Chapter 165: A Saintly Arrival

The team, gathered at the center of the battlefield, stands frozen in growing panic, the smell of scorched earth and old smoke thick in the air, boots sinking into mud churned black with soot and blood, as everyone waits to see what the Demon Queen will do next.

Weapons hang half-raised, nobody quite willing to be the first to lower theirs. Vexena stands motionless, still as a blade balanced on its point.

The shadow wall erupts with a low, grinding crack, splitting apart before them like a wave crashing against stone, and from the gap torn open in the shattered ranks of the Demon Queen’s army, three impossibly radiant figures emerge, seated on horseback.

They look ethereal, glowing faintly against the smoke-choked fields, and as they move, the hooves of their steeds strike the scorched, scarred earth in perfect, blessed unison.

Their mounts move like they’ve never once broken stride in their lives, sleek coats untouched by mud or ash, and the twin suns of Elthrea break through the low clouds, bathing the trio in dusk-light at exactly the right moment to frame each rider in blinding, theatrical gold. Sunlight spills down their shoulders, catching in golden curls, fiery streaks, and shadow-dark hair alike, painting the whole entrance like something torn straight out of a temple mural.

The remaining scattered soldiers give them an extremely wide berth, several abandoning formation entirely to put a healthy stretch of open field between themselves and whatever these three new arrivals actually are.

"That entrance," Sera mutters to Veena, her sword still raised halfway, watching with a mix of awe and apprehension, "was deeply unnecessary, and yet... absolutely breathtaking."

"Consider me impressed," Veena admits, arms crossed tight over her aching ribs.

"So I’m the only one on the verge of pissing herself." Vuvi adds, sliding her Boombuster back against her hip with hands that won’t quite stop shaking.

The trio dismounts together with an effortless, divine grace, sliding down without so much as a stumble, their horses fading into wisps of golden light the instant their riders’ feet touch the ground.

They stroll leisurely toward the center of the ruined field where Vexena and the rest of the battered, exhausted team still stand, chatting easily amongst themselves the entire way, entirely unbothered by the smoking craters, the scattered bodies, or the Demon Queen glowering at their approach, none too pleased about the treatment of her troops.

"...obviously they’re part of some kind of army," Hela says, scanning the flaming wreckage of their entrance with an almost aristocratic disdain for the recipients of their wrath, stepping neatly over a scorched body without breaking stride. "I assure you, nobody’s going to shed a tear over a few less demons on dwarven soil. If anything, they’ll thank us for this."

"Even so, we should really keep our involvement here minimal," Bela cautions, glancing warily at the sheer scale of the destruction around them. "This is considerably more than ’minimal’ already, if either of you have been paying attention to the craters. If mother—"

"The craters were here before us." Hela retorts, waving a dismissive hand. "Some of them, at least."

"The craters aren’t the point, Hela." Bela shakes her head. "I’m far more concerned about all the dead bodies!"

Hela stops, surveys the growing piles of dead around them, tilts her head as though counting, then simply shrugs and moves on without a care.

Nela isn’t listening to either of them. She’s pressed up on her toes, eyes darting frantically across the smoking, crowded fields, searching every distant sound and silhouette for one particular metal man.

Then the ray of sunlight finally catches on wraith-glass, glinting bright across the ruined field, and her eyes snap toward it. She squints, cranes her neck, then breaks into a wide, dangerously delighted grin, jabbing one finger wildly toward the group clustered around Vexena and the fallen Syraleth.

"There! There! THERE! I see him! I see him, look, right... RIGHT THERE! Past the lady with the horns!"

"Which one," Hela asks dryly, eyes sweeping over the gathered group. "You’ll need to be more specific. There are several."

"Silver hair, red eyes, demonic magic pouring out of her." Nela points straight at Vexena. "Her!"

All three break into a brisk, glowing walk, marching straight toward the team, and Nela practically skips ahead of her sisters, entirely too excited to bother matching their more dignified pace.

Vexena turns Syraleth toward the new arrivals. "Who are they?" she asks, head tilted with confusion.

Syraleth pouts, shrugging weakly against her chains, watching the three glowing newcomers with as much wary confusion as anyone else on the field.

"No idea. Never seen them before in my life." she mutters, "...and believe me, I’d remember that."

Vexena drops her back into the mud without a shred of sympathy, letting her fall with a wet, undignified slap~, and turns to face the approaching trio, watching them cross the ruined field in gowns so sheer and white they seem woven from moonlight itself rather than any thread a mortal loom could produce, clearly not made to hide a single piece of the near-perfect, very-naked bodies beneath. Not a single trace of mud, blood, or battlefield grime finds purchase anywhere on their flawless skin, even as they walk barefoot straight through the churned muck, their soles barely seeming to touch the ground at all, as though the earth considers itself unworthy of bearing the full weight of their presence.

"Who," Vexena asks, flat and wary, one hand still hovering near the hilt of a blade she hasn’t bothered to unsheathe since this whole day began, "are you?"

Hela steps forward, golden locks fluttering gently on the breeze.

But Nela opens her mouth to speak before her sister gets a chance to.

"We’re the Maidens of—" Nela starts, beaming with pride, chest already puffed out for the big reveal.

Until Hela elbows her sharply in the ribs, cutting the sentence off with a strangled little squeal.

"We are Saint Sisters," Hela corrects smoothly, without missing a single beat, as though the interruption never happened at all, "Daughters of the Church of the Great Mother." She folds her hands demurely in front of her, the very picture of perfectly pious restraint. "We’ve come a long way. To seek communion... with the Prince of Pleasure."

Bela smiles serenely, saying nothing further, while Nela rubs her bruised ribs and mouths a silent, wounded complaint at her sister’s elbow.

Behind them all, Vuvi, still braced against Pip’s chest, mutters under her breath.

"Mother’s mercy!" she groans. "The Church? Here? Now?"

Pip tilts his head, scanning the three women from head to toe, gears whirring faintly behind his glass eyes as he carefully catalogs their curves.

"Seriously, Pip!?" Vuvi asks, dragging a soot-streaked hand down her face and watching her construct’s eyes flicker with the unmistakable glint of a pleasure-bot already planning exactly how he’ll be communing with the three Saint Sisters. "You can’t possibly be thinking about sex at a time like this!?"

"The man’s got priorities." Sera chuckles beside her, before clutching a bruised rib with a wince and a sharp hiss of breath through her teeth.