In the center of the carnage stood a dark-haired man examining a severed head with casual interest. His strange silver eyes glinted as he turned to regard the newcomers.
"Ah," he said pleasantly, dropping the Empress's head carelessly to the floor. "Catherine Alexeyevna. Or should I say, the future Catherine the Great? You're earlier in the timeline than expected."
Catherine stood frozen in the doorway, her brilliant mind struggling to process the impossible scene. Beside her, Orlov raised his sword defensively.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her German accent slightly more pronounced under stress. "What have you done?"
Sam smiled, appreciating her composure despite witnessing horrors that had reduced hardened soldiers to trembling wrecks.
"I was conducting an experiment regarding divine right," he explained conversationally, stepping over bodies to approach her. "Specifically, testing whether God actually protects his supposedly anointed representatives."
He gestured toward Elizabeth's remains. "The results remain consistent with previous trials. Divine intervention: not detected."
Orlov lunged forward with impressive speed, his swordsmanship reflecting the finest military training Russia could provide. Sam didn't bother looking at him as the blade stopped inches from his neck, caught in telekinetic suspension.
"Skilled technique," Sam noted, still addressing Catherine. "Better form than most I've encountered."
With a casual gesture, he telekinetically disassembled Orlov's sword—metal separating into component molecules that scattered harmlessly through the air. The guardsman staggered back, staring in disbelief at his empty hand.
"What manner of devil—" Orlov began.
"Everyone always jumps to 'devil,'" Sam interrupted with obvious amusement. "Such limited conceptual frameworks. No wonder your civilizations progress so slowly."
More guards poured through secondary entrances, weapons drawn. Catherine raised her hand, halting their advance with imperial authority she technically didn't yet possess.
"Stop!" she commanded. "Conventional tactics clearly won't work against... whatever this is."
Sam raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "Strategic assessment and adaptation. You're significantly more competent than your royal counterparts."
Catherine's mind raced, analyzing the impossible situation with remarkable clarity. This being—this man, if he could be called that—had effortlessly slaughtered dozens of imperial guards and the Empress herself. Direct confrontation would only result in more deaths.
"You claim to be testing divine right," she said carefully, maintaining remarkable composure despite her racing heart. "May I ask the purpose of this experiment?"
Sam tilted his head, studying her with newfound interest. "Most ask 'what are you' or make futile religious gestures. You ask about methodology. Fascinating."
He stepped closer, silver eyes examining her with unnerving intensity. "I'm investigating whether divine intervention manifests when self-proclaimed divine authorities face extinction. Thus far, results have been disappointingly consistent."
Catherine's mind processed this information rapidly. "And you've killed the Empress as part of this... experiment?"
"Among others," Sam confirmed casually. "The Pope, the Spanish Habsburgs, the British monarch, the Japanese Emperor... I've been quite thorough in my sampling."
Catherine took a measured breath, making a decision that reflected the pragmatic brilliance that would eventually make her Russia's greatest ruler.
"What if I suggested an alternative hypothesis?" she ventured.
Sam's eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm listening."
"Divine right is clearly a fiction," Catherine stated boldly, disregarding centuries of monarchical tradition in a single sentence. "Effective governance derives from competence and consent, not supernatural endorsement."
Several courtiers gasped at this heresy, but Catherine continued undeterred.
"Elizabeth ruled effectively not because God chose her, but because she maintained military support, balanced noble factions, and improved Russian standing internationally. Practical results, not divine mandate."
Sam approached slowly, genuinely intrigued. "You're suggesting governance should be evaluated on empirical outcomes rather than theological frameworks?"
"Exactly," Catherine confirmed, her brilliant mind fully engaged despite the mortal danger. "Divine right is merely a convenient fiction to simplify power transitions and discourage common rebellion."
Sam circled her slowly, studying the future empress with analytical precision. Unlike other royals who clung desperately to supernatural justification for their authority, Catherine had immediately adapted—discarding useless concepts to focus on practical survival.
"You don't actually believe in divine right," he realized aloud. "You never did."
Catherine maintained perfect poise, her gaze steady despite being surrounded by carnage. "I believe in effective governance. The theological wrapping is merely expedient packaging."
"Well, well," Sam smiled genuinely. "At last—an honest ruler. How refreshing."
He gestured toward the bodies littering the Reception Room. "These fools died defending a concept they couldn't even articulate coherently. You've immediately recognized its irrelevance and adjusted accordingly."
Catherine recognized a potential opening. "If you've already disproven your hypothesis regarding divine intervention, perhaps further demonstrations are unnecessary?"
Sam laughed, the sound unexpectedly normal in contrast to the surrounding horror. "Trying to save your own skin, Catherine? I don't blame you. Self-preservation is perfectly rational, unlike most human behavior I've observed."
"I'm trying to save Russia," she countered firmly. "Whatever your purpose, surely indiscriminate slaughter serves no meaningful experimental function once your hypothesis is confirmed?"
Sam studied her with growing fascination. Unlike other rulers who begged for divine intervention or personal mercy, Catherine engaged him intellectually while maintaining remarkable dignity.
"You're actually concerned about governance," he realized. "Not just your own survival. How utterly unique."
Catherine straightened her shoulders. "Russia requires stability and modernization to reach its potential. Arbitrary disruption serves no constructive purpose."
"Let's test your commitment to this pragmatic approach," Sam decided, gesturing toward the blood-spattered throne. "Have a seat."
Catherine hesitated only momentarily before complying, her elaborate court dress sweeping through puddles of imperial blood as she crossed the room. She sat with perfect posture on the throne of Russia, despite the grisly remains of its previous occupant still scattered nearby.
"If divine right is merely a convenient fiction," Sam challenged, "what right do you have to rule others?"
"The right of capability," Catherine answered without hesitation. "I can improve Russia's condition more effectively than alternatives. Rights derive from outcomes, not mystical endorsement."
"Interesting theoretical framework," Sam acknowledged, stepping closer. "But untested. How do I know you're not simply saying whatever keeps you alive?"
Catherine met his gaze directly. "Test me."
Sam smiled, genuinely entertained by this unexpected development. "Most amusing. Very well, let's examine your commitment to empirical governance versus supernatural justification."
He turned to the remaining guards and courtiers who stood frozen in horror around the room's perimeter. "Leave us. Now."
They fled immediately, boots slipping on blood-slicked marble as they escaped the nightmare scene. When the last footsteps faded, Sam turned back to Catherine, who remained composed on the throne.
"You're either remarkably brave or exceptionally calculating," he observed. "Possibly both."
"I merely recognize the parameters of the situation," Catherine replied evenly. "You've demonstrated power beyond conventional resistance. Adaptation is the only rational response."
Sam approached slowly, circling the throne like a predator. "You've abandoned divine right without hesitation. What other principles might you discard with equal facility?"
"Principles that lack practical utility deserve abandonment," Catherine stated. "Dignity, however, has functional value in leadership. Subjects follow those who maintain composure under pressure."
"Dignity?" Sam repeated, stopping directly before her. "Queen Anne made similar claims before I broke her. Let's see how your dignity holds up under... empirical testing."
Catherine's eyes widened slightly as Sam reached for her elaborate court dress, telekinetically dissolving its fastenings. Layers of richly embroidered fabric fell away, leaving her in just her chemise and stays.
"If dignity truly has functional utility beyond theological constructs," Sam reasoned, continuing the systematic removal of her garments, "it should withstand physical exposure, shouldn't it?"
The last of Catherine's undergarments disintegrated, leaving her naked on the blood-spattered throne. To her credit, she maintained remarkable composure, crossing her legs elegantly and resting her hands on the armrests as though still fully clothed.
"Physical exposure impacts perceived dignity only because of arbitrary social constructs," she replied, voice steady despite her obvious discomfort. "The capacity for rational governance remains unchanged regardless of attire."
Sam laughed appreciatively. "Theoretical consistency! Impressive." He stepped closer, silver eyes examining her naked form with scientific detachment. "Though your physiological responses tell a different story."
Indeed, Catherine's body betrayed her inner turmoil—skin flushed with embarrassment, nipples hardened from the cool air, pulse visibly racing at her throat. Yet her expression remained composed, chin lifted defiantly.
"Involuntary physical responses aren't relevant to cognitive function," she countered. "A ruler's mind determines fitness to govern, not bodily reactions."
"A testable hypothesis," Sam noted, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Let's see if cognitive function remains unimpaired during direct physiological manipulation."
Catherine flinched slightly at the contact but didn't pull away. Sam's fingers trailed deliberately from her shoulder to her breast, the touch transmitting carefully calibrated energy directly into her nervous system.
"Oh!" she gasped involuntarily as unexpected pleasure radiated from the contact point. Her eyes widened in confusion as Sam continued the methodical exploration, each touch sending waves of sensation through neural pathways manipulated with inhuman precision.
"Physical responses shouldn't impact rational thought, correct?" Sam challenged as his hand moved lower, tracing patterns across her stomach. "Let's test the limits of this separation you claim exists."
When his fingers reached between her thighs, Catherine's composure finally cracked. She grabbed his wrist, trying to halt his advance.
"This proves nothing about governance," she insisted, her voice less steady than before.
"It tests whether your principles hold consistent under pressure," Sam countered, easily overcoming her resistance. "You claimed dignity has functional utility independent of theological frameworks. I'm evaluating whether that claim withstands empirical scrutiny."
His fingers found her center with unerring precision, the contact sending visible shudders through her body. Catherine bit her lip, struggling to maintain composure as Sam methodically stimulated her most sensitive areas.
"Your body recognizes truth your mind refuses to acknowledge," he observed as moisture gathered beneath his touch. "Rationality is a thin veneer over biological imperatives."
"This... changes nothing," Catherine managed between increasingly ragged breaths. "Physical... response... doesn't invalidate... cognitive capacity."
"Remarkable commitment to your theoretical framework," Sam acknowledged, genuinely impressed as he continued his relentless stimulation. His fingers moved with inhuman precision, targeting nerve clusters with touch enhanced by nanite-generated energy.
Despite her best efforts, Catherine's hips began moving against his hand, her body responding to expert manipulation beyond ordinary human capability. Pleasure built inexorably as Sam systematically deconstructed her composure through biological override.
"Fascinating," he observed as her resistance weakened. "You're actually maintaining coherent thought longer than any previous subject. Your cognitive discipline is exceptional."
Catherine struggled to respond, her brilliant mind increasingly clouded by overwhelming sensation. Sam's touch had transcended ordinary physical stimulation—his nanite-enhanced contact sending waves of pleasure directly into her nervous system, bypassing normal physiological limitations.
When orgasm finally took her, Catherine couldn't suppress a cry of shocked pleasure. Her back arched involuntarily, thighs clamping around Sam's hand as pleasure more intense than anything in her experience crashed through her nervous system.
"Impressive recovery," Sam noted as Catherine's breathing gradually stabilized. "Most subjects experience complete cognitive collapse at this intensity level."
Catherine gathered her dignity remarkable quickly, straightening on the throne despite her nudity and the evidence of arousal still glistening on her thighs.
"As I stated," she managed, voice only slightly unsteady, "physical response doesn't invalidate governance capacity."
"You're either the most stubborn or most adaptive subject I've encountered," Sam decided, genuinely intrigued. "Let's increase the experimental parameters."
He began disrobing, removing his simple black attire with methodical efficiency. Catherine's eyes widened as his body was revealed—muscular frame marked by faint silver lines where nanite concentrations mapped his circulatory system. When he removed his final garment, her gaze dropped involuntarily to his erection, its considerable size clearly enhanced beyond normal human parameters.
"Oh my," she whispered, momentarily losing her careful composure.
"Physical characteristics optimized through evolutionary advancement," Sam explained casually. "Form follows function."
He approached the throne, his intentions unmistakable. Catherine straightened her shoulders, making another rapid strategic assessment. Fighting would be futile. Begging would be ineffective. Adaptation remained her only viable option.
"If this is the price of Russia's survival," she declared with remarkable dignity, "I accept the transaction."
Sam laughed, genuinely amused. "Framing sexual activity as a diplomatic negotiation! Your cognitive flexibility is truly exceptional."
He positioned himself between her thighs, spreading her legs wider across the bloodstained throne. "Let's see if your mental discipline maintains under more demanding conditions."
Catherine gasped as he entered her with deliberate slowness, her body stretching to accommodate his enhanced size. Sam watched her expressions with scientific interest, cataloging micro-reactions that betrayed her internal experience despite attempted stoicism.
"Fascinating contrast," he observed, beginning a methodical rhythm. "Your facial muscles attempt composure while your internal muscles contract involuntarily."
"Must you... narrate?" Catherine managed between carefully controlled breaths, her hands gripping the throne's armrests tightly.
"Scientific observation requires documentation," Sam replied with a smirk, increasing his pace. "Though I must admit, your responses are uniquely interesting compared to previous subjects."
Unlike her royal counterparts who had broken completely during similar testing, Catherine maintained remarkable cognitive function despite her body's overwhelming responses. She rationalized, adapted, and strategized even as pleasure built with each precise movement.
Sam's rhythm increased gradually, each thrust calculated for maximum physiological impact. The throne itself began to creak beneath them, the symbolic seat of Russian imperial power becoming the stage for its future empress's unlikely encounter.
"Your physical responses indicate approaching climax," Sam noted as Catherine's breathing shortened and her internal muscles began contracting rhythmically around him. "Yet you continue formulating political calculations. I can see them behind your eyes."
Catherine didn't deny it, her brilliant mind somehow maintaining multiple parallel tracks despite overwhelming sensory input. Even as her body raced toward release, part of her was already calculating how to use this experience to her advantage—how to survive, adapt, and eventually transform Russia.
Her second orgasm hit with stunning intensity, neurons firing in cascading patterns as Sam's enhanced physiology triggered responses beyond ordinary human experience. Catherine cried out, her carefully maintained dignity finally cracking completely as pleasure overwhelmed cognitive resistance.
"Fascinating," Sam observed, continuing his methodical movements through her climax. "Your neurological architecture is exceptionally resilient."
Before Catherine could recover, he lifted her from the throne with telekinetic assistance, repositioning her on hands and knees atop the imperial dais. Blood from the slaughtered Empress soaked into her palms and knees as Sam entered her from behind, resuming his experimental assessment.
"This position traditionally symbolizes dominance hierarchies," he noted conversationally, hands gripping her hips as he established a punishing rhythm. "Another social construct without empirical foundation, yet it triggers distinct neurochemical responses."
Catherine could no longer maintain verbal responses, her formidable intellect finally overwhelmed by sensory overload. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her nervous system, pleasure building beyond anything she had thought physically possible.
Sam maintained perfect control throughout, his enhanced physiology allowing sustained performance that would have been impossible for an ordinary human. He systematically tested various angles and rhythms, cataloging Catherine's responses with scientific precision while simultaneously experiencing genuine physical pleasure.
"Your adaptive capacity is truly remarkable," he acknowledged as Catherine shuddered through her third climax, body convulsing around him as she collapsed forward onto the blood-soaked dais. "Most subjects experience complete cognitive failure by the second orgasm."
He rolled her onto her back, lifting her legs over his shoulders to achieve maximum penetration depth. Catherine stared up at him with a mixture of fear, awe, and—most surprisingly—intellectual curiosity, her mind somehow still partially functioning despite overwhelming physiological responses.
"What... are you... really testing?" she managed between gasps as he resumed his relentless rhythm.
Sam paused momentarily, genuinely surprised by the question. "No one's asked that before," he admitted. "They're usually too broken by this point."
He continued moving inside her, pace slowing enough to allow limited conversation. "I'm testing whether there's any actual meaning in existence. Whether cosmic justice exists in any form. Whether anyone's watching this pathetic little drama unfold."
"And... your conclusion?" Catherine asked, somehow maintaining intellectual engagement despite her body's overwhelmed state.
"No one's coming to save you," Sam replied, increasing his pace again. "No divine intervention. No cosmic justice. No meaning beyond what sentient beings create for themselves."
Catherine processed this nihilistic assessment with remarkable clarity despite her compromised position. "Then we're... free to define... our own meaning."
Sam's rhythm faltered slightly, her response catching him off-guard. "That's... an interesting interpretation."
Her insight—delivered while being thoroughly fucked on a blood-soaked throne—demonstrated cognitive resilience beyond any subject he'd previously encountered. For the first time in countless experimental iterations, Sam felt something approaching respect for a test subject.
"Let's see if you maintain that philosophical optimism through more intensive stimulation," he challenged, activating additional nanite functions to enhance the experience further.
Catherine's eyes widened as new sensations flooded her nervous system—Sam's nanites transmitting energy directly into her neural pathways, amplifying pleasure beyond ordinary biological parameters. Her back arched impossibly as climax crashed through her again, more intense than anything before.
"FUCK!" she screamed, abandoning imperial dignity completely as overwhelming pleasure shattered her remaining composure. Her body convulsed around him, inner muscles clamping with surprising strength as wave after wave of impossible sensation washed through her.
Sam finally allowed himself release, his enhanced physiology delivering exactly when he commanded it. He filled her with hot pulses, his seed genetically modified to prevent conception—a legacy of nanite adaptation that had rendered him incapable of reproduction despite countless sexual encounters across multiple timelines.
Afterward, Catherine lay gasping on the blood-soaked dais, her naked body marked with visible evidence of their encounter. Despite her physically devastated state, her eyes remained alert—mind already recalibrating, adapting, planning.
"Extraordinary recovery capacity," Sam observed as he dressed himself with telekinetic assistance. "Your cognitive resilience exceeds any previous subject by significant margins."
Catherine slowly sat up, wincing at various aches but somehow maintaining remnants of dignity despite her thoroughly debauched appearance.
"Did I pass your test?" she asked directly, reaching for scraps of her destroyed clothing.
Sam considered the question seriously. "You've demonstrated exceptional adaptive capacity and cognitive resilience. More importantly, you've shown philosophical flexibility without collapsing into nihilistic despair."
He gestured around the devastated throne room with its dismembered empress and slaughtered guards. "Unlike your counterparts who clung to divine right until their last moments, you immediately recognized its fictional nature and adapted accordingly."
"Practicality outweighs sentiment in governance," Catherine stated, somehow making the blood-smeared, naked figure on the dais sound remarkably authoritative.
"An empirically sound approach," Sam acknowledged. "Far more rational than the theological nonsense your contemporaries espouse."
He studied her with genuine curiosity. "You might actually implement effective governance if given opportunity. Unlike the pathetic figureheads I've encountered elsewhere."
"Does that mean you'll allow Russia to continue?" Catherine asked cautiously.
"In this timeline? Why not?" Sam shrugged. "I've confirmed my hypothesis regarding divine intervention. Further destruction seems redundant."
He approached, touching her forehead lightly. Instead of the devastating memory transfer he'd inflicted on others, Sam provided just enough context to understand his nature—a carefully curated glimpse of his origin and purpose.
Catherine processed the impossible information with remarkable aplomb. "You've experienced multiple... timelines?" she clarified, her brilliant mind immediately grasping implications most humans would have found incomprehensible.
"Each experimental iteration creates a branch reality," Sam confirmed. "This conversation exists in just one of countless variations."
Catherine absorbed this with surprising calm. "And in all these... branches... you've found no evidence of divine intervention?"
"None whatsoever," Sam confirmed. "Your gods remain stubbornly absent regardless of provocation."
Catherine considered this information with the same strategic mind that would eventually make her Russia's greatest ruler. "Perhaps divinity manifests differently than expected. Not through intervention but through potential."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Elaborate."
"You've demonstrated power beyond ordinary parameters," Catherine observed. "Yet you seek meaning rather than merely exercising dominance. That pursuit itself might represent transcendence of basic existence."
Sam stared at her, momentarily speechless. After countless experimental iterations across multiple timelines, this woman—still naked and covered in blood from his slaughter of her sovereign—had offered a philosophical perspective he hadn't considered.
"You're suggesting meaning emerges from the search itself rather than external validation?" he clarified.
"Precisely," Catherine nodded. "The capacity to question transcends the answers found."
Sam laughed, genuinely amused by this unexpected philosophical exchange. "From empress to philosopher in a single afternoon. You truly are remarkable, Catherine."
He gestured, telekinetically assembling scraps of undamaged fabric into a makeshift covering for her. "Rule well, if that's what you choose. Create meaning through effective governance rather than theological nonsense."
"Will you return?" Catherine asked as he turned to leave, her voice containing unexpected layers of meaning.
Sam glanced back, surprised by the question. "Would you want me to?"
Catherine smiled faintly, somehow managing regal composure despite her disheveled state. "You've provided... perspectives... I hadn't previously considered. Both philosophically and physically."
"Diplomatic even in aftermath," Sam laughed appreciatively. "You'll make a formidable empress."
He activated his Chronosphere, reality beginning to distort around him. "Rule well, Catherine. Create your own meaning in this branch. I won't return—too much damage has been done, and I prefer a clean slate for my next experimental iteration."
"Good luck finding your answers," Catherine called as he began to dissolve into the temporal vortex.
Sam's last glimpse of this timeline showed the future Catherine the Great rising from the blood-soaked dais, somehow maintaining imperial dignity despite her circumstances—already calculating how to turn unimaginable chaos into opportunity.