her. "Really?" she says through gritted teeth. "Do you have to? You were at ninety-one you greedy little…".
Something is off… the drone's probe looks brand new, better than before she damaged it… no, the whole drone looks much better. Those squeaky tracks were silent, just now… Could it be a different drone? No, it wouldn't have the same name, would it?
Could it have… repaired itself? It doesn't sound so preposterous… it could reconfigure itself, this would be easier!
Once it topped off from her again, the drone releases her core, and turns around, wheeling away in the darkness.
This… this is ridiculous. Of all the deathtraps, she could never have conceived of something this stupid. If it wasn't for these stupidly tough restraints…
Now, that brainless obsolete piece of scrap is going to go… dunno, clean the floor in the captain's cabin? and come back periodically to drain her to fill itself up, because it doesn't know better… She's a charger. Humiliating.
She's tired… how much energy did this thing even drain? She doesn't have an helpful gauge, like it… could she take another full drain? Two? How much would it take, to kill her?
Well, at least it'll take a while… she'll have time to think. There must be something…
She's alerted by something whirring somewhere close to her… some machinery being activated. Is it the drone? It must be… it's the only thing she saw moving.
She hears its voice from the darkness. "Drone 451-1: charging energy harvest room…".
Every word in that sentence scares her. No… it can't be…
She feels a powerful humming sound from the pod holding her — then, a powerful, yanking draw of energy that makes her scream in surprise. From her restraints, where her body touches the coffin, little tubes start glowing with pulses of orange light — her energy, flowing through, being drained so much faster than that drone could.
All around her, cold old lights are turning on, old machinery is whirring into life, things she cannot see are moving — start up and maintenance sequences that haven't run in decades. And she is the fuel.
After minutes that feel like an eternity, she feels some relief, as the drain gradually stops… Stop? No… she glances at the lights above her, then at the tubes inside her pod — which, as she thought, are still lighting in slower orange pulses, confirming what she's feeling… she's still being drained. That powerful absorption has stopped once the startup process has finished — but the lights and the machinery are still on, drawing from her reserves.
How does this stuff even still work? It's so old… Wait… it doesn't have to still work — whatever was broken just repaired itself! At her expense — that's what this powerful draw was all about!
This is crazy… just how much is she being used to power up? She glances around her… her breath slowing, dread settling in as she slowly takes in the now-lit room.
Dozens of pods like hers are all around her. Some of them are completely filled with… some kind of large device that seems to be tailor-made for their size. They have some indicators on their outside, that look like it'd show their level, like the drone's battery indicator… are they energy storage units, batteries? She's in a battery pod?
But most of the pods don't contain batteries — not… conventional ones. They're filled with the long-dead bodies of alien lifeforms, each held in place with adaptable restraints made on purpose for their bodies. Many are restrained far worse than her — siphons and probes, similarly adapted to them, enter their bodies, or fully encase parts of their them… thoraxes, or heads…
A large black cable leaves each of the pods, all gathering together, going somewhere she can't see. This place… this energy harvest room… it's not some prison for her, it's the whole ship's carburetor! But, the ship has been dormant for years… there's nothing alive in here. Right now, of all these pods, all these cables… there's only her.
Her head suddenly turns, in panic-induced alertness, when she spots movement from the corner of her eye — it's the drone, slowly wheeling towards some large screen.
"Stop! Stop! Uh… override!" she yells — the drone acts like it can't hear her. It extends its probe towards some terminal next to the screen. "Drone 451-1: charging ship mainframe…".
Once more, some machinery spins to life, and the heroine screams at the powerful draw. It feels so much stronger than before… Is it because the mainframe draws more? Because it's doing that on top of that constant draw that is lighting up the room? Or because it feels worse, because her reserves are much emptier now?
Energy flows fast through the tubes of her pod… then gradually slows down again. Once more, the taxing startup sequence has given way to the steady draw to maintain power — she's definitely feeling it much more now, the two empowered devices both sipping from her at once.
She looks up… the drone is interfacing with the now-lit large screen — the ship's main computer. Text is so big that she can see it from here… can she gather something from it? Something she can use?
She freezes, as she realizes what she's reading — it's a task list, that the mainframe is providing to the drone. Pointless tasks… presuming a crew that will never come back, operations that have become obsolete decades ago.
But tasks… that presume a fully-stocked energy storage. That are full of things to turn on.
"No! No! It's pointless! Stop!" yells the heroine.
The drone leaves the room, acting like it can't hear her. She feels a small surge in the drain of her energy as the automatic door opens, and another as it closes behind it — leaving her alone. Panicked.

* * *​

The drone slowly wheels in the completely silent, long-abandoned corridors.
Its artificial vision has a simple overlay, which currently displays textual orders — tasks to follow, orders it had been waiting… for a long time.
"Drone 451-1: re-establishing command chain…". It reaches one of the dark, empty rooms, its probe interfaces itself with a terminal.
"Drone 451-1: charging command center…". On the display, the mainframe acknowledges the request, and informs that it will draw from the energy source to complete it. Lights and machinery turn on, things repairing, initializing… The ship's command center is powered up, a large room… the officers' seats all empty. The drone interrogates the logs — last operation from here was… extremely long ago.
It leaves the room — the lights and machinery left, turned on, behind it.
Its tracks take it it towards its clearly-outlined next task. A task which requires it to change floors. It approaches a terminal, at the end of a corridor. "Drone 451-1: charging elevator…".
Old engines spin, old displays light up. As the heavy elevator moves, carrying the lonely drone to the lower floor, a notification chimes in: "Mainframe: energy production is heavily taxed".
The drone's eyes whir open and closed, like it was blinking, as it consults its internal logs — evaluates its protocols.
"Drone 451-1: energy source recently secured — requesting check for potential sensor error".
"Mainframe: request acknowledged, interrogating maintenance system…".
"Mainframe: maintenance system unresponsive, new task scheduled…".
The drone's task list swells slightly — at the bottom, low priority, the task to power on the maintenance section. Meanwhile, the drone is already performing its higher priority task — remotely checking the pods in the energy harvest room. They're all dead, except one.
"Drone 451-1: task 'redistribute energy harvest' failed, no additional energy source available".
"Mainframe: acknowledged, resume previous task".
"Drone 451-1: resuming task, re-establishing command chain…".
The drone wheels into another dark chamber, its probe finding its terminal. "Drone 451-1: charging cryostasis…".
Cold lights reveal the room, stasis pods lighting up as they turn on. While they hum and buzz in the background, one of them repairing itself from a long-suffered failure, the drone consults terminals, logs… looks for an officer to wake up. It sweeps through pods, reads names and ranks, each time checking the conditions for the many protocols programmed into it… each time, unable to proceed, as the pods are empty, or its occupants long dead… the decades since their last pulse preventing the drone from trying medication, emergency procedures… even funeral rites.
When the probe retreats from the terminal, it sounds almost like a sigh. "Drone 451-1: Task failed. No survivors on board".
It stands there for a while, the idling almost making it look like its head is slumped — when its processors finish evaluating, its reactivation makes it look like it's perking up.
"Drone 451-1: suggesting task, check communication system for messages".
"Mainframe: evaluating suggestion… suggestion accepted, proceed with task".
The task list updates. The drone wheels out of the room — the fact that the lights and machinery it's leaving on are all drawing energy not registering to its simple logic.
Shortly, it activates more. "Drone 451-1: charging communications system…". Arrays of computers turn on, external antennas start moving in position. He parses through the last messages, all so old. One message stands out: last received, from a supervisor… matches all of its parameters for something important — instruction for this strange, complicated situation… instructions that could give it guidance in this darkness.
The message doesn't open. The drone doesn't have clearance.
"Drone 451-1: suggestion, grant overseer access".
"Mainframe: evaluating suggestion… suggestion overruled, overseer account locked".
The drone's eyes whir, as it consults its data. "Drone 451-1: inquiry, clarify about overseer…".
An urgent notification interrupts it — its red pulse on the drone's visor drawing all its attention. "Mainframe: energy production is critically taxed".
The drone immediately remotely checks the energy harvesting room. Hr verifies: only a pod is supplying energy. "Drone 451-1: task 'redistribute energy harvest' failed, no additional energy source available".
The drone stands still for a moment, its eyes whirring. "Drone 451-1: suggesting task, locate additional energy source".
"Mainframe: evaluating suggestion… suggestion accepted, proceed with task. Prioritize".
The drone obeys. It, obliviously, leaves behind the lit-up communications room, and moves back through the corridors, and back to the upper floor — the red notification continuing to pulse all the way, a pulse intensifying when the huge elevator carries the drone upward.
The drone enters the bridge, positioning itself in front of one of the terminals. "Drone 451-1: charging scanner…".
More devices turn on, large scanners on the outside of the ship slowly positioning. "Drone 451-1: scanning for energy sources…".
The scanners start moving — large, expensive machines. They probe, releasing large pulses of energy in the darkness of space. The bleeping red notification is more intense with each pulse.
"Mainframe: energy production is dangerously taxed — prioritize task, locate additional energy source".
"Drone 451-1: task already ongoing".
"Mainframe: acknowledged, continue task".
A blip shows up on the monitor in front of the drone — a notification that it immediately checks.
Something the scanners found — they were quick… it's nearby. The screens show an immense bounty of biological energy ripe for the harvest — a real treasure. An inhabited planet — the heroine's home planet.
A planet where the descendants of its former masters are already triumphing on the locals… subjugating, draining them. They would get so much more powerful, were they to be able to access the ship… their lost technology.
Especially, if the person putting up any resistance against them, the champion of this planet… the heroine… were to be lost.
The drone is unaware of the stakes — as, on the screen in front of it, a navigation route is calculated. "Drone 451-1: additional energy source located".
It wheels away, so quickly it seems almost enthusiastic. "Drone 451-1: securing energy source…".

 

[sickle]

Energy Source, post 3/3

When the drone opens the door and enters again in the energy harvest room, the hum of the mainframe isn't the loudest noise — it's the heroine's painting, and whimpering.
She is unconscious, but still contorting in pain, like she's lost in a nightmare. Orange lights have continued to flow in her pod's tubes, showing the continuous, powerful draw she has continued to endure all this time — now grown so much, as her energy fuels such a large portion of the ship's systems. She looks exhausted, sweaty, like she's struggled a lot while she was alone — her core is dim, barely lit, she has barely anything left…
As the drone approaches her, it's noticing nothing of this — there's only one thing that it cares about.
"Drone 451-1: charging self…". Its probe attaches to the heroine's core again — more orange light leaves the heroine's body through it, the drone's battery indicator climbing, 88%, 89%… The heroine shakes her head in pain, panting harder, wincing. The drain she could endure with gritted teeth before, is now an unbearable torment, and fatal danger — drawing on her at the same time as the ship's, and heavily taxing her exhausted body and dimming energy reserves.
99%… 100%. The heroine is visibly weaker when the drone detaches from her, her pained sounds much softer, her head slumped down. She looks like she could draw her last breath at any moment.
The drone turns its probe to the mainframe, the heroine's energy continuing to flow through the tubes behind it, a constant stream of orange glow. The drone has to navigate several screens, what it's trying to do is a complex task.
"Drone 451-1: charging ship main engine…".
"Mainframe: running diagnosis…".
The controls on screen become unresponsive. "Mainframe: overruled, energy source insufficient".
Numbers show up — comparing the current energy input to the draw that activating the ship's main navigation engine would entail.
The drone, as ever, is oblivious to details that aren't part of its programming — and, while it acknowledges the mainframe's objection, it's not evaluating the numbers, or anything on the screen that isn't in its interest. It's not computing how enormously higher the draw it requested would be, how blatantly impossible — to it, it's the same as an overzealous safety margin.
It diligently checks the pods, again — and, again, nothing has changed.
"Drone 451-1: no additional energy source available".
"Drone 451-1: challenging overrule, required for priority task".
The mainframe hums for a second. Then, the controls unlock.
"Drone 451-1: resuming task, charge ship main engine…".
The unconscious heroine winces, as her pod starts draining her more intensely — powering machinery above it, which hums and whirrs to life, approaching her.
A green ray emanates from the machine, running over every centimeter of the heroine's body. A complete scan of her starts appearing on the mainframe screen — describing her body internally and externally in intricate detail, highlighting optimal energy harvesting points.
When that's finished, a colossal tube — similar to a huge version of the drone's probe — approaches her. Its tip is a large metal clamp, which stops slightly above her, shifting and changing to adapt to her body, before continuing to her pod and wrapping around her.
The tube doesn't clamp on her — it wraps perfectly above her, covering her whole torso from the stomach to the neck, wrapped tightly as her skin. Its internal surface is a constellation of energy-draining devices — central, a far more powerful one, in a tight metallic clamp, which completely and hermetically covers her core.
Despite wincing at this nightmarish contraption's embrace, the heroine's breathing stabilizes, becoming regular and deep, in contrast to her weakened, exhausted state. The clamp on her body is so tight, she is no longer able to breathe — the clamp itself is moving, rhythmically, pulling her rib cage up and then tightening down on it, forcing the air in and out of her lungs at the rhythm it imposes.
As the huge probe hums, preparing to turn on and start absorbing energy, another huge probe approaches from the machine — directed at the heroine's head.
The heroine is wincing, contorting… and, as the probe is above her face, her tired eyes groggily open. And, instantly, grow wide in alert. She turns her head as the last second, the probe creepily touching her cheek before retreating slightly to reposition.
The heroine's voice is ragged, labored — but the words she yells as loud as she can, certain. "Overseer to Drone…" for a second she's afraid to have forgotten the number, that would be a comedic way to die. "…451-1! Override, taking command! I'm overseer Eljak… Khan-Orthugu. My…".
Two metal arms, topped in clamps, descend on her. One closes around her neck, like a manacle, the other grabs her forehead, covering her eyes, and forcibly turning her facing forwards — towards the approaching probe, driving the heroine into panic.
She speaks as fast as she can. "…my passcode is Arthamacel, 2307! Task, undo current task! Prioritiz… mh!".
Her voice is shut by the probe entering her mouth. There's no resistance — she can't. The probe is made exactly for her mouth, small clamps moving and closing around her lips and teeth, opening the way for the main energy-draining probe to descend deep in her mouth. It's so tight, so deep… She should be gagging. No, she should be suffocating! But the probe is made exactly for her — stopping just short of making her gag, and pumping and sucking the air out of her, combining with the clamp on her chest to keep her breathing under control, make her survive the upcoming drain just a little bit longer.
As her pod continues steadily draining her dwindling reserves, a continued flow of light running through its transparent tubes, the new probes hum and whir into life too.
This is it, she thinks. She doesn't even have time for her final prayers. If she only had awakened one second earlier…
She's wondering how it will be like, when those overkill probes start draining her. Will it be a terrible, yanking pull, as she's extinguished in a second by a drain so strong she'll feel like her soul itself was ripped out? Or will it gradually build, allowing her a few instants of agony? She's done. It was all for nothing…
The hum grows louder… then grows dimmer. She feels her chest release as the clamp gradually opens. The probe is gradually exiting her mouth as the arms release her… her first free breath is of relief.
"Drone 451-1: task concluded, undo current task" she hears. "Drone 451-1: new task, awaiting overseer orders".
She's not dead… yet. But she's not done. She feels herself drifting into unconsciousness again — she has lost more energy that she thought she even had, and she's still being drained so much… She'll faint any second, and she'll never wake up. If she doesn't stop it, right now…
"Overseer to drone 451-1…" she struggles to remember the command — she has to be precise. "isolate current room energy grid!".
"Drone 451-1: overrule, no additional energy source available".
Ok, she expected that. That was one of the things. She has to say… wait… damn.
"Previous page!" She screams.
"Drone 451-1: invalid command".
Not you, you idiot. The heroine struggles to move her head, looking over to the mainframe screen — which, obediently, files away her scan, re-opening the procedure pages she had opened before.
It was a rather difficult struggle — navigating alien technology is not her forte, and doing it while said alien technology is painfully draining you is not optimal. But desperation had given her quite an incentive.
She had been rather surprised that the mainframe listened to her voice commands — that seemed pretty stupid of the enemy race, allowing their captured prey to do that. Maybe something went wrong, with the ship being dead so long.
The overseer's family turned out to be the same as the leaders of the enemy race on her planet, and the name a very common name of theirs. That was a lucky guess, as she fought against those pesky password screens. Even luckier, guessing the passcode — the place and date of a famous victory.
She had been elated, when the mainframe had granted her overseer access. Then, it turned to irritation, distress, when she discovered that the mainframe wouldn't free her — frustrated struggles with the device's bureaucracy failing again and again, requiring physical contact with the device that she of course couldn't provide. Then, it turned to fear, as she desperately studied procedures, prepared, but the drone never came back — instead, her energy reserves were fast depleting, and on top of it, the drain was periodically getting worse, as the drone turned on more and more machinery. She was completely hopeless, when she felt herself losing consciousness…
But she has a chance now.
A chance… that is slipping her. She stares at the screen she had been studying before, frantic… the constantly-flowing lights of her drained energy a visible manifestation of her urgent situation — but she can't read. Her vision is blurred… she's mere instants from fainting again…
She tries to focus. Tries to see what she can anyway — she doesn't need to learn what to say, just to jog her memory. She thinks… yes. That was the bit.
"Overseer to drone 451-1: overrule rejected… ship systems… energy draw malfunction, isolate current room".
Her eyes close, she is barely conscious, fading fast. If this doesn't work…
The orange lights slow down, the trickle from her now much less intense.
"Drone 451-1: task completed, isolated current room".
Ok… this is better… but she still is being drained, to maintain this room and the mainframe… and she's at her limit. This must've bought her… not even a minute of consciousness.
Thankfully, the rest of the procedure she prepared well… what was the number again? She doesn't have time to infer it from the pods around her again… Right, 102. "Overseer to drone 451-1: empty drain pod 102… task, interrogate".
She bites the side of her cheek, to try resisting a little longer, listening to the drone… if this doesn't work, it should have one of a couple of possible objections… she has the right answer for both. She just…
"Drone 451-1: overrule, subject in pod 102 inappropriate for interrogation".
…what. No. That… that's not an objection she saw. Why…
Ok, ok. It's fine. It makes sense that the ship doesn't see her as human — a normal human would've been long dead, had they endured what she did. Maybe, she's been mistaken as a member of the enemy race? Or some other…
The constant draw of energy and her fading awareness remind her that she does not have time to speculate.
"Overseer to drone 451-1: inquiry, what is in pod 102".
"Drone 451-1: response, large farm animal".
Her mind goes blank for a second. "Really" she hisses. But her wounded pride takes a backseat, and so does the sudden realization of why the mainframe hadn't gagged her, and wasn't protecting itself from her voice commands…
The important thing is another — of course, in her limited time, protocols about farm animals weren't exactly her studying priority. She… she has no idea what to say.
Her head slumps back — her miraculously-held consciousness finally giving way to oblivion. She's not seeing, not hearing — desperately talking to the void, almost in a reverie.
"Overseer to drone 451-1: empty drain pod 102… task, groom". What would they even do to animals on this accursed ship?
"Overseer to… drone 451-1: empty drain… pod 102… task… butcher". Oh no, why did she say it? No matter, go on…
"Overseer… to drone 451-1: empty drain… pod… 102… task… milk". Oh, another good one.
"Overseer… to drone 451-1: empty pod… empty drain pod… 102… task… shear". Would it cut her hair? Better than butchering…
"Overseer to… drone… 451-1: empty… drain… pod… 102… task… clean".
"Overseer… to… drone… 451-1: empty… drain…". She couldn't finish this one. Indeed, the drain had almost emptied her. And the pod was continuing to drain her slowly, as she fell unconscious again.

* * *​

Panic.
The heroine was exhausted. Weaker than she ever felt. But the panic jolted her awake.
Something was crawling on her. On top of her body… something cold, and frantic…
The probe. That accursed drone's probe. It was…
…tickling her? Tickling?
Her consciousness returned gradually. The cold floor under her, she was out of the pod. She wasn't being drained anymore.
She was… laying down, on her side. The drone, in front of her, was the only light in the room. And it was… sweeping its probe, some rounded form of it, on her lower belly. Moving over her stomach, not doing anything… except, tickling her. And confusing her.
Then it stopped. "Drone 451-1: task, milking, failed, udders not present or too small".
"Really" she snarled. "I know you don't mean it like that… But I'll have you know, many people prefer them my size".
She was finally relaxed… closed her eyes in relief, stretching her fingers. She was so… worn out. Wondered if she should order the drone to go throw itself out of an airlock, or maybe use it, for information or help… and, then, throw it out of an airlock… right now, she could ask it if there was some sort of alien bed nearby, because she really needed to recover at least…
"Drone 451-1: securing energy source…".
Her eyes shot open. The drone's probe was approaching her — its tip sparking with electricity.
A powerful impact echoed in the old ship, from the heroine's kick. Then, another immediately after, when the drone hit a column several meters away — breaking half apart, the severed probe flying further away. Its body bounced a couple times, then settled on the floor, all bent, its only non-shattered track running uselessly in mid-air.
"Not so easy when I'm not restrained, is it? You… ah…". The heroine, who had got up in an adrenaline rush, felt dizzy again, her hand leaning her on the nearby pod. Something… dry, under her touch. Not metallic… like…
Oh no. Dead alien. Gross. She pulled her hand back, sat on the floor.
She breathed, rested for a while… trying to squeeze that minimum of strength to walk out without collapsing from her depleted energy reserves. Always an eye on the drone, which was wheeling uselessly.
"Drone 451-1: task repair overruled, no energy source available…".
"Drone 451-1: task: locate energy source…".
"Drone 451-1: no energy source available…".
…was she feeling something? Something like… pity? A little bit, right at the bottom of the seething hatred, maybe.
She got up, planned her trip through the ship — without a torch, too. She doubted the demonic machine had the courtesy to carry hers when she was brought to the torture-to-death-and-consume-room, fancy that.
She shot a glance at the mainframe. Such a pity she had not had much time with it… it probably contained a lot of important information — especially since she had overseer access. She was not really a fan of how she had to power it, though… and she was in no condition to do it any further, anyway…
An idea suddenly shot in her head. Her smile clever… and a little sinister.
A few minutes later, the room was lit up again. "Next page. Next page!". The heroine's eyes were sparkling with satisfaction, as she hungrily read from the mainframe. Her exhaustion felt like a memory — she was so enthusiastic! She had hoped to find some information about the enemy race… but what she was learning…! Maybe, just maybe… they could be defeated!
She had a plan now! And she was eager to put it in practice.
She left the room, with a spring in her step. Behind her, in the pod that used to be hers, the broken drone — broken and lengthened to fit in a clever, but mostly spiteful way — the draining restraints adapted to its shape as they had to the heroine.
Its battery indicator was ticking down. 4%… 3%…
"Drone 451-1: no energy source available…".
2%, 1%.
The lights in the room started dimming, and turning off.
0%.
The ship fell completely silent.

 

[sickle]

She had won

Operatives from the evil organization are huddled in the middle of some crates at the port — trying to be inconspicuous. They look scared.
"You think she will show up?".
"Oh, *please*. How *would* she know we're here?".
The heroine *is* listening. Sophisticated divination magic — so she can hear and see them perfectly, while being far away enough that they couldn't possibly see or hear her.
Not that they *could* see her, even if they reached her. Another spell is concealing her presence — both spells subtle enough to be undetectable, even by the best evil organization mages.
Mages that, either way, they don't have — she *checked*. Also, no hidden monsters, no traps… They're just foot soldiers — five, only two armed. She's fought ten without breaking a sweat before.
She's taking some time, though. She'll get them when they're in a better position — an ambush makes all the difference.
The thought made her shiver — as if she had suddenly noticed how cold the night air was. Yes… she knows it very well… ambushes make all the difference.
It had been cold *that* night, too. Cold air, cold concrete floor under her, cold magical chains wrapping her limbs.
"Should've watched your back… heroine" that weird-sounding voice had said. "Because… pretty sure you can't use any of your pesky magic all wrapped up like that. We can do… whatever we want… to you. I can do *this*".
A powerful kick, right in her stomach. Threw her back a bit, made her wince in pain. She heard them laughing… all around her… getting closer…
The heroine shakes her head, chases the memory away. She *is* watching her back, right now — more simple divination spells she devised, very efficient. They had gotten lucky that night, anyway — but, now, even more sophisticated ambushes wouldn't work anymore.
In fact, her divination is so well-organized that she *feels* the car arriving. More evil organization people… someone strong?
She has plenty of time to exit out, get rid the underlings, and prepare something for whoever arrives. She considers that, and she considers the information she might be getting is she stays hidden. She chooses to wait.
Eventually, the foot soldiers hear the car arrive, too.
"Is that him?"
"Yes… lord Makon's replacement".
Lord Makon…
"Lord Makon, you are *so* generous!", she remembers they were saying, that night — foot soldiers all on top of hers, taking turns with their syphons. They had gleeful expressions, as they drained her magic — which flew through the syphons in a blue light.
"Oh, I know!" had said the weird-sounding voice. "Well… after all the energy we couldn't get because of her interference, it's only fair she feeds all of us, right?"
She remembers the pull of power leaving her body, she remembers panting, breathing hard… pulling uselessly at her restraints, as he approached her "Plus… she's so strong, I don't think I'll get her to scream if I drain her on her own. Look at her… she's *scowling*".
His hand had tightened around her neck. "I don't like scowling. I like *screaming*".
He had lifted his own syphon — much larger and more powerful than his minions'. "And you're gonna scream now".
When it plunged into her, multiplying the drain, she did. She couldn't help it. "Oh, yes… you taste *so good*…".
As she pushes the memory back again, the heroine is clenching her teeth — her fists are gripping hard, her whole body tense.
What is she doing? No. She mustn't.
Yes, things got bad that night. She wasn't prepared for them to go *that* bad. All the time she had protected the innocent people of her city from the evil organization which wanted to drain their energy, she never thought *she* could have to endure that herself. That was… demeaning. Scary.
But… she had won. She. Had. *Won*.
Makon had caught her because he was *lucky* — not because he was clever, or resourceful, or powerful. *She* had proven that — because, even in her predicament, even when all hope seemed lost… she never lost focus. She found a way.
She ended that night out of her chains, and Makon ended it crawling away from her, muttering pathetic excuses. And now, just days later, she was back in action — rested enough to have recovered fully from her drain. And he was getting replaced… because she mad sure he was never going to hurt anyone again.
Yes, the replacement. She focused.
He's huge. Long hair, full beard. Much bigger than his predecessor — not that it matters much, for magical creatures. She watches carefully, seeking all the information she can — and carefully trying to spot any sign, even subtle ones, that he might be detecting her divination spell.
"I know things have been hard in this town… I intend to do the best I can". He's well dressed. Polite. Nods a greeting at the foot soldiers. "As I understand, the problems here… are due to a certain young woman, right?".
They talk about her. He asks many questions. The foot soldiers paint such a terrifying picture of her — they're scared out of their wits, she never considered just how unsettling some of her tactics have been for them. The the new leader seems very surprised.
Well, *she* is very surprised. Because he's just shown up, and he already screwed up. Badly.
He doesn't know… anything, really. Doesn't know her spells, doesn't seem to know she *has* magic. He's… beyond unprepared.
So, now, she has the new leader just there, no plan, no nothing, protected only by low tier guys (pity she hasn't taken them out earlier)… he has no idea she's there, she can think of at least three easy plans to knock out everyone else before he can react — they've helpfully huddled up, great target for large-area spells. And then, she's one on one with him. Which would probably go very badly for him, but she's got escape routes planned, even if he has some hidden power…
…what if he does. What if he is much more powerful than he appears? What if…?
…he's not. Her divination would've detected magic or major weapons, or most potential threats. She can't be *certain*… but it's almost impossible that…
Her mind wonders again.
She was on on the floor, wheezing, exhausted. "Oh, I can't believe I'm *full*. I didn't think I *could* get full! I drained *so much* energy from you…".
Lord Makon was getting closer… she felt his breath, as he whispered in her ear, with his weird voice.
"Well, I guess we have some monsters… those are *always* hungry". His hand had caressed her cheek, making her wince. "But… they'll *ruin* you. And I think there's something I'd like to do before that… there's something else I can take from you, while you're still… pretty".
His hand moved down, descending down her neck and to her shoulder — grabbing her shoulder strap, and pulling it down… her breath was coming out faster and faster.
She angrily stepped back from the memory. What was *wrong* with her? *They* are the ones who are scared of her! Makon *never* managed to do what he threatened! Her plan was already in motion at that point, and he'd feel it just *seconds* later!
…but she didn't know it *would* work back then, did she? She was weak and vulnerable, and he was kissing her neck, while his hand…
She sits on the floor. She draws her knees up, locking her arms around them — making herself small.
This… this isn't good. This… this a mistake. She *had* won, yes… and she *had* recovered — physically. But she underestimated this… unexpected fragility. Despite all her power, how terrified of her the evil organization soldiers are… she is not immune to something like this. She overestimated herself.
Enough. It's a pity, missing this opportunity, but she is not in a state to take advantage of it — it might go bad for her just due to how she's feeling. She'll retreat, for now — take some time to deal with this unexpected problem, as she would any other obstacle. Get back when she's ready — try to be ready as fast as possible. After all, she has no reason to be hasty…
Something flares into her divination — like seeing something with her peripheral vision. She feels someone's emotions — desperation, terror, helplessness…
The new leader is opening the back seat of his large car. "I thought I'd bring a gift. With what she did to my predecessor, I figured you'd be starving!".
He pulls something out. Four people, tied up. Crying, confused. Man, woman… two children. Family. Oh, no…
The soldiers are thanking the leader profusely, pulling out their syphon… they're deciding who to drink first.
The heroine springs herself up. It's more difficult now — most of her previous plans relied on spells that she can't use with innocents right next to the enemy, plus they could use the hostages some other way. But she still *has* to do something. She thinks of a plan on the fly — leaves her hiding spot.
*Almost* leaves her hiding spot. She freezes.
An image, unwanted, screams in her head. She sees herself beaten up, writhing in pain on the ground, over there where they are… chains put on her… syphons draining her deeply… the new leader, his cordial expression turned into a nightmarish grin, descending on her… doing all the things Lord Makon had said he would do to her…
She's hyperventilating. Belly hurts — panic cramps. Bad.
She feels the soldiers approaching their victims with the syphons — with her divination, it's like she's right there, in their heads, she'll feel what they feel when they'll be drained… She imagines the nightmare of a world she'll be in if she leaves, forever haunted by having been unable to save them…
She's no longer calculating — she's frantic. What… what is she going to do?

 

[sickle]

Authentic heroine things
Post 1/2

The heroine must've been kissed by the goddess of rotten luck, when she was a baby.
That's how her life feels like, at least. No money, small rental apartment, crappy job…
One might think waking up one day with magical powers would count as good luck — but, when *she* got them, it was *exactly* when the monstrous villains started attacking her city… So, most of what she got to do with her power involved putting on a gaudy costume to hide her identity, and setting monsters on fire. Becoming the famous, beloved heroine of the city — so, basically, an extra job, a secret identity to deal with, lots of responsibility, zero extra money… And, mostly, horribly dangerous monsters that want to kill her — they'd rather abuse people without getting set on fire, turns out.
She's had her close calls. Quite a few of the monsters she fought were much stronger than her — because, that day when she was a baby, the goddess of rotten luck must've given her a couple extra kisses for good measure — but she managed to deal with them. So far. Somehow.
You'd think the monsters' outfitter, the shopkeeper, wouldn't be one of those especially bad monsters.
Well, he *is* the worst — selling humans as slaves, or worse… trading items made with people's stolen energy and souls… corrupting human authorities to facilitate monster activities… orchestrating basically two thirds of said activities with his commissions… but you'd think, he's an organizer, not a fighter. You'd think, the heroine could solve a lot of problems for the city just by ambushing this guy. Setting him on fire a little bit.
You *wouldn't* think the shopkeeper may have *pretended* to be weak, and would turn out to be, like, a meter taller than the heroine when he transformed in his real form.
You wouldn't anticipate him being so bloody tough that the heroine's weapon barely scratched him. And also *capable of dispelling magic*, so the heroine's spells *don't scratch him at all*. And *also* be able to punch strong enough to break concrete walls — *or* to send an heroine flying *through* concrete walls.
You'd think the goddess of rotten luck wouldn't *use her tongue* when kissing a baby.
But here the heroine is. Her weapon's gone, she's aching all over from the beating to end all beatings, irritated at all the trite banal insults she had to endure during said beating, and dealing with the sort of headache you only get when someone grabs your face with one hand and uses the back of your head as a hammer to remodel the sidewalk until you faint, and you have just woken up.
Ok, she's… tied up with straps, on some sort of chair. By the the looks of the room, the lack of windows, the shelves stocked with stuff… she's probably in the shopkeeper's basement. Shopkeeper's not around — she'd notice, he'd be right in front of her to menacingly tell her that she has been beaten up and she's tied to a chair, the witless bastard — but a few of his underlings are buzzing around, human disguises slightly off now that they're not in public. They're arranging stuff on the tables next to her, for whatever nasty thing the shopkeeper has kept her alive for.
The chair she's in… she feels it reaching inside her, somehow… not a normal chair, some nasty magical something. By what she can see, it seems like magical machinery of some sort… it has dials, and slots, and stuff, but also some mystic bits and glyphs… feels like a bigger, evil version of a dentist's chair. And dentist chairs are kinda already bad. And expensive.
Well, she must figure out how to weasel her way out of this. Way out is probably through the main shop… she has to sneak, or make a distraction, because if the shopkeeper catches her it's gonna be a real short escape. Chair straps aren't weak enough that she can easily get out of them, but they don't seem *that* strong… her magic would burn them nicely. If she weren't strapped down and unable to do the necessary gestures. No guards, the henchmen don't seem that strong… unless they're stronger than they look, like their master. Oh, one is approaching.
"Hey… she's awake!". He barely glances at her, as he approaches the machine. He's putting some *very* decorated bottles inside it… the type for super fancy liquor, except they're much smaller… The chair hums menacingly once he's done…
Then the heroine feels it. It reaches inside of her, somehow… pulls something out. She clenches her teeth, resists the pain… are they?
The henchman replaces one of the little bottles with an empty one… puts it on the table right next to her. It's now filled with a glimmering, mystical looking bright liquid. There's… a picture of her, on the elaborate label… it reads "Authentic heroine essence". Oh, cool, energy drain… so *that's* how it feels like.
But… isn't that label wrong? She's feeling her power drawing away, like when she casts strong spells — except in a way more unpleasant, forceful way… they're draining her magical energy. Essence would be, like, life essence? What they drain from normal people… Pretty sure they aren't draining that. She hates that she fought so many energy draining monsters that she knows the difference…
One henchman arrives with a box, opens it with a knife on the table. More bottles, different. "Do we start with this, too?".
"No, that's near the end".
The new bottles say "Authentic heroine vital essence". Ah, that's it — there's essence and *vital* essence! It's a *marketing* thing! They really have to be bastards all the way… to think, she's never had the gall of profiting from *using* her powers… and they…
"Can you drain her faster?" says a henchwoman, walking in front of her. Wait, is that a cell phone? Is she *filming* the heroine?
"This should be the optimal speed, to get the maximum amount of energy…".
"Yes, but since we have to film her to confirm the product's authenticity anyway… if you could raise the power for a minute, so we can get some footage of her screaming? she's very stoic right now…".
Oh, is she? Well, then…
"You… you won't get away with this" the heroine growls. She times it with the bottle's change… so, when the drain resumes, she winces and lets out a little scream… trying to make her defiant expression afterwards look forced.
The henchwomen smiles. "Oh, never mind! That's *perfect*!". As she carefully keeps up the show, the heroine is fantasizing about breaking that phone straight on the henchwoman's forehead. Oh, she will… when the time is right.
She could actually stop this right now. Block the flow, prevent the machine from continuing to suck her power out — would be nice, too. But she needs to endure, just a little… because, that's her way out.
These morons don't seem to realize… but turning her magic power into fire and explosions is kind of 90% of her magic ability. She can do it even tied up… and they're helpfully extracting it for her, making magic energy molotovs. She must just be a little patient… it better be a pretty spectacular explosion, because knocking down the henchmen and burning her restraints is a thing, but a big enough distraction to get out of here is another.
It's not a big deal. Well, it is… that machine emptying her doesn't exactly tickle, she hates feeling her stolen energy flow out of her. And the degradation of seeing these mongrels just line it up.
But she can take it. As long as the henchmen don't do anything too…
"How about this? Do we start with this?".
"Oh, of course! That's better done early!".
The bottles guy has knifed open another box, this one has different bottles… what does the label say?
Wait, she's getting filmed, she can't look… He's hooking her up to something, on the other side of the machine. The heroine tries thinking of what they could be trying to do to her… but calms down, when she sees familiar equipment — a needle. Red liquid starts to slowly flow out of her forearm. Well, she doesn't need to read the label… it probably says "Authentic heroine…" and some pretentious marketing term for blood.
That… complicates things. If they take too much, she's going to be weaker… How much can she take? It's not so easy to tell…
Who the hell does the shopkeeper even *sell* blood to? It probably becomes a rotting bacteria playground right away, not even a vampire would want something this gross… Who is the disgusting pervert that drinks that? Do they want her used tampons, too?
Another guy comes down the stairs… he's holding something. Oh, no, not more bottles… wait. It's… transparent envelopes?.
"Can I start with these?".
"Can that be later? That's a little annoying while we're working on her".
"Yeah, but you know how much this stuff is worth? It's got to go in the vault…".
"Oh, do that! let's get at least started!" says the henchwomen. "Makes the video better!".
"Well… do whatever doesn't get in the way of the draining, I guess".
The envelopes guy nods. He's right in front of her, she can read the labels while he pulls out the envelopes without disrupting the victim act she's pulling. The big one says. "Authentic heroine battle dress". Oh, you bloody pervs… you're…
Wait. One envelope is full… something that looks like a dagger… is that…
"Authentic heroine sword".
Dyrwyn! They brought her weapon down here. Those idiots, she can't believe it! Oh, *one* lucky thing!
She's getting a little dizzy from the blood drain… and the energy drain… She's starting to feel it — on the plus side, acting like she's suffering is getting less difficult… But, once she's free, she'll have her weapon right away! She must *really* be careful, wait for the right moment… If the bottles are all on that table, it'll be a big boom… but if they separate them, start taking them away or something… distributed booms, more chaos, more taken down henchmen… it's worth waiting. Just a little…
The envelopes guy is bending right in front of her. Bit too close to her skirt… if she sees his gaze wonder too much, he's getting an extra kick on the delicate bits when she's free.
He's taking off her shoes… they go in separate bags. Sadistic way of selling those… what use do they have, sold one by one?
She glances at the bottles… wow, that's a lot of bottles… should she slow the flow? They shouldn't suspect much, they'll just think she's nearly exhausted…
"Oh, I gotta film this!". Wait, why is the cellphone henchwoman suddenly this close, too?
Envelope guy's envelope is strange… triangular? Label says… heroine blinks in disbelief. No… it really says that.
"Authentic heroine panties".
The henchmen's snickering is interrupted by the explosion, that startles them and blows them back.
This was not the optimal time… But she ain't letting them do *that*, roll with it. The fire is all around her, it made the henchmen jump back… some are trying to extinguish their burning clothing. She easily breaks the burned-down straps holding her down, rips the blood-sucking needle from her arm. Rushes forward, away from the blown-up machine and towards the pile of boxes containing her sword, a fire-wrapped punch knocking the fastest-reacting henchman out of the way. "Tell the shopkeeper — capitalism is dead. Time for some anarchy in this shop!".
But, actually, now that she looks around… there isn't *that* much mess… the explosion is disappointingly small. As she turns around to face the rest of the henchmen, they are more surprised than hurt. That's weird… did she mess up? Feels like like her explosion only affected the bottles inside the machine, and the very few closest to her… like it was, blocked?
But who could have…? Surely, the shopkeeper's henchmen couldn't share his counterspelling ability, right? She glances back… most of the bottles are neatly piled up, just shaking a bit from the commotion… one bottle of her blood rattles off the table… and a big hand picks it up. A… really big hand.
Oh. Of course. The heroine keeps forgetting that she's blessed by the goddess of rotten luck. The bitch must've *nursed* her, feels like.
"You… were there all along" she tells the shopkeeper. "I thought I'd hear you give some orders… maybe gloat a little… So silent, that's… very uncharacteristic of you" .
"Yes… you're right". In just a couple of gulps, the shopkeeper has finished the bottle of her blood, putting it down neatly, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand — *he* was the disgusting pervert, who knew. "I was just checking things out. But you were so… docile, when you woke up. No fighting back, none of those vicious jokes. That, too, was… very uncharacteristic of you? So I thought I'd linger here a little. Just in case".
"Ah… how thoughtful…".
As she repositions, staring him down, the heroine sees, out of the corner of her eye, the cellphone-filming henchwoman has gotten up… she is trying to put them both in frame. She has a giddy expression.
The heroine has to keep a poker face, try to look like she's… a little annoyed? And not despairing. She has to think how to deal with this brute, who already beat the crap out of her… when he *wasn't* on his home turf. And she wasn't all weakened from having just being beaten into a pulp — by him. And she wasn't *also* all weakened from the energy drain. And dizzy from the *blood* drain. Oh, and *shoeless* now that there's a bunch of glass on the floor.
She feels movement behind her… one? No, two… And *also* last time he beat her one on one, now there's the henchmen, too…
Well… let's do what can be done… at least, she's not unarmed. She extends her right arm, makes a gesture, as if pulling something into it.
Nothing happens. She repeats the gesture. Nothing. The shopkeeper tilts his head… he looks amused.
This is embarrassing… she is even getting *filmed*. What the hell, Dyrwyn… why isn't he jumping to her hand? Why does this trick only work half the time… Is she too weakened? Did that bargain bin holy blade get its magic blocked by a plastic envelope?
Behind her, the henchmen have approached… just as one swings for her head, she anticipates him, elbowing him in the stomach. and dodges the other one, rolling on the floor… picking the dagger, ripping it from the envelope herself.
In a quick gesture, just as she's getting up, she swings it. "Dyrwyn!".
And… nothing happens.
Everyone's watching… confused. "*Dyrwyn*!", she repeats, swinging again… Nothing.
Oh, this is… Why is that stupid breadknife not transforming? Why is it… heavier? And… cleaner. And, a little shorter? Wait, it this…
She stares at the shopkeeper, who's holding a very similar dagger…
"So, that's the activation word… *Dyrwyn*!". He swipes the small blade, just like the heroine was doing… but it becomes a huge sword, covered in flames. Uh… when *she* uses Dyrwyn, it's not this big… is it because the shopkeeper is so much stronger than her? Also, the flames are usually golden… *his* flames are all red and black…
"Wow, boss!", says the henchwoman, still filming "That looks *badass*!".
Well… that's happening. The heroine forces herself not to show her emotions… more than ever, to keep a poker face. Act just a little upset, instead of how she's actually feeling. "That's… kinda unfair. You are not a very honest seller".
The shopkeeper smiles. "Well, it's capitalism! And, no matter what you say… it's very much alive".
"You didn't even know Dyrwyn's name…".
The shopkeeper laughs. "Don't care about your names and stories… unless I can profit from it". He raises her stolen sword, while the henchmen take position to flank the heroine. "By the way, you'll have to compensate me for the machine you broke… But what's yours, is mine already, so…".
As soon as he leaps at her, she dodges, back towards the chair and the henchmen — and ignores him, doesn't even glance at him.
A blinding flame, coming from Dyrwyn, fills the room… the henchmen are surprised. They attack the heroine too late, too clumsily… even in her state, she dispatches them in seconds, magic fire empowering her fists and burning far-away opponents before they can attack her or call reinforcements.
She tries to ignore the pain in her now glass-stabbed feet, as she assesses that they're all down.
The heroine, fire blazing behind her, advances towards the filming henchwoman… who's now receding in a corner, holding the phone shakily, her gaze alternating from a scared look at the heroine to a pleading look behind her. "So… like what you're filming?".
"Y-you *just* looked so badass, too!". The henchwoman forces a smile. When the heroine gets her hand close to the phone, the henchwoman just lets her pick it. "I… wasn't hurting you, like the others… I was just filming!".
"Yeah, I know". The phone makes a loud crack as it shatters the henchwoman's forehead, bits of partially-melted plastic and metal flying around.
"Filming sexual assault… so *wholesome*. Oh, right, which one of these is… ah, there you are!". She lands a fiery kick on the envelopes guy, as he tries to crawl away… exactly in that spot she planned. All other henchmen are down.
So that's done. It's only then, that she finally turns towards the shopkeeper… and the glowing flame. "You have *no idea* how hard it was to keep a straight face, when I saw you with my sword… instead of, y'know, laughing".
He shots her a pained glance. He's hunched over… looks angry. He's still trying to dispel the red and and black fire that is enveloping him…
"See, Dyrwyn is a bit particular. Turns your power into a holy flame… but the flames kinda turn on you if you're not a nice person. I'm surprised I made it on its nice list, really… not surprised you didn't. If you looked up why I called it Dyrwyn, you would've known… I tried to tell you, too but you said there's no profit in that, so…".
His dispelling is slowly working… the flames are still burning him, but they're subsiding. "Unfortunate… But if you think these… scratches… will stop me from just finishing you with my own hands…".
"Oh, I don't… I know, you're really tough". She grabs the table, covered in the bottles with her stolen magic power… pulls it up, making them fall to the floor, right next to him. "But… are you good enough at dispelling two things at a time? While you're on fire?".
She jumps over the table, hides behind it… before igniting the bottles again. This time, the explosion isn't hindered… it's huge. She closes her eyes… feels the pressure on her back from each explosion, as they push against the table.
When it's done, her ear are ringing, even though she covered them. The whole room… the part of it that isn't blown up… smells terrible, she can barely breathe. Smoke is everywhere…
He… he must be down. Those bottles had most of her magical power. She *never* made an explosion this strong, and the shopkeeper was right in the middle of it.
That's gotta be enough. She's at her limit… Please…
Even if he's still up… and even *he* couldn't be that tough… maybe he's still stunned enough that she can grab Dyrwyn quick, and get the hell out of dodge… Sort the rest of it out later.
She jokes about the goddess of rotten luck… but there's gotta be a limit…
A fist through the table, like it was made of paper… right next to her head. And, before she can even react, the shopkeeper's arm bends right around her neck… so tight. He doesn't even say anything… not even one of his bad quips, like he normally would. He's just *snarling*.
She shakes him off… fights back. Hopes that his wounds might make him more manageable… but they don't. He may be weakened, but so is she… he's still so much stronger…
He's still blocking her spells, she can't get an opening to grab Dyrwyn… and when he hits, she *feels* it.
She tries racking her brain for a solution to this desperate situation… but her thoughts get scrambled, the shopkeeper slams her head on the wall. Then does it again, and again…
As her consciousness fades in darkness, the last thing the heroine feels is her body being dragged by the foot… towards the chair she just escaped from.

 

[sickle]

Authentic heroine things, post 2/2

The heroine painfully shakes her head awake. She's on that drain chair again. She doesn't know if, this time, the concussion lasted minutes, or hours…
Surely, not seconds. Heavy chains are holding her aching body in place now, instead of the fragile straps from before… that must have taken minutes, at least.
She feels the familiar probe of the machine. It must be what woke her up, it did it before, too… it's getting ready to drain her again. That must be why she's not dead… angry as the shopkeeper may be over the wounds she got on him, his greed must've won.
He's still wounded, no bandages, nothing. He is trying to repair the broken energy drain machine on his own… hasn't gotten any fresh henchmen. So it's not hours — few minutes, she guesses…
He pulls a tube out of the machine… pieces ripping out as he does. Is that how it's supposed to go, or is he still mad?
"…is that economically viable? You were just whining about me breaking that, now you're finishing the job…". Her voice isn't sounding so healthy… parts of her ached just at this little quip.
He just stares at her angry. Yup, not quipping back… confirmed, he's still angry. He's gonna be even angrier when he discovers he went through all this trouble to drain her again, and broke his precious machine for good, when she barely has anything left… Ha, sucks to be him. Sucks to be her more, though…
While still looking at her, he just… puts the tube in his mouth. *Really* angry.
She braces, gets ready. When the drain hits, she arches her back, wincing… as she feels her waning energy flow directly into the shopkeeper's mouth.
"S-stop… I don't have anything left…" she says with labored breath.
He scowls. His face puffs, as he takes effort to drink harder… she screams, her body tenses, when she feels him draw on her even harder. She sees the shopkeeper's wounds glow a little, as her stolen energy is healing them… The draw is barely bearable, she can't…
After a bit… it stops. The shopkeeper takes the tube out of his mouth, perplexed… shakes it a little. Puts it in his mouth again, tries draining… the heroine spasms when he does. But nothing comes out…
"Huh… You really had almost nothing left" he says, "Well, you're done for good now. No more magic… no more enhanced strength and agility… no more tricks. No more heroine… you're just a little girl, now".
He moves to the other side of the machine as he speaks, walking around the limp, panting girl. "It's a pity you're so weak… Your energy was so *pure* — it took so little, to heal me nearly completely…".
He grabs some tubes… new ones, from the intact side of the machine. "But, even with all the damage you caused… I can still make a profit from you. Because… you're a very *young* girl…".
He lines up the bottles… the ones labeled "Authentic heroine life essence".
"Life essence is my most-sold product… lots of my customers wants to live longer. And your lifespan… will sell for a lot…".
He places the first bottle in the machine. "Can't wait to sample it myself… I wonder if it'll taste as amazing as your energy…". As the heroine is watching, with a desperate expression, weakly shaking her head… he turns the machine on. It fills the room with a gloomy noise, and the heroine pulls her her head back, shivering…
The shopkeeper watches… grinning. "I'll have to watch the flow… I want to leave you with enough to survive. Maybe a year's worth… See if your magic power regenerates, and we can sell more…".
But… there is no flow. The heroine is writhing in pain, yelping… but the bottle isn't filling. What's happening?
Did the machine get damaged? It couldn't be spilling his precious product… could it?
He turns it off. The heroine goes from yelping in pain to panting. "Please… no more… it hurts…" she says, as he gets under the machine to check… no spills, he doesn't see anything wrong…
He turns the machine on again, on full power — the noise is so strong, it almost covers the heroine's scream. He stares at the bottle, getting angrier… why isn't it filling?
"Stop… this hurts so much…". He ignores her… grabs the machine, shakes it… Why isn't it working? With all it *costed* him?
"Ah… you're draining me… so *hard*… you're… so *strong*…".
He raises his head… the tone. He's so upset that, until these exaggerated words… he hadn't paid attention, to her mocking tone…
He turns towards the heroine… slowly. His teeth are clenched so hard they hurt… he's gripping the machine so tightly he feels the frame bending under his hand.
The heroine meets his gaze, her head held up… an amused smile, despite all her wounds. So, it was her…
"Oh, no… don't drain my energy… I'm suffering *so* much…" she's almost laughing. "You *really* fell for it? You figured out I was acting before… are you really *that* mad? Because I hurt you? I get beaten up all the time, how mad should *I* get? You are acting more hysteric than a little girl…".
The shopkeeper is so livid, his belly hurts… she's so wounded, so consumed, her words are labored… and yet, that smile… that confident, irreverent smile…
He'll tear her apart. Rip everything that she can live without… "Authentic heroine teeth", "Authentic heroine fingers", "Authentic heroine eyes"… Nowhere near as profitable as having her… intact, for his customers to take advantage of, like he planned… But he'll *find* a buyer. Just to make her smile go away…
He wants to just, jump on her, but… he's not moving. He… he can't.
Something's wrong… he feels, sick, inside…
Wait… her right hand, it's moving… is she casting a spell?
Impossible! She doesn't have anymore magic! He just *drank* it, all that she had left…
…no, he didn't. She's been preventing the machine from draining her life, all this time… she must've stopped the energy drain before he finished her, too!
But then… why did she let him consume her? Heal himself, at her expense, from all the wounds it took her so much effort to inflict… when she could stop it? He might not have drained her completely, but he took a lot, surely most of what she had left… why would she…?
Wait… could she…
"Oh, by the way: how good are you at dispelling magic, when it's *inside you*?".
The heroine's energy inside the shopkeeper bursts… Inside the wounds it just healed, which reopen worse than before… and in his throat, and belly… he falls to his knees.
"I was also going to ask if all this super-tough thing you've got going on worked *from the inside*… that's a no, is it? You become *really* sloppy when you're angry… You literally *just saw* that I could do this…".
The shopkeeper… almost doesn't gets up. It takes effort. He approaches the heroine, slowly… He's right on top of her — she's so small… The person who hurt him like no one ever could, is this tiny little girl… all broken up and empty, yet still flashing that defiant smile…
"Ooh, you are tough… you keep surprising me". She's still mocking him, even as his hands descend on her fragile body. He almost strangles her, but there's no money in that… and she owes him *a lot*… He grabs her head instead. He squeezes, carefully measuring his inhuman strength… he'll cave her skull in… cripple her brain, leave her mindless. He'll know he's squeezed enough when his machine starts harvesting the unconscious heroine's life… and, if he pushes too hard, splatters her brain all over the shop… that's a loss he's willing to endure.
The heroine's face shows pain, as he squeezes… but doesn't lose her defiant expression. "Oh, no… I made you angry, and you got all close… that was absolutely not part of my plan, at all…". The shopkeeper sees the heroine's left hand move suddenly, and a pain in his side… where she stabbed him.
He grits his teeth… that hurt. He remembers now… he saw her igniting her drained energy twice already, and she never needed to do those gestures she just did… she was trying to grab his attention with her right hand, so he wouldn't see the weapon in her left…
She must have grabbed one of his underlings' box-opening knives from a nearby table, while he was distracted trying to repair the life-draining machine… that explains why she let him turn it on, risked it draining her lifespan… when she could've attacked him as soon as he had consumed her energy. A final, desperate gamble…
Well… it's a gamble that failed. Even hurt as he is… he can take a little stab like this. He grabs the heroine's hand, holding the handle of the weapon that's stabbing him… he squeezes, feeling her fragile fingers give way… He'll break her hand, first… then everything else…
But… she's still smiling. Why? She must be in such pain… is she delusional? "He… comes to me when I call, you know… sometimes…".
Yes, she's definitely delusional… he knows all about her, she doesn't have any allies that could help, no one will come to her rescue. Still… "Who?" he snarls, through the pain in his throat.
"Oh… you know…". Her expression turns serious all of a sudden, her words charged with magic. "*Dyrwyn!*".
The shopkeeper convulses, as the knife inside him starts burning like it was made of molten metal… Dyrwyn growing into its full sword size, tearing his insides apart… he almost falls over in pain. It's… stronger… that sword wasn't this strong when he fought her, or when he used it… She… no, she can't win… she's so weak. He grabs her throat… no money is worth risking his life…
But can't do anything… Dyrwyn bursts in flames, golden flames from the heroine's power… and black and red flames from the shopkeeper's. An explosion of the sword's evil-burning power… a flame that burns brighter than it ever did before, fueled by the power of both of them, who are wielding it together, in the heroine's final gamble… flames that engulf them both, but only hurt him…
And, finally, finish him.
* * *
The flames subside. The heroine is left alone in the room now, breathing deeply, exhausted… Emptied from the drain, in pain from the brutal fight… But smiling still.
Ha! It worked! She just defeated a guy that was, like, ten times stronger than her! Oh, she wishes she hadn't broken that phone, that the shopkeeper's henchmen were still filming her… that was *so* badass, how she goaded him and all!
Yes, she's a beautiful, badass *genius*! She laughs.
Then stops laughing. On top how much her ribs hurt, she has trouble breathing… Because *of course*, the bastard had to die *on top of her*. She's pinned down… while still in chains… and hurting like hell… How does she keep forgetting, that she's the chosen one of the goddess of rotten luck?
She's not super clear on just how sentient Dyrwyn is… but, if he dislikes either being used to cut chains, or his wielder breaking into incessant swearing, the ten minutes or so she spends freeing herself from the chair mustn't be the most pleasant.
Once she's made sure there's no more minions or danger, she explores the shop upstairs… Luckily, no one sees her closing it — she should've time. She raids the shelves for healing balms, bandages for her wounds, stuff that could help her recover her energy faster… She carefully checks the labels — makes sure it's not someone else's life force, or unicorn's offal, or something.
She doesn't find much… Also, no "Authentic heroine essence" bottles left, even assuming she'd recover from drinking them. The blood bottles ("Authentic heroine vitae") just went down the closest sink.
She uses all she can, grabs as much as she can carry. "Don't be a narc, Dyrwyn… If I gotta be a world-saving heroine like you want, then I've got not to die. This guy wasn't running an *orphanage*". She's not feeling any moral chastising from the sword… she thinks? Maybe she's too tired to hear it… she'll feel the mental screaming when she's recovered.
Thankfully, since they only managed to drain her magic energy and some blood, she'll recover fully. Her wounds, too… they should heal fast once her energy recovers, that's a privilege she has — wishes she didn't have to use it all the bloody time. She should be alright in a few days, hopefully she'll be able to rest a bit… wait, does she have a shift at work, tomorrow? She doesn't remember, off the top of her head… but probably. Goddess of rotten luck doesn't overlook that sort of details. Well, she'll have to figure something out…
As she's looking around, she ends up in the shopkeeper's room. She picks up all the papers that look useful — finding out his business deals, his contacts… could be crucial information, allow her to anticipate future villain plans.
Most of the interesting stuff is in an easy to find safe box… key was in the shopkeeper's pocket.
There's something else… uh, this briefcase, maybe it contains some cool magical items! No, it feels like paper… maybe it's his hidden stash!
Yeah, keep dreaming… like the goddess of rotten luck would allow it. Why would that guy keep his money under the mattress? The guy running the villain shop probably brought his money to the villain bank, or something… Oh, she hopes there isn't a villain bank. It would probably be run by a villain named the banker… and after how tough the shopkeeper was, no way in hell she's fighting that guy.
She opens the briefcase… and freezes. She's there, still, for something like a minute.
…that can't be what it looks like. She touches the briefcase's content, she has a hard time processing it. The goddess of rotten luck must have gotten distracted… because she just won the lottery. That… that's the amount of money in the briefcase, a lottery win. She never saw so much money… She never thought she'd *ever see* so much…
When she leaves the shop, she keeps the briefcase tight, under some henchman's stolen coat. She's constantly looking around…
"I've… I've got to be realistic Dyrwyn, you know" she whispers. "What if I get injured seriously, and have to pay for the hospital? Or I get a sudden bill, or something… or need to buy something to fight a villain? Like… a cannon, or something?".
She's not sure if she feels Dyrwyn's aura. He's hard to read sometimes. "I mean… I always take the metro. Never thought of it, have you? It's going to bite us eventually… if I had a car, or something…". She looks at the ones on the street. "A nice one, maybe… the one I always dreamed of…".
She feels the weight of the suitcase under her arm. "Could quit my job, too… more time for fighting evil, and all… that would be good, wouldn't it? Yeah, I know I don't *need* to, but I'd have some extra time to… train, maybe?
"With so much money… I could even buy a house. My apartment is so small…
"Or, get a vacation! I would fight evil better after some rest… I think?".
Dyrwyn still isn't giving her anything. She realizes she's walked the wrong way to get home, she's somewhere else. Right… She knows where she is.
It's a very busy place. Volunteers are running a lot of things… soup kitchen, a shelter… for people that don't even have a home, that are worse off than even the heroine.
Many of these people lost what they had because of the shopkeepers or his buddies… the weight she feels in the briefcase, it's what he has taken from them…
Yeah… clearly, many victims of the villains she faces around here. She recognizes the wounds… normal people don't have her powers, they aren't as resilient as her, and can't recover like she does — the field hospital here is packed to the brim, the volunteers are clearly stretched thin.
These seem to be nice people, just like she heard. She can tell, too — because that little group by the entrance, looking as ragged as she does when she comes back from a fight, has dropped what looked like a much-needed rest to come straight for her.
"You look pale… are you alright?".
"Wait… you're wounded! Come here, we'll look at you".
One of the volunteers, a girl, squints. "Wait, you look like…". Her eyes are glowing… like can't believe what she's seeing…
The heroine puts on the best smile she can manage. "Oh, I get that a lot! It's the nose, I think".
She holds the briefcase forward… it feels like it's glued to her hand. She forces herself to throw it at the volunteers' feet — bit rude, but… "Here. Make good use of it… don't say where you got it".
They try to call her… but she had opened the briefcase a bit, and the surprise at the contents distracts them enough. They're far easier to evade than the villains she's used to fighting… so she's quickly out of sight, on her way home.
"I'm a moron" she whispers, after a few steps. "The moron queen, queen of all morons. Could've kept a couple bills… maybe a couple wads of that cash… would've still been incorruptible and selfless…".
She feels something from Dyrwyn… now, that she isn't even trying to probe him.
He's… proud.
"Yeah… screw you, you sanctimonious butter knife! Easy for you… you're not the one eating cheap! I swear, I'll use you as a breadknife… make you take part in my poverty!".
She's slapping his handle… but she's smiling. A bit.
She can't wait to get home, and rest… get ready for tomorrow. Hopefully, won't be as hard as today… but she better be prepared.
She's the chosen one of the goddess of rotten luck, after all.