Gts2
Queen? You who abandoned your own kingdom to chase immortality?"
Gilgamesh's crimson eyes narrowed dangerously. "You dare question my sovereignty, knight? I who ruled the greatest civilization of my world?"
"I question your commitment to service," Reinhardt replied evenly. "If you cannot even fulfill the duties assigned to you, what kind of ruler were you?"
"Enough," Ares called, stepping from the colonnade's shadows. The soldiers immediately snapped to attention, fists to hearts in the salute of the Crimson Legion. Both divine women turned toward him, Reinhardt with composed dignity, Gilgamesh with barely contained fury.
"Golden Queen," Ares addressed Gilgamesh directly. "You were to attend me in the southern courtyard for combat training at midday. Yet I find you here, disrupting Reinhardt's instruction."
"I do not take orders from—" Gilgamesh began, but abruptly stopped, her hand flying to her throat as the binding responded to her outright defiance. A golden pattern briefly shimmered across her skin—the symbols of the ritual manifesting as a physical reminder of her constraints.
"The binding requires obedience," Ares stated calmly. "Resistance only causes you pain."
"Pain is preferable to submission," Gilgamesh managed through clenched teeth.
"Is it?" Morgan interjected, having followed Ares into the yard. "How very shortsighted. Pain achieves nothing but suffering, while strategic submission creates opportunities."
"Listen to your scheming sister," Ares suggested to Gilgamesh. "The Winter Queen understands the value of patience and adaptation."
Gilgamesh's fury intensified, but before she could respond, Vados appeared at the edge of the training yard, her movements as precise and fluid as always.
"Lord Ares," she announced, "the delegation from the Eastern Territories has arrived early. They await your presence in the receiving hall."
"Politics intrudes," Ares noted with mild frustration. He turned to Reinhardt. "Continue the training session. Gilgamesh, you will accompany me to the receiving hall and then to the combat courtyard afterward. It's time the world saw the new order in action."
"What do you mean?" Gilgamesh asked suspiciously.
"My divine servants will be displayed appropriately during formal functions," Ares explained. "The delegates should understand that the age of gods ruling mortals has truly ended."
Morgan's cool laugh drew their attention. "Ah, now we come to it. Not merely servants, but symbols of your triumph."
"Both," Ares confirmed without apology. "You represent power subjugated to purpose. The delegates should witness this firsthand."
"And how do you intend to 'display' us?" Reinhardt asked, wariness evident in her tone.
Instead of answering directly, Ares turned to Vados. "Have Tiamat and Lucoa prepare the formal presentation garments for Gilgamesh and Void Shiki. They will attend me during this audience."
"As you wish," Vados confirmed with a small bow. "Shall I inform the others to prepare as well? The delegation may wish for a formal dinner."
"Yes. All nine will attend tonight's feast," Ares decided. "Have the appropriate attire prepared."
As Vados departed to carry out these instructions, Gilgamesh's expression darkened further. "What 'formal presentation garments' do you speak of?"
"Attire befitting divine concubines," Ares stated directly. "You are not merely servants but living symbols of my dominion over divine power. The delegates will expect appropriate... presentation."
"Concubines?" Reinhardt repeated, shock evident in her voice. "We are warriors, rulers, divine beings—not pleasure slaves!"
"In Khalzara, power and pleasure have always been intertwined," Ares explained without apology. "The gods took mortal concubines to display their dominance. Now, the symbolism is reversed."
"And if we refuse?" Gilgamesh challenged.
"The binding will not permit refusal," Ares reminded her. "But how you conduct yourselves within its constraints remains your choice. Dignity in service impresses far more than futile rebellion."
With that, he turned to leave, gesturing for Gilgamesh to follow. The Golden Queen stood rigid for a moment, fighting the compulsion, before finally moving stiffly after him. The patterns of the binding shimmered briefly across her skin again as she struggled against its pull.
As they departed, Morgan turned to Reinhardt with an enigmatic smile. "It seems our role here is more... comprehensive than initially explained."
"This is degradation," Reinhardt stated flatly.
"This is reality," Morgan countered. "And reality, knight, is always negotiable for those clever enough to recognize its seams."
With that cryptic observation, the Winter Queen glided away, leaving Reinhardt to contemplate this new dimension of their servitude while the mortal soldiers pretended not to have noticed the exchange.
---
The receiving hall of the Dominion Spire was designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure. Massive columns resembling the bones of ancient titans supported a vaulted ceiling adorned with murals depicting Ares' greatest victories. The floor was polished black stone inlaid with veins of crimson that seemed to pulse with inner light—an illusion created by carefully placed crystals harvested from divine realms.
Ares sat upon a throne of obsidian and crimson steel, Godfall resting across his lap in silent warning. To his right stood Void Shiki, ethereal in her transformed attire. The "formal presentation garments" were indeed designed for display rather than practicality—a semi-transparent crimson silk gown that revealed more than it concealed, with strategic panels of solid fabric preserving minimal modesty. Golden chains, purely decorative but symbolically significant, adorned her wrists and ankles, connected to a delicate collar around her neck. Despite this potentially humiliating outfit, Shiki maintained her usual otherworldly composure, her expression unreadable as she gazed at something beyond mortal perception.
To Ares' left stood Gilgamesh, dressed in a similar fashion though with accents of gold rather than silver. Unlike Shiki's calm acceptance, the Queen of Heroes radiated barely contained fury, her crimson eyes burning with promises of future retribution. The binding forced her to stand in her assigned position, but it couldn't control her expression or the aura of danger that emanated from her like heat from a forge.
The delegation from the Eastern Territories consisted of five individuals—three men and two women, all bearing the weather-beaten look of frontier administrators. Their territories had been among the first to support Ares' rebellion against divine rule, having suffered particularly cruel treatment under the god Malkior, whose penchant for using mortals as hunting prey had earned him an especially thorough execution at Ares' hands.
"Lord Ares," the leader of the delegation began, a middle-aged woman named Seraphina whose scarred face told its own story of survival under divine tyranny. "The Eastern Territories bring tribute and renew our pledge of loyalty to your rule."
Her eyes flicked briefly to Shiki and Gilgamesh, widening slightly before returning to Ares' face. The symbolism of divine beings reduced to decorative servants was clearly not lost on her.
"The Dominion accepts your loyalty and values the Eastern Territories' continued support," Ares replied formally. "Your tributes are welcome, though unnecessary. The Spire requires little that it cannot provide for itself."
"Nevertheless," Seraphina continued, gesturing to several chests being carried forward by attendants, "we offer these gifts as symbols of our gratitude. Without your intervention, none of us would have survived Malkior's last hunt."
The chests were opened to reveal an impressive collection: rare metals mined from the Eastern mountains, exotic furs, crystallized essence harvested from the remains of minor divinities who had fled into the wilderness after Ares' victory, and several ancient texts salvaged from divine temples.
"Your gifts honor the Dominion," Ares acknowledged with a nod. "Especially the texts. Knowledge of the old gods will help ensure they never rise again."
Throughout this exchange, Gilgamesh maintained her rigid silence, though the effort clearly cost her. Shiki remained as she had been, seemingly disconnected from the proceedings despite her physical presence.
"If I may, Lord Ares," one of the male delegates spoke up, his gaze lingering on Gilgamesh's form with poorly concealed appreciation, "are these... attendants... examples of your divine servants? The rumors reaching even our distant territories speak of nine goddesses bound to your will."
"They are," Ares confirmed. "This is Void Shiki, embodiment of the Root of all existence in her realm. And Gilgamesh, the Queen of Heroes from another."
"Magnificent," the delegate murmured, his admiration shifting uncomfortably between martial respect and baser appreciation. "To think that divine beings now serve at your pleasure. It truly marks the beginning of a new age."
"Indeed," Seraphina agreed, though her expression held more complexity—a mixture of satisfaction at seeing divine power humbled and discomfort at the method of display. "The Eastern Territories have lived too long under divine boot heels to mourn their fall from grace."
"Tonight," Ares announced, "you will join me for a formal feast where all nine will be in attendance. We will discuss the particulars of the Eastern Territories' governance and any concerns you wish to bring to the Dominion's attention."
"We would be honored," Seraphina replied with a bow.
As the delegation was escorted to their guest quarters, Ares rose from his throne, Godfall still in hand. "You performed your roles adequately," he noted to his divine attendants. "Especially you, Golden Queen. I expected more resistance."
"The binding leaves little room for choice," Gilgamesh replied bitterly. "But remember this, Godslayer—even the strongest chains wear thin eventually."
"Perhaps," Ares acknowledged. "But not in your lifetime, bound as you are to mortal form."
He turned to Shiki, who had remained silent throughout. "You seem undisturbed by your display."
"Physical form is merely container," she replied softly. "Its adornment or exposure matters little to what dwells within."
"A perspective your fellow servants might benefit from adopting," Ares observed.
"They will find their own paths through this existence," Shiki murmured. "Some through resistance, some through acceptance, some through transformation."
"And you? Which path have you chosen?"
Shiki's otherworldly eyes met his directly. "I observe the pattern forming," she said cryptically. "The threads binding nine to one create... unexpected designs."
Before Ares could question this enigmatic statement, Vados appeared at the entrance to the hall. "My lord, combat training with Gilgamesh is scheduled next, followed by the oil ritual with Morgan. Shall I inform them to prepare?"
"Yes," Ares confirmed. "And ensure the formal attire for tonight's feast is ready for all nine. Each should represent her nature while clearly marking her as mine."
"It will be done," Vados assured him with a precise bow.
As Ares departed for the combat courtyard, Gilgamesh trailing sullenly behind, Shiki remained momentarily in place, her gaze fixed on something only she could perceive. A faint smile—perhaps the first genuine expression she had shown since her arrival—touched her lips briefly before fading back into her usual impassive mask.
The pattern was indeed forming, and only she could see where its design might ultimately lead.
---
The southern courtyard had been converted into a combat arena, with weapons racks lining the walls and a surface of packed sand to provide secure footing while minimizing injuries from falls. Ares waited at its center, having changed from his formal attire into light training gear that allowed maximum mobility. Godfall had been returned to the armory, replaced by training weapons of wood and blunted metal.
Gilgamesh appeared moments later, having also been provided with training attire—though hers maintained the revealing aspects of her presentation garment while allowing for combat movement. The golden accents had been retained, marking her clearly as a possession rather than a partner in this exercise.
"This is unnecessary humiliation," she stated flatly as she approached. "If you wish to fight, allow me my armor."
"This is not humiliation but practicality," Ares countered. "Your divine armor would provide unfair advantage, binding or no. We train as equals in this circle."
"We have never been equals," Gilgamesh sneered. "Even bound, I am far beyond any mortal."
Ares offered her a blunted sword from the rack beside him. "Prove it."
The Golden Queen took the weapon, testing its balance with a practiced motion that betrayed her extensive combat experience despite her reputation relying more on her treasures than personal skill. "The binding will prevent me from truly harming you," she pointed out. "This contest is rigged from the start."
"The binding prevents lethal intent," Ares clarified. "It does not prevent contact or even pain. You may strike me if you can."
This clarification seemed to please Gilgamesh, a predatory smile spreading across her perfect features. "Then prepare yourself, Godslayer. I may be bound, but I am still the strongest heroic spirit of my world."
Without further warning, she attacked—a blindingly fast thrust aimed at Ares' throat that he barely deflected with his own blade. The force behind the blow confirmed that while diminished, her divine strength remained formidable.
"Good," Ares approved, countering with a sweep toward her legs that she easily jumped. "Now show me the skill behind the legend."
What followed was a dance of blades more intense than any mortal sparring could achieve. Gilgamesh, for all her arrogance, proved to be an exceptional fighter even without her divine treasures. Her style was aggressive and direct, befitting her personality—all power and precise fury with little wasted motion.
Ares matched her blow for blow, his millennia of warfare allowing him to anticipate and counter her techniques. Where she relied on superior strength and speed, he utilized experience and tactical adaptation.
They fought for nearly an hour, neither gaining decisive advantage. When Gilgamesh finally landed a solid blow—a strike to Ares' shoulder that would leave a significant bruise—her expression showed genuine surprise followed by fierce satisfaction.
"First blood to me, mortal," she declared, stepping back to reassess.
"A well-earned hit," Ares acknowledged, rotating his shoulder to ensure nothing was damaged beyond bruising. "You fight with more personal skill than your legends suggest."
"My treasures were convenience, not crutch," Gilgamesh replied, a hint of genuine pride entering her voice for the first time since her binding. "I conquered my world with blade before Gate."
"Then we continue," Ares decided, resuming his ready stance. "Show me what else the Queen of Heroes can do."
They might have continued indefinitely had Vados not appeared at the courtyard's edge, clearing her throat discreetly to gain attention without interrupting directly.
"My lord," she announced when Ares glanced her way, "Morgan awaits in your chambers for the scheduled oil ritual. And Tiamat requests guidance on tonight's feast arrangements."
Ares nodded, lowering his weapon. "We conclude for today," he informed Gilgamesh. "You've performed admirably. Perhaps there is more to you than mere divine arrogance."
For a moment, Gilgamesh seemed almost pleased by this assessment before catching herself and reassuming her mask of contempt. "Do not mistake participation for acceptance, Godslayer. I fight because it pleases me to demonstrate my superiority, nothing more."
"Of course," Ares agreed with the faintest hint of amusement. "Return to your quarters and prepare for tonight's feast. Your presentation will be... significant."
As Gilgamesh departed, her stride regaining some of its regal confidence after the satisfaction of combat, Ares turned to Vados. "She shows improvement."
"Physical exertion provides outlet for frustration," Vados observed. "A wise assignment for one of her temperament."
"And the others? How do they progress with their preparations for tonight?"
"Variably," Vados reported with clinical precision. "Tiamat has embraced her role with surprising enthusiasm, transforming the great hall with efficiency that suggests previous experience managing divine feasts. Lucoa offers continuous suggestions that would be inappropriate for most formal functions. Artoria maintains dignified compliance while subtly modifying her assigned garments for additional modesty. Reinhardt follows Artoria's example but with more visible reluctance."
"And Morgan? Kali? Velzard?"
"Morgan prepares your oils with professional detachment. She has added several components that, while not requested, will enhance their efficacy. Kali treats her preparations as ritual, imbuing even simple tasks with ceremonial significance. Velzard..." Vados hesitated, unusual for her. "The Ice Sovereign's cooperation remains minimal. The chamber assigned for her bathing duties is currently frozen solid."
Ares considered this information. "Has she directly refused her duties?"
"No," Vados clarified. "She performs exactly what is required by the binding, no more, while creating... inconvenient side effects that are not technically disobedience."
"Creative resistance," Ares noted with something approaching respect. "Very well. I will address the ice issue after Morgan's ritual. For now, let us not keep the Winter Queen waiting."
---
Ares' private chamber had been transformed for the oil ritual. The lighting was dimmed to a warm golden glow provided by specially crafted lanterns. The air carried the complex scent of exotic oils—amber, cedar, rare blossoms, and something deeper that hinted at Morgan's fae origins. A large table of polished stone dominated the center of the room, prepared with soft coverings for comfort during the procedure.
Morgan herself stood beside an array of crystal vials and bottles, each containing differently colored oils and essences. She had changed from her earlier attire into garments more suited to her current duty—a flowing white and gold robe that left her arms bare for ease of movement while maintaining an aura of regal dignity.
"Lord Ares," she greeted him with cool formality. "Your oils are prepared."
"You've added ingredients," he observed, noting several unfamiliar containers among the usual components.
"I have," Morgan confirmed without apology. "The standard mixture was... inadequate for one of your particular requirements. These additions will better penetrate scarred tissue and enhance recovery from the unique stresses of divine combat."
"Your expertise extends to healing arts?" Ares asked, genuinely curious about this unexpected skill.
"I am versed in all arts that affect the body, mind, and spirit," Morgan replied with subtle emphasis that could have been interpreted multiple ways. "A ruler must understand the vessels they seek to control."
Ares nodded, accepting this explanation. "Proceed then."
Without further discussion, he removed his training attire, revealing a body mapped with scars from decades of warfare against divine opponents. Unlike many warriors who bore their battle marks with pride or shame, Ares viewed his scars with pragmatic detachment—merely evidence of encounters survived and lessons learned.
He positioned himself on the prepared table, lying face down as Morgan began her work. Despite her cold demeanor, her touch was surprisingly effective—strong enough to work the oils deep into muscle tissue but precise enough to avoid causing unnecessary discomfort.
"You've done this before," Ares noted as she worked a particularly stubborn knot from his shoulder—the same one Gilgamesh had struck during their sparring session.
"I have had many roles throughout my existence," Morgan replied cryptically. "Some more... hands-on than others."
She worked in silence for several minutes, applying different oils to different areas of his back and shoulders with a system that seemed to follow some pattern only she understood. The warmth of the oils combined with her skilled manipulation of pressure points created a pleasant sensation that gradually melted the tension from Ares' battle-hardened frame.
"The delegation from the East," Morgan finally said, breaking the silence. "They fear you."
"As they should," Ares responded without concern. "Fear maintains order when respect is still developing."
"Fear is unstable foundation for governance," Morgan observed, her fingers finding another point of tension near his spine. "It creates obedience without loyalty."
"Speaking from experience, Winter Queen?"
A small, cold smile touched Morgan's lips, though Ares couldn't see it from his position. "I have ruled through many methods. Fear has its uses, but its limitations become apparent with time."
"And what would you suggest instead?" Ares asked, curious about her perspective despite himself.
"Necessity," Morgan replied after a moment's consideration. "When subjects believe their ruler is necessary—not just powerful, but essential to their wellbeing—loyalty becomes self-interest rather than mere obedience."
"Interesting," Ares acknowledged. "And how would you create this perception of necessity?"
Morgan's hands moved to his lower back, working the oils into tissue damaged by an ancient wound from a divine spear. "First, identify what they truly fear—not you, but chaos, divine return, loss of newfound freedoms. Then position yourself as the sole bulwark against these threats."
"Manipulation rather than truth," Ares observed.
"Truth shaped to purpose," Morgan corrected. "The most effective lies contain unassailable kernels of reality."
Her hands moved with surprising intimacy across his form, the professional nature of her touch occasionally blurring into something more personal before returning to clinical precision—a subtle dance of suggestion and withdrawal that seemed calculated to create awareness without crossing into overt seduction.
"You attempt to manipulate me even now," Ares noted, not bothering to hide his awareness of her tactics.
Morgan's soft laugh held genuine amusement. "Manipulation implies deception, Lord Ares. I merely offer perspective... and service." Her hands emphasized the last word with a particularly effective movement that sent pleasant sensation cascading through his nervous system. "One can be honest about one's methods while still employing them effectively."
"A dangerous philosophy," Ares commented.
"All effective philosophies are dangerous," Morgan replied. "Power without risk is mere illusion."
She continued her ministrations in silence after that, completing the ritual with thoroughness that left Ares remarkably refreshed despite the day's exertions. When she had finished, she stepped back with formal precision.
"The ritual is complete," she announced. "The oils should be allowed to absorb fully before you dress for tonight's feast."
Ares sat up, studying her with renewed interest. Unlike Gilgamesh's overt defiance or Lucoa's transparent seduction attempts, Morgan's approach was far more sophisticated—a complex interplay of compliance and subtle challenge that made her perhaps the most intriguing of his divine servants thus far.
"You perform your duties well," he acknowledged. "Though with agendas beyond mere service."
"All beings have agendas," Morgan replied simply. "The binding constrains action, not ambition."
"A distinction worth remembering," Ares noted. "You may prepare for tonight's feast. Your presentation should reflect your nature—beautiful but dangerous, compliant but never truly tamed."
Something flickered in Morgan's cool blue eyes—perhaps appreciation for his accurate assessment of her character. "As you wish," she agreed with a small bow that somehow managed to seem both respectful and subtly mocking.
As she departed, Ares remained on the treatment table, allowing the oils to complete their work. The interactions with his divine servants were proving more complex and interesting than he had anticipated. Each approached her servitude differently, revealing aspects of her nature that mere combat could never have exposed.
The Binding of Crimson Silk was indeed providing the understanding he had sought, though perhaps not entirely in the way he had expected. Power took many forms—and submission, it seemed, could be as varied and nuanced as dominance.
## Chapter 7: The Feast of Nine Submissions
The great hall of the Dominion Spire had been transformed under Tiamat's direction. What had been a cavernous space designed primarily for martial gatherings now exuded an atmosphere of controlled opulence and subtle intimidation. Long tables arranged in a U-shape dominated the floor, covered with crimson cloths embroidered with gold symbols matching those of the binding ritual. Crystal lanterns suspended from the ceiling cast warm light that emphasized the room's imposing architecture while softening its martial edges.
At the head of the arrangement stood Ares' seat—a throne-like chair of obsidian and crimson steel that established his dominance without words. To either side, smaller seats had been placed—not chairs but ornate cushions on raised platforms, clearly designed to position his divine servants below his level while keeping them elevated above the mortal guests.
Ares surveyed the preparations with critical eye as Tiamat explained the arrangements.
"The acoustics have been enhanced through strategic fabric placement," the primordial mother noted, her deep voice carrying those strange oceanic echoes. "Conversations will remain audible without requiring raised voices. The temperature is regulated by a system of vents connected to both Velzard's ice chamber and the natural heat from the lower forges."
"Impressive," Ares acknowledged, genuinely appreciating her thoroughness. "You've transformed a warrior's hall into something befitting diplomatic functions."
Tiamat inclined her head slightly, accepting the praise with dignity. Unlike some of the others, she had fully embraced her assigned garments for the evening—an elaborate ensemble of crimson silks layered to suggest oceanic depths, adorned with gold and black accents that marked her as both servant and something more. Her massive form moved with surprising grace as she guided him through the space.
"The delegates will be seated along the outer edges," she continued, gesturing to the tables. "Your divine attendants will occupy the inner cushions, positioned to be visible from all angles."
"And their presentations?" Ares inquired.
"Each has been provided with attire befitting her nature while clearly marking her as yours," Tiamat confirmed. "Some required more... persuasion than others."
"Elaborate," Ares commanded, his towering form casting long shadows in the lantern light.
"Artoria and Reinhardt resist the more revealing aspects, insisting on modifications for modesty," Tiamat explained. "Gilgamesh destroyed her first three outfits before Velzard froze her temporarily to allow proper fitting. Morgan accepts with calculation, Vados with precision, and Kali with ritualistic intensity."
"And Shiki? Lucoa?"
"Void accepts without comment or resistance, as if physical form holds no significance to her," Tiamat replied. "Lucoa..." She paused, the faintest hint of disapproval crossing her otherwise serene features. "The serpent goddess required restraint in the opposite direction. Her suggestions for her attire were inappropriate even by Khalzaran standards."
A rumbling chuckle escaped Ares' chest—a rare sound that momentarily surprised Tiamat. "Predictable," he noted. "And you, Mother of Life? How do you view tonight's display?"
Tiamat considered the question with evident thoughtfulness. "I have existed since before time had meaning," she finally replied. "I have been worshipped and reviled, creator and destroyer. This role is but another facet of existence—temporary in the grand cycle."
"A philosophical perspective," Ares observed.
"When one has lived as long as I," Tiamat said, "perspective becomes necessary for sanity." She paused, then added with unexpected directness, "Though I find your approach to divine subjugation... intriguing."
"Intriguing?" Ares repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Most mortal conquerors who defeat gods simply destroy them," Tiamat elaborated. "You instead bind us to service—intimate service. It suggests purposes beyond mere symbolism."
Ares' mismatched eyes studied her with renewed interest. "Perhaps I recognize that destruction wastes potential. Divine beings contain knowledge and power that should be harnessed, not eliminated."
"Harnessed," Tiamat echoed, the word carrying multiple implications. "An appropriate term for one who views females as creatures to be guided and controlled."
Ares showed no discomfort at this direct assessment of his worldview. "The natural order places the strong above the weak, the warrior above the supporter. Throughout history, men have fought while women maintained what was protected through that fighting."
"A simplistic view for one who has slain gods," Tiamat noted, though without apparent offense. "Many of the strongest deities you've defeated were female."
"Exceptions that prove the rule," Ares replied firmly. "Divine females gained power through cosmic circumstance, not earned strength. In my new order, all beings find their proper place—divine females included."
Instead of arguing, Tiamat simply nodded, a strange smile playing at her lips. "As you say, Lord Ares. The feast awaits your presence. Shall I summon the others?"
"Yes. It's time to show the Eastern delegates the full magnificence of the new order."
---
The entrance of Ares' divine concubines was choreographed for maximum impact. As the mortal delegates from the Eastern Territories sat at their assigned places, a subtle chime resonated through the great hall, drawing all eyes to the main doors.
First came Vados, the Angel of Precision, serving as herald and master of ceremonies. Her attire had been designed to emphasize her celestial origins while marking her as bound servant—flowing teal and white silks arranged in layers that suggested wings, accented with golden chains and the crimson symbols of binding. She carried a crystalline staff that chimed again as she struck it against the floor.
"Lords and Ladies of the Eastern Territories," she announced, her melodious voice carrying perfectly through the acoustically enhanced space, "The Dominion welcomes you to this feast of celebration. Lord Ares, the God of Warlords, the Last Blade Sovereign, Breaker of Pantheons, grants you the honor of witnessing the new order in its full glory."
The doors opened wider, and Ares entered, his towering form commanding instant attention. He had chosen to wear formal battle regalia—not the full armor of war, but an elaborate version that combined martial authority with regal presentation. Godfall hung at his side, a constant reminder of how he had achieved his position.
"Rise," he commanded the delegates, who had instinctively started to kneel. "In the Dominion, mortals stand in the presence of other mortals—even those who have slain gods."
He took his place at the head seat, then gestured to Vados. "Present the divine court."
Vados struck her staff once more, and the nine divine women entered in carefully arranged order.
First came Artoria and Reinhardt together, the two warrior queens creating a striking contrast of gold and crimson. Both had been dressed in what could only be described as ceremonial battle lingerie—stylized approximations of their original armor that preserved the symbolic elements while exposing significant skin. Golden chains connected their collars to wrist cuffs, purely decorative but powerfully symbolic. Despite the potentially humiliating nature of their attire, both maintained regal bearing, walking with heads high and expressions carefully neutral.
Next came Gilgamesh and Morgan, the two most openly defiant now paired as a study in controlled power. Gilgamesh blazed with barely restrained fury, her golden attire emphasizing her divine heritage while deliberately displaying her as trophy more than person. Morgan's ice-blue and white ensemble conveyed dangerous elegance, her expression calculating rather than angry as she assessed the room and its occupants.
Kali and Velzard followed, the destruction goddess and ice sovereign creating an elemental contrast. Kali's attire incorporated ritual elements that transformed potential humiliation into sacred ceremony, while Velzard's icy beauty was enhanced by crystalline adornments that refracted light with every movement. Frost formed briefly beneath her feet with each step, only to melt immediately in the warmth of the hall.
Tiamat and Lucoa came next, both towering divine women of different but equally impressive proportions. Where Tiamat's presentation emphasized maternal divinity, Lucoa's left little to imagination, her serpent goddess heritage highlighted by scale patterns on strategic portions of her minimal attire. Unlike the others who maintained dignity or showed resistance, Lucoa seemed entirely comfortable with her display, adding an extra sway to her hips that drew appreciative glances from several delegates.
Last came Void Shiki, walking alone. Her presentation was perhaps the most ethereal—semi-transparent silks that seemed to exist partially in another dimension, revealing and concealing simultaneously as they shifted with her movement. Her pale eyes gazed at something beyond mortal perception, giving the impression that while physically present, her essence existed elsewhere.
The nine divine women took their positions on the cushioned platforms arranged around Ares' seat, each posed according to her nature—Artoria and Reinhardt kneeling formally, Gilgamesh and Morgan perched like predators temporarily at rest, Kali and Velzard in positions of elemental power, Tiamat and Lucoa arranged to emphasize their divine fertility, and Shiki in a meditative pose that seemed both submissive and transcendent.
The effect on the delegates was immediate and profound. Expressions ranged from awe to discomfort to poorly concealed desire. Seraphina, the delegation leader, maintained admirable composure, though her eyes widened slightly at the comprehensive display of divine subjugation.
"Behold," Ares announced, his deep voice resonating through the chamber, "the new order of Khalzara. Divine power now serves mortal purpose. The goddesses who once demanded worship now provide it."
He gestured to Kali, who rose with fluid grace and approached with a crystal decanter of blood-wine. She knelt beside his chair, offering the vessel with both hands in a ceremonial gesture that transformed servitude into ritual.
"From the hand of the destruction goddess comes strength," Ares narrated as he accepted the decanter. "She who once devoured worlds now nourishes the new order."
After pouring his wine, Kali returned to her position with ceremonial precision. Ares then turned to Vados. "Let the feast commence."
Mortal servants began bringing elaborately prepared dishes, while the divine concubines remained in their displayed positions—living symbols of Ares' dominance over powers once considered untouchable.
"This is... unprecedented," Seraphina finally said, breaking the awed silence that had fallen over the delegation. "In all our histories, no mortal has ever achieved such complete mastery over divine beings."
"The old world ended when the last god fell," Ares replied, taking a measured sip of his blood-wine. "In the new world, divinity serves rather than commands."
"And they... accept this arrangement?" asked one of the male delegates, his gaze lingering on Lucoa, who responded with a subtle wink that made him flush deeply.
"Acceptance is irrelevant," Ares stated flatly. "The binding ensures obedience. Their feelings about it matter as little as a sword's opinion of battle."
"Yet they retain awareness," Seraphina observed carefully. "Intelligence. Will."
"Of course," Ares confirmed. "Mindless servants would have no value. They serve precisely because they understand what they once were and what they now are. The contrast is essential to the new order's meaning."
Throughout this exchange, the divine women maintained their positions, though their reactions varied significantly. Gilgamesh's fury was palpable, a golden aura occasionally shimmering around her as she fought against the binding's constraints. Artoria and Reinhardt maintained dignified stoicism, revealing nothing of their inner thoughts. Morgan observed everything with calculating eyes, while Lucoa seemed almost entertained by the proceedings. Velzard radiated cold disdain, Kali ritual intensity. Tiamat possessed maternal patience, and Shiki remained as unreadable as always.
"Now," Ares continued, addressing the delegates directly, "let us discuss the Eastern Territories' needs under the new governance. Your loyalty during the divine wars has earned you priority consideration."
As the conversation turned to politics and administration, the divine concubines remained on display—a constant reminder of the power dynamic that now shaped Khalzara. Occasionally, Ares would command one or another to perform some small service: Artoria to refill his goblet, Tiamat to adjust the room's atmosphere, Lucoa to provide entertainment in the form of ancient stories from her realm.
Each complied according to her nature, the binding ensuring obedience while allowing individual expression within its constraints. This created a complex tableau of power, submission, resistance, and adaptation that fascinated the delegates as much as the political discussions.
During a momentary lull in the conversation, the delegate who had been caught by Lucoa's wink leaned toward Ares with poorly concealed curiosity. "If I may ask, Lord Ares... the binding ritual that secured these divine beings to your service—is it something that could be... replicated? For other loyal territories, perhaps?"
A sudden tension rippled through the displayed goddesses, subtle but unmistakable. This question touched on something fundamental—the possibility that their humiliation might be expanded, multiplied across Khalzara as a new standard for divine-mortal relations.
Ares' expression darkened slightly, his mismatched eyes fixing on the delegate with intensity that made the man physically recoil. "The Binding of Crimson Silk is ancient beyond reckoning," he stated, his voice carrying an edge of warning. "It requires power few mortals could wield without being destroyed in the process. More importantly, it serves a specific purpose in the Dominion's governance—not personal pleasure or provincial status symbols."
"Of course," the delegate stammered, realizing his misstep. "I meant no disrespect."
"Furthermore," Ares continued, "these nine were chosen specifically for what they represent—aspects of power essential to understanding proper governance. They are not trophies but functional elements of the new order."
"A wise approach," Seraphina interjected smoothly, redirecting the conversation. "Speaking of governance, the eastern provinces have concerns about remnant divine beasts migrating through the Ashen Steppes..."
As the discussion returned to practical matters, something unusual occurred among the displayed goddesses. A subtle exchange of glances passed between several of them—Artoria to Reinhardt, Reinhardt to Morgan, Morgan to Gilgamesh, and finally all to Tiamat. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but contained complex communication. For the first time since their binding, a momentary unity seemed to form among these diverse divine beings, catalyzed by the threat of expanded divine subjugation.
Ares, focused on the delegation's concerns, did not notice this silent exchange. But Void Shiki did, her pale eyes briefly focusing on the physical realm to observe this nascent connection forming among her fellow captives.
The faintest smile touched her lips before vanishing back into her usual expressionless mask. The pattern was developing exactly as she had foreseen.
---
The feast concluded late into the night, with the delegates eventually escorted to their guest quarters by mortal attendants. Ares remained in the great hall with his divine servants, who had maintained their displayed positions for hours without complaint—the binding preventing expressions of physical discomfort.
"You performed adequately," he acknowledged, standing before the nine. "The delegation was suitably impressed by the new order's mastery over divine power."
"Glad we could provide such entertaining tableaux," Gilgamesh muttered, unable to completely suppress her bitterness despite the binding.
"Entertainment was secondary," Ares corrected. "This was diplomacy through demonstration. The Eastern Territories needed to understand that divine servitude is not merely symbolic but functional."
"And the suggestion that others might bind goddesses as you have?" Artoria asked, her voice carefully neutral despite the provocative question.
Ares turned his mismatched eyes to her, studying her composed features. "That will not happen," he stated firmly. "The binding ritual is not a tool for provincial governors or minor warlords. It is a cornerstone of the Dominion's central authority."
"How reassuring," Morgan commented with subtle irony. "Our humiliation remains exclusive rather than commonplace."
"Your service," Ares emphasized, "is to purpose, not humiliation. The distinction matters."
"Does it?" Reinhardt challenged, her sapphire eyes meeting his directly. "When we are displayed like prized livestock for diplomatic impression?"
Instead of answering immediately, Ares paced slowly before them, his towering form casting long shadows in the lantern light. "In the old world," he finally said, "divine beings displayed mortals for entertainment and status. Gods kept human concubines, servants, playthings. The reversal you experience is not merely personal constraint but cosmic rebalancing."
"Cosmic justice through personal degradation," Velzard observed coldly. "How convenient that the scales of universal balance require us in revealing attire."
"The form reflects the substance," Ares replied without apology. "You served as living symbols of the new hierarchy. Your presentation needed to communicate that reality clearly."
"And was that communication enhanced by having Lucoa's breasts nearly exposed throughout dinner?" Reinhardt asked bluntly. "Or by the chains connecting our collars to our wrists? Was cosmic balance served by such specific design choices?"
Ares stopped his pacing, turning to face her directly. His expression remained calm, but something dangerous flickered in his mismatched eyes. "Yes," he stated simply. "The visual language of submission speaks louder than any proclamation. The delegates now understand viscerally, not just intellectually, that divine power has been thoroughly subjugated."
"He speaks truly," Kali interjected unexpectedly, her silver eyes gleaming in the lantern light. "Symbols carry power. Our presentation forges new reality through visual manifestation."
"Thank you for your philosophical support of our objectification," Gilgamesh sneered.
"It is not philosophy but cosmic mechanics," Kali replied without rancor. "The universe operates through symbolic representation as much as physical law."
Before this debate could continue, Ares raised a hand, silencing them with the binding's power. "Enough. The feast is concluded. You will return to your quarters and rest. Tomorrow brings new duties."
He turned to Tiamat. "You will attend me in my chambers tonight. The others are dismissed."
As the divine women rose from their displayed positions, many showing the first signs of physical discomfort after hours of controlled posture, varying emotions played across their features—from Gilgamesh's barely contained rage to Lucoa's suggestive disappointment at not being the chosen companion. Tiamat's expression remained serene, neither pleased nor disturbed by her selection.
When the others had departed, Ares and Tiamat made their way through the Spire's winding corridors toward his private chambers. Unlike the tense silence that might have accompanied such a journey with other divine servants, Tiamat's presence carried a strangely peaceful quality—perhaps due to her primordial nature that transcended conventional emotional responses.
"You managed the feast preparations exceptionally well," Ares noted as they walked. "Your understanding of atmosphere and presentation surpassed expectation."
"I have overseen divine courts since before most pantheons existed," Tiamat replied, her deep voice carrying those oceanic echoes. "Arrangement of space and sensory experience is fundamental to establishing proper hierarchy."
"You speak of hierarchy without the resistance shown by the others," Ares observed. "Why?"
Tiamat considered this as they reached his chamber doors. "I am the primordial mother," she finally said. "I have experienced existence from its first moments—creation, destruction, worship, battle. This current arrangement is merely another phase in an eternal cycle. Fighting against cosmic patterns is futile."
Ares opened the doors, allowing her to enter first. His private chambers had been prepared for the night—lanterns dimmed to a warm glow, bedding turned down, a subtle fragrance of night-blooming flowers permeating the air.
"Your acceptance seems almost too complete," Ares noted with slight suspicion as he closed the doors behind them. "Even gods fight their fate."
"I am no mere god," Tiamat corrected without arrogance, simply stating fact. "Gods are children playing with borrowed power. I am that from which life emerges and to which it returns. Perspective comes with such existence."
She moved toward the massive bed that dominated one side of the chamber, her movements graceful despite her imposing size. With practiced efficiency, she began arranging the pillows and coverings, adjusting their positions with subtle precision that suggested long experience with such duties.
"The binding compels service," Ares said, watching her work. "But not the attitude behind it. Your compliance seems born of something beyond mere magical constraint."
Tiamat paused in her preparations, turning to face him. In the dim light, her violet eyes seemed to contain swirling depths, ancient beyond comprehension yet surprisingly present.
"Force creates resistance," she observed. "Yet water flows around obstacles rather than fighting them directly. I choose to flow, to understand this experience from within rather than battling against immovable constraints."
"A pragmatic approach," Ares acknowledged, beginning to remove his formal attire.
"More than pragmatism," Tiamat corrected. "Understanding. You bound nine divine women not merely for service or symbolism, but for knowledge. You seek to comprehend divine perspective while imposing mortal will upon it."
Ares paused, studying her with renewed interest. "You perceive more than the others."
"I existed before perception itself had meaning," Tiamat reminded him. "Your motives are complex but not incomprehensible. You conquered through force but recognize that governance requires wisdom."
"And you believe you understand my purpose?" Ares asked, resuming his disrobing.
"I understand that purpose evolves," Tiamat replied. "What begins as dominance often transforms into something unexpected. The binding connects nine to one—a configuration with significant mystical implications."
As Ares finished removing his formal garments, standing unabashedly nude before her, Tiamat approached with the measured confidence of a being who had witnessed the birth and death of universes. Despite her bound status, she moved with dignity rather than subservience.
"Your chamber has been prepared," she stated, gesturing to the bed. "Temperature, firmness, arrangement—all optimized for maximum recovery during rest. As primordial mother, comfort falls within my domain of expertise."
"And will you remain?" Ares asked directly, making his expectations clear.
"As required," Tiamat confirmed without hesitation. "My duties include providing physical warmth and comfort throughout the night. The binding specifies this clearly."
She removed the outer layers of her ceremonial attire, revealing simpler garments beneath that remained elegant while allowing for practical function. "I have existed in countless forms across endless time," she noted as she prepared herself for her night duties. "This current physical manifestation is merely temporary housing for primordial essence."
"You speak of physical form with remarkable detachment," Ares observed, moving to the bed and settling into the perfectly arranged coverings.
"Attachment to form creates unnecessary suffering," Tiamat replied, joining him with natural grace that belied her imposing size. "The body is vessel, not identity."
As she positioned herself beside him, her divine warmth immediately altered the ambient temperature of the massive bed. Unlike the awkward tension or forced compliance that might have accompanied such intimate service from the others, Tiamat's presence carried something almost ceremonial—as if this act of physical comfort were simply another cosmic function, neither degrading nor exalting.
"Your heat," Ares noted with genuine appreciation. "It penetrates deeper than normal warmth."
"It is the warmth of creation itself," Tiamat explained. "The primordial fire from which all life emerged. It heals as it warms, restoring at levels beyond mere physical comfort."
"Another unexpected benefit of divine service," Ares commented, feeling ancient battle tensions beginning to dissolve under the influence of her proximity.
"All nine offer unique benefits beyond the obvious," Tiamat observed. "Some yet undiscovered even by you, Godslayer."
As the night deepened around them, Ares found himself drawn into conversation with this primordial being whose perspective spanned the entirety of existence. Unlike his interactions with the other divine servants, marked by resistance or manipulation or seduction, this exchange carried something closer to genuine dialogue between primal forces—conquest and creation, temporarily aligned in the darkness of the Dominion Spire.
"Tell me," he finally asked as sleep began to pull at his consciousness, "if you perceive so much, what do you foresee as the outcome of this binding?"
Tiamat's violet eyes seemed to look beyond the physical chamber, into realms of possibility invisible to mortal perception. "The binding connects nine divine aspects to one mortal nexus," she said softly. "Such configurations rarely end as they begin. Transformation awaits—of you, of us, of the very fabric of reality you sought to reshape."
"A cryptic prediction," Ares noted, his voice heavy with approaching sleep.
"All true predictions appear cryptic to those bound by linear time," Tiamat replied, her own voice taking on the rhythmic quality of ancient oceans. "Rest now, Godslayer. The pattern unfolds regardless of our understanding."
As Ares drifted into the first truly restful sleep he had experienced since before the divine wars began, Tiamat remained awake, her violet eyes fixed on something beyond the chamber walls. The primordial mother, bound yet eternal, observed the invisible threads of destiny as they wove through the Dominion Spire, connecting nine divine women to the mortal who had remade reality through sheer force of will.
The pattern was indeed forming. And it was far more intricate than even the God of Warlords could possibly imagine.
## Chapter 8: Morning Revelations
Dawn arrived with unusual quietness, the typical sounds of the Spire's morning activities muffled by a blanket of fog that had settled over the entire structure during the night. Ares woke to find Tiamat already risen and moving about his chamber with silent efficiency, preparing for the day's initial rituals.
"The fog is your doing," he observed, not a question but a statement.
Tiamat inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. "A side effect of primordial presence during deep rest cycles," she explained. "The moisture in the air responds to creation energies. It will dissipate by midmorning."
Ares rose from the bed, noting with interest that his body felt unusually refreshed—decades-old battle aches temporarily silenced, chronic tensions eased. Spending the night beside the primordial mother had apparently provided benefits beyond mere warmth and company.
"Your presence has healing properties," he noted, rotating a shoulder that normally protested such movement after sleep.
"The primordial soup from which life emerged contains regenerative properties," Tiamat confirmed, approaching with a warmed cloth for his morning ablutions. "Your physical form absorbed some of these benefits during proximity."
She began to cleanse his face and neck with practiced movements, her touch neither servile nor presumptuous—simply efficient and appropriate to her assigned role. Unlike Vados's clinical precision or Morgan's calculated intimacy, Tiamat's ministrations carried a maternal quality that was oddly comforting despite her bound status.
"The delegates depart this morning," Ares informed her as she worked. "A final demonstration of the new order is required before they return to the Eastern Territories."
"What form will this demonstration take?" Tiamat asked, her violet eyes briefly meeting his.
"A more intimate display of divine service," Ares replied without elaboration. "Prepare the celestial bathing chamber. All nine will attend."
Something flickered across Tiamat's usually serene features—perhaps concern, perhaps simple recognition of the implications. "As you command," she acknowledged. "Though I should note that certain combinations of divine energies in confined spaces can produce... unpredictable results."
"Explain," Ares demanded, his tone sharpening with sudden wariness. Throughout his campaigns against the gods, he had learned to pay careful attention to warnings about divine energies.
"Nine divine beings from different dimensional origins, each with unique metaphysical signatures, gathered in a ritual space like the celestial bath..." Tiamat paused, seeming to search for appropriate words. "Such convergence can sometimes create resonance patterns that amplify or alter existing energies, including binding constraints."
"Are you suggesting the binding could be weakened?" Ares asked directly, his hand instinctively moving toward where Godfall would normally hang at his side, though the weapon currently rested in the armory under Artoria's care.
"Not weakened," Tiamat clarified. "Transformed. The binding connects nine points of divine essence to your singular mortal nexus. Such configurations have significance beyond mere power restraint."
Ares considered this information carefully. Throughout his campaigns, he had developed a healthy respect for divine mechanics and the often unpredictable ways they interacted with mortal reality. Yet the prospect of nine divine servants attending him in the celestial bath—a powerful symbolic demonstration for the departing delegates—outweighed these abstract concerns.
"The demonstration will proceed as planned," he decided. "But you will monitor these 'resonance patterns' and alert me to any significant developments."
"As you wish," Tiamat agreed, completing her morning ministrations before moving to collect her formal attire.