The temple was guarded by four white-robed initiates.

  I was curious to know what caused the heightened security, whether it was my last visit, the general sense of unease at the plaza, or whether it was due to having so many of the initiates otherwise unoccupied at this time.

  The two of us walked inside unopposed, Edith leading the way.

  Claire was talking to a hooded figure in modified white robes in hushed voices, with Maggie listening to the side.

  The mysterious figure's face was obscured by a deep hood, an addition to the masquerade-tier pompous addition to their attire that the rest of the initiates lacked.

  The redhead noticed our approach first and notified her mistress.

  The High Priestess looked up, pursing her lips in a displeased grimace.

  "Edith," she acknowledged us. "Now is not a good time. Make it quick." She waved the hooded person to retreat into the backroom and turned to look at us head-on.

  Looks like someone had overtaken Maggie on the corporate ladder, having Doorway privileges and a new robe to boot.

  I marveled at her appearance—the perfect skin, emerald green eyes, and gentle, delicate facial structure looked almost divine. It was painstakingly meticulous work, not the brute hammering that went into my mask. I had to give her that.

  Claire's eyes slowly overflowed with golden light, tiny whisps fleeting from the edges. However this ability differed from the regular spiritual Sight—at the very least, she couldn't have it active at all times.

  Edith stopped some distance away and bowed in greeting. "You wanted to question the witness," Edith gestured to me. "Here he is. I hope you'll find the answers to your satisfaction."

  What was with the bowing and scraping?

  The witch's gaze moved to rest on me. It had a weight to it, like someone greater than me deigned to notice someone that was far beneath them.

  I was standing in front of a queen. No, a goddess.

  Should I be bowing?

  "Speak," she commanded. "Did you see a beast outside the city walls on the day of the arrival?"

  "Yes," I answered. I could feel my throat dry, but I didn't want to do anything as uncouth as clearing it in front of the present authority.

  I could see her golden-green eyes wandering around my face trying to discern my eyes through the thin layer of bronze that separated us.

  "Did you see it?" She asked again.

  "I did," I readily agreed.

  She released an irritated huff. "Remove the mask. It's interfering," she commanded.

  It was a good idea—I was telling the truth, and I wanted her to know that I was telling the truth. Why wouldn't I remove the mask for her? She commands it.

  But another thought niggled at me.

  The mask proved itself as a viable defense against her abilities. I shouldn't leave myself so undefended by removing it. I never let myself be so vulnerable, not with anyone.

  Then I felt it.

  It was subtle, but an elusive pressure was going through my Presence.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I used to think of my Presence as a continuation of my skin. An ability that keeps the mist, whose benignness I still didn't trust, away from myself. And as an added benefit, it could be used as an additional weakened sense of touch.

  It wasn't very helpful as an additional sense since, in its usual form, it didn't extend far from my skin. When used, I just mindlessly empowered and flexed it to keep the mist away.

  Evidently, I didn't give it as much thought as I should have.

  I didn't invent or create it. No. I discovered and made use of something that was already there. It wasn't a continuation of my skin but a continuation of my very being.

  I was surprised to notice that right now, that part of myself was feeling something going right through it, pressing on my body.

  Surprise gave way to fear. I could feel goosebumps on the back of my neck.

  This was how Claire was able to affect me at a distance when she paralyzed me. The feeling of authority and my willingness to listen to her every word flowed through the same connection.

  She was overpowering her Sight to such an extent that it was no different than reaching out and touching me with her hand.

  I should have been less surprised that I felt it with my Presence and more shocked that I didn't sense the intrusion much sooner without it.

  I believed we were meeting as equals. Instead, she had me at a disadvantage. I was standing a respectful distance away. And while she was out of my reach, I was right in her grasp. Her proverbial hand was at my throat.

  "Well?" She lifted her dainty brow. "Remove it."

  That was a Command.

  A Command I wanted to follow.

  I felt violated—every thought in my head was suspect. Was it my own? Or was it planted there? It was revolting. Fear gave way to anger.

  I was furious. If that was the extent of Claire's power over me when she looked at me, how bad would it get when we locked eyes?

  If her grabby hands were any deeper up my ass, they would come out from the other side.

  She wanted eye contact, but the mask was saving me. She tried to look through it, failing to locate my eyes because I wasn't even using them. I was using the third eye symbol at the top of my head instead, obscured by the mask's residual power, but she didn't know that.

  But contact was a double-edged sword. If Claire was in contact with me, I shared the same contact the other way.

  And I was fresh out of a conflict with an opponent who was similarly out of my league.

  I concentrated on the phantom pains that didn't entirely leave me days out of battle. If pain was good for anything, it was causing more pain.

  I contemplated my readiness to use this power. I didn't enjoy it, far from it. And yet, even with the suffering it caused me, I was quick to jump on the opportunity to use it again for the promise of power it granted.

  I braced myself and shifted more weight to the spear, which was more helpful to me as a walking stick in this situation.

  The pain was amplified and enhanced by my will, and I used the contact we shared to project it back to her.

  Pain begets pain.

  I grunted at the agony, trying to remain standing, not showing in any way that I was similarly affected.

  The pain I sent her way caused her to suffer, and similarly to how I used fear, she radiated it back in a way that begged to be used by anyone willing to pull on it. I spun it back at her again and again, feeling the feedback myself but not relenting.

  I was expecting it and was braced accordingly. She was not.

  I could see the horror blooming on her face as it contorted in a grimace, tears flowing freely.

  "Aaaaaa!" She cried in a higher voice than I thought her capable of.

  Edith yelped and jumped sideways, removing herself from the line of fire.

  Claire's screams continued for several more seconds, our shared suffering mounting in an unending loop until the contact was broken, the golden light leaving her eyes as she fell on her back.

  So undignified for someone of her station.

  "What did you do?" Maggie yelled shrilly.

  Guards ran into the temple, unsure how to react without instruction. They started yelling something, but I refused to give them any attention. They were the small fries.

  "What did I do?" I rasped angrily. "Your cult leader just tried to mind-rape me. Are you not disturbed by this?"

  "How dare you?" Maggie rattled. "She just wanted you to remove your protection to confirm your words-"

  I rapped on the metal surface. "Think of it less of a protection and more of a chastity belt," I interrupted her. "I'll remove it next time I want my brain to be fucked by some wannabe cultie," I spat with vitriol.

  "You can't talk like that!" She snapped back. "Show some respect-"

  "Respect?" I raised my voice. "Have you been drinking the cool-aid? What kind of respect do you deserve after this stunt?"

  Claire shakily heaved herself back to a standing position while her helper brought her hands closer in an attempt to help, never quite touching her. Treating her like royalty now?

  "You would show respect if you saw what I saw," Maggie continued in her misguided attempt to berate me. "She performed a miracle-"

  "Enough!" Claire put a stop to the dispute.

  The silence after that one word was deafening.

  A miracle? Really? When everyone can do it, it stops being a miracle and enters the realm of the mundane.

  Was Maggie so brainwashed by now that she failed to recognize it? Not so long ago, her attitude was the complete opposite.

  "You can order your lapdog around," I told Claire, ignoring her command. "But if you think to try the same thing with me, I suggest you don't."

  "How can you command that much power? It can't be. Nobody should-" Claire's voice wavered in disbelief.

  It was your own pain you so readily shared with me—I wanted to laugh at her face.

  "Are we done here?" I asked, feigning disinterest. "You have your answer—I witnessed the beast."

  The Head Priestess nodded almost involuntarily.

  "Good. Discuss it," I said, turning around. "I'll be in the throne room. Call me when the preparations are finished. Do not disturb me until then." I had to get out, I was running on fumes, and I would rather die than show weakness to this one.

  I stopped to look at Edith. "At least thirty people, preferably more," I reminded her.

  She mutely nodded back, and I was free to waltz outside under the guise of the incredible act I miraculously pulled off.

  Defending myself was a necessity, but presenting it as anything other than a desperate bid to protect myself was pure improvisation.