"Welcome, my Queens. My Hunters. My Regretful Ones."
Diana's head spun; hearing the voice inside her mind was a violation even her Lasso couldn't prevent.
"I am Aetius. Your host. And your gamemaster."
"This is the 'Pale Hall'. The entrance gate of the Palace of Pleasure. Here," his voice took on a mocking tone, "no harm will come to you... yet."
Kerrigan's avatar tilted its head slightly, trying to isolate this voice from the Hive Mind.
"Look around you. These... are your rivals. These... are your meal. Inside each of them is a 'What if...' just like yours. A pain. A void. A wound waiting for you to scratch and pull out."
The women looked at each other. They were no longer just rivals. They were each other's potential prey, potential cure, and potential end.
"The tournament, 'The Crimson Communion', will begin soon. Your first matchups have been determined."
"But first... The Communion must be completed. All of you must... open yourselves to the energy of this Palace and of each other."
His voice took on an almost orgasmic tone.
"The fountain in the center... It is the 'Anima Fountain'. Not just a drink. It is the distilled form of the 150 'What ifs...' in this room. It is the taste of your shared pain, your shared desire."
Wanda looked at the fountain with fear. That thing... was alive.
"Drink," whispered Aetius. "And feel. Taste each other's weaknesses. Feel each other's darkest desires. Learn how to 'taste' each other without touching."
"The banquet begins now."
Silence fell. Diana looked at the fountain with disgust at this blasphemy. Hela smiled with curiosity. Kerrigan was calculating what that liquid would add to the Swarm.
And Harley Quinn shrugged and shouted: "Eh, at least it has vodka in it!"
And running to the edge of the fountain, amidst everyone's astonished looks, she dived headfirst into that pool of spiritual pain and desire.
Harley Quinn's headfirst dive into the "Anima Fountain" shattered the tense, vibrating silence created by the 149 beings in the Pale Hall like glass.
The splash sound wasn't the sound of a normal dive into water. It was a cracked splash, like a rubber band snapping. When Harley was buried in that champagne-colored, bubbling liquid, the fountain went silent for a moment. Then, it surged again with a psychic ripple, like thousands of whispers screaming at the same time.
Diana involuntarily took a step back. Her Lasso in hand pulsed with a bright gold color as a defense mechanism against this violation. "She's mad," she whispered to herself, looking at the woman jumping into such an obvious trap.
Hela's lip curled into a contemptuous smile. "No, Amazon," she murmured, her voice mixing with the hum of the room. "Hungry. She is just following her instincts."
Beneath the surface, Harley's eyes were wide open. The liquid wasn't filling her lungs; it was filling her mind. As Aetius said, it wasn't vodka.
This was concentrated feeling.
At first, the taste was wonderful. Like drinking thousands of fizzy drinks at the same time; electric, sweet, and sharp. Champagne bubbles were popping in her brain. But then... the tastes began to come.
The first thing she tasted was the strongest: Righteous Anger. The ash taste of Daenerys's betrayal covered her palate. She felt that satisfying, terrible heat of burning a city.
Then, Loss. That unbearable, nauseating void leaking from Wanda's wound. The imaginary laughter of non-existent children.
Then, Betrayal. Kerrigan's ice-cold loneliness on Tarsonis. A piece of steel sharpened by the rage of billions of Zergs.
Then, Regret. That burning 'What if...' coming from Diana's wound, tasting of gunpowder, ozone, and salty tears.
Harley was drowning in this ocean of collective pain. This was more intense than even the Ace Chemicals tank. But unlike Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Harley Quinn chose not to drown, but to swim.
Deep in her mind, that manic giggle swelled. This... this was so funny! They were all so serious! They all clung to their little, stupid pains. Harley felt this pain and found it... funny.
She burst to the surface like a dolphin. The liquid scattered prismatic colors as it slid off her. Her soaked hair stuck to her face. She climbed onto one of the velvet islets and lay on her back, laughing.
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" she shouted, looking at the nebula on the ceiling. "It tastes... it tastes like revenge with burnt barbecue sauce! And lost kittens! And... uh... mint chocolate betrayal! I love it! Five stars! Highly recommend!"
Diana's face contorted with disgust. This woman was describing their deepest traumas like a gourmet meal.
Kerrigan's avatar was analyzing Harley's chaotic reaction. Unstable. Humor as a defense mechanism. Taking psychic pain and converting it into meaningless energy. Dangerous. She slowly dipped her own bone finger into the fountain. Took a drop of the liquid and psychically "tasted" it.
For her, this wasn't a flavor. This was data. 149 different weaknesses, 149 different 'What ifs...'. She downloaded them all to the Hive Mind, cataloged them. Diana's devotion to Steve. Yennefer's desire for motherhood. Hela's hatred for Odin. They were all hers now.
Yennefer watched Harley's childish dive. Fool, she thought. She lowered all her defenses. The first to touch this liquid is the most exposed. But she had also heard the promise in Aetius's voice: "Taste each other's weaknesses." Knowledge was power. And Yennefer needed power.
She didn't dip her hand into the fountain. She was more elegant. She snapped her fingers. An elegant goblet made of obsidian with a thin waist appeared in her hand. She dipped the goblet into the fountain, filled it with the bubbling liquid.
The liquid glowed faintly inside the goblet. She smelled it. Under the scent of lilac and gooseberries, there was a suffocating cacophony of 149 different perfumes.
She closed her eyes and took a small sip.
Unlike Harley, she didn't feel chaos. She felt potential. This liquid was pure, raw magic. She drank her own 'What if...'—the pain of not being able to have children. And she felt that pain resonate with the other pains in the room. The pain didn't weaken her; it filled her. Every woman here had unknowingly poured her own power into this fountain.
Yennefer smiled. Aetius's mistake, she thought. He gave us each other's weaknesses but also offered each other's power.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Diana looking at her. There was accusation in the Amazon's eyes.
"How can you?" said Diana, her voice low and dangerous. "This... this is a violation. This is drinking their souls without permission."
Yennefer raised the goblet towards her. "We are in a tournament where we are asked to kill each other, Amazon. I thought we had already transcended the concept of 'permission'. I am just getting to know my rivals. You should too."
Daenerys had watched this scene from afar. She was neither reckless like Harley nor analytical like Yennefer. She was a queen. And this fountain was a source of power. She walked slowly, came to the edge of the fountain, and knelt. Her ash-covered dress spread on the shiny floor.
She didn't jump like Harley. She didn't use a tool like Yennefer.
She cupped her hands and dipped them into the fountain. She scooped up that liquid of concentrated pain and desire and brought it to her face. She drank without hesitation.
It tasted of being proven right.
It tasted of fire.
It tasted of betrayal. Not just Jon's betrayal, but Viserys's, Mirri Maz Duur's betrayal... And everyone's betrayal in the room. This liquid told her she wasn't alone. This liquid told her she was right. When she opened her eyes, her pupils shone like a dragon's.
Others began to be drawn in slowly too. Maleficent took a sip with curiosity and felt the feeling of 'injustice' inside her combine with the others' feelings of 'injustice' to turn into pure rage. Bayonetta dipped her lollipop into the fountain, tasted it, and grimaced, saying "Hmm, too bitter."
Wanda didn't move from her corner. She already felt enough pain; she didn't need others'.
The mood of the hall changed. They were no longer just a crowd of 150 powerful women. They had tasted each other's secrets, darkest fears. The air became heavy with unsatiated desire, the smell of blood, and sexual tension. They were no longer looking at each other just as rivals; they were looking as potential prey, potential pieces.
Hela's eyes locked onto Kerrigan's avatar. Both were hunters. Both were here to consume. A silent understanding passed between them.
Diana felt disgust at this changing atmosphere. She tightened her grip on her Lasso. "This is not honor," she said, her voice spreading through the room. "This is monstrosity."
"Honor," hissed Hela, "is a word invented by winners."
Just then, as Hela drew a necro-sword and Diana took a defensive stance, Aetius's voice was heard again. This time it was louder, more commanding.
"Enough."
His voice hit not only their minds but also the physical room. That deep hum vibrating the walls of the room turned into a growl for a moment. Everyone paused.
"The Communion is complete," said Aetius, evident satisfaction in his voice. "You have tasted the menu. You are now connected to each other. You are now... calibrated to the Palace."
"I see some of you... are impatient to start." His voice was on Hela and Diana. "But every banquet has an order. The arenas are weaving... right now, with your newly acquired desires."
The atmosphere in the room changed. That heavy, erotic tension in the air gave way to a cold anticipation.
"This is not a one-night show, ladies. This will be a long-running championship. You will need time to gather your strength, determine your strategy, and most importantly, think about your prey."
"Now," his voice taking on an almost affectionate tone, "Please proceed to your assigned private rooms. Rest. Prepare. Enjoy your 'What if...'."
As soon as his words ended, the walls of the Pale Hall began to move. That veined, organic marble opened with a creaking, wet sound, like the splitting of living flesh.
150 different, glowing portals appeared.
These weren't simple doors. Each was shaped according to its owner's desires and pains.
The portal in front of Harley Quinn was like the mouth of a spinning, neon-colored circus tent. The smell of rotten cotton candy and gunpowder came from inside. Harley giggled, "My room!" and throwing her bat on her shoulder, happily jumped into the portal.
The portal in front of Daenerys was a dark red arch with sharp edges like Valyrian steel. A dry heat and the whisper of ashes came from inside. With the self-confidence given by the power she took from the fountain, Daenerys walked in with her head held high.
Unlike the others, the portal in front of Diana shone with a clean, bright, and golden light. It smelled of salt and olives, like the air of Themyscira. For a moment, she felt her home. But she knew this was a trap. Aetius was using her desire for order. With disgust, but knowing she had no other choice, she stepped toward the light.
Kerrigan's avatar entered the dark, chitin-covered tunnel opened for her without hesitation.
Wanda ran gratefully to the silent, dark void opening before her. It promised a place without pain.
Yennefer entered a passage smelling of lilac and gooseberries, seeming to be covered with mirrors inside.
One by one, 150 women retreated to their own personal, "safe" spaces. The Pale Hall emptied, except for Harley's wet footprints and the soft bubbling of the fountain starting again.
Aetius's voice echoed one last time in the empty hall.
"See you at the tournament."
Aetius opened his eyes in the obsidian room in the Palace of Pleasure. The 150 lights in the pool of potential in front of him were no longer blinking chaotically, but beating with a strong and stable rhythm. The Communion had been successful.
"Perfect," he murmured.
He took a step inside the sensual, organic architecture of the Palace. But this step was taken not on the marble floor, but on reality itself.
The fabric bent. The pink-veined walls and desire-scented air instantly gave way to a cold, measured, and painfully bright geometry.
He was in the SGC Academy Council Hall. This was the center of Lyra's "Order and Structure" chair. It was a massive hall made of pure light and impossible angles. The air didn't smell; there was no air, only the basic components necessary for existence.
Lyra was waiting for him. And she wasn't alone.
The executive team of Aetius's "Crimson Communion" project was there. Lyra was present as an auditor on behalf of the Council, and from the expression on her face, it was clear she was not at all pleased with what she had seen—Aetius knew he had let her watch every moment in the 'Pale Hall'.
"Team," said Aetius, with his warm, velvety voice spreading through the room, contrasting with the sterile coldness of the hall.
"Council Member Aetius," replied a metallic voice. The speaker was Cygnus. He didn't have a physical body; he was a complex data pattern moving within the light beams in the hall. Cygnus was the SGC's Chief Statistician and Data Flow Manager.
"Phase 1 complete," said Cygnus. "Subjects... champions... nested. 'Anima Fountain' integration 98.7 percent successful. Champion Three and Champion Eighty-Eight reject full integration, but the psychic hook is in place. Estimated adaptation time: 3 cycles."
"Excellent, Cygnus," said Aetius.
In the other corner of the room, Kael smiled. Kael was the SGC's "Chief Bard"; his existence consisted of changing stories and narratives. His physical form constantly changed; one moment an old sage, the next a young muse. "Ah, Aetius! The drama! That Amazon's entrance! That jester's dive! That is pure poetry! Narrative potential... immense!"
"Calm down, Kael," said Aetius, smiling. "We are just getting started. Now, Phase 2. The Audience."
Lyra stepped forward. Her posture was rigid with an unbending will. "Aetius. This thing you call 'communion'... It was an abomination. You presented their deepest traumas like a cocktail. This exceeds the ethical boundaries of the experiment."
Aetius sighed. "Lyra, my dear peer. Ethics is a luxury. Our business is truth. And the truth is, that 'abominable' moment connected 150 different beings, the strongest females in the universe, to a single will: Mine. Now, using this will, we will expand the influence of the SGC. This is not just my little 'palace of pleasure'. This will be the SGC's greatest public relations move."
"Public relations?" hissed Lyra. "You dare call this a 'sporting event'."
"Because that is exactly what it is," said Aetius. "But there is more soul than the Olympics, more blood than the World Cup. Kael, prepare the narrative. Cygnus, invitations."
Cygnus's data-form glowed. A massive galaxy map appeared in the middle of the hall. Thousands of dots shone on the map.
"Invitation protocol ready, Council Member," said Cygnus. "Target list approved. Not just SGC Academy members. Broadcast invitations are being sent to all power centers of the universe."
Points on the map were labeled: The Celestial Court. Shadow Merchants. Xylos Corporate Union. And even, the 'Elder Gods of the Outer Ring' whom even the Creator Himself dared not touch.
Lyra looked in horror. "Are you inviting... the entire universe to this bloody circus?"
"Of course," said Aetius. "What use is a show without an audience? These beings will see the power of the SGC. They will see how we can organize even the most chaotic beings—he winked at Lyra—and turn it into profitable entertainment."
Kael intervened excitedly. "And the 'narrative'! We won't just sell the fight. We will sell the story! We will sell the 'What ifs...'! During the fight broadcasts, we will broadcast those memories, those traumas in the champions' minds instantly! The audience will feel why Daenerys burned. Will see why Diana fought. This is dominance through empathy! This is the highest art form!"
Lyra felt nauseous. "This... This is spiritual pornography."
"This is marketing, Lyra," corrected Aetius. "And it will be highly effective. Bets will be opened. Sponsorships will be taken. The SGC will be the sole owner of the universe's biggest 'sports' league. 'The Crimson Communion'."
"What about security?" said Lyra, with a last effort. "What if the Queen of Blades loses control? What if Hela tears the fabric of the Palace?"
A third voice came from a quiet corner of the room. This was Selene. The SGC's Chief Life-Weaver. Her physical form was like a humanoid woven from thousands of vines. "Security is my domain, Council Member Lyra," she said in a soft, melodic voice. "The Palace is a simulation-reality mixture. 'Death' is not an end, but a transition. Their bodies will return to the 'Pale Hall' at the moment of defeat. However... their 'What ifs...', that is, that piece of their soul, will have been transferred to the victor. Psychic death, yes. Physical death, no. The participants' bodies will be protected."
"How... kind," murmured Lyra.
Aetius smiled. His team was complete. Statistician. Narrator. Healer. And his moral compass.
"Everything is ready," said Aetius. "Cygnus, send the invitations. Kael, prepare the narrative for the opening ceremony. Selene, activate the 'relaxing' stimuli in the champions' rooms; I want them rested for the first match."
"And the first match?" asked Cygnus, his voice trembling with anticipation.
Aetius thought of the 150 lights in his pool of potential. They had tasted each other's pain. They were sharpening themselves against each other.
"Let's give the universe an opening they won't forget," said Aetius. "The collision of the purest chaos and the purest order. No... The falsest order."
He paused, his mood lifting as he chose the perfect match.
"First Match: Arena 1, 'Cathedral Garden'. Participant 77... Lara Croft. Logic, survival, order. Against her... Participant 136... Mileena. Pure chaos, savage instinct, insatiable desire."
"The Archaeologist against the Monster," said Kael, his eyes shining. "Wonderful! The eroticism of contrasts! I love it!"
Aetius turned to the massive window in the Council Hall, looked at the sterile, unchanging cosmos outside.
"Lyra," he said. "I reserved a seat for you in my box. The Palace of Pleasure... is going live shortly."
When Aetius's voice echoed in the sterile geometry of the SGC Academy Council Hall, there was a moment of silence. The Council Member, saying "The Archaeologist against the Monster," had smiled with that godlike satisfaction of choosing the perfect contrast, the first victim.
However, Lyra was there to spoil this pleasure.
"No," said Lyra, her voice sharp and cold. "Plainly no, Aetius."
Aetius's smile didn't fade; it just changed direction. "My dear peer Lyra, what exactly do you mean by 'no'? Did you not like the dramaturgy? One logic, the other pure instinct. This is philosophy incarnate."
"Not the dramaturgy," said Lyra, walking toward the center of the massive hall. "I reject the methodology. You brought 150 champions here by exploiting their deepest traumas. You forced them to rape each other's souls in the 'Anima Fountain'. And now, according to your own dark fantasies, you are arbitrarily matching these 'gladiators'. This is not an experiment, Aetius. This is your personal puppet theater."
Aetius laughed. "Puppet theater? We are talking about the most powerful females in the universe! It takes courage to call Hela, Kerrigan 'puppets', Lyra."
"If you hold the strings, they are puppets," insisted Lyra. "If you want this organization to reflect the impartiality and academic seriousness of the SGC—which is what you insist on under the guise of this 'sporting event'—then at least we must appear fair."
"Fair?" Aetius turned this word in his mouth like a morsel. "Justice is a boring concept."
"But 'probability' is not," retorted Lyra. "Wasn't your main interest 'probability'? The unpredictable? Then let it be unpredictable. Let the matchups not be predetermined. Let them be chosen randomly, live, in front of all spectators. Let the fabric of Creation, that 'friction', decide who faces whom. Since you love chaos, then give chaos a chance."
Aetius paused for a moment. He narrowed his eyes. He was weighing the... beauty in Lyra's logic.
His plan was Lara vs. Mileena. It was a perfect opening.
But Lyra's idea...
A random selection. An undetermined fate. At that moment, 150 participants and billions of spectators holding their breath waiting for two names to emerge from the 'Pool of Potential'... This was much more erotic than a planned contrast. This was gambling with probability itself.
Aetius's smile returned, this time much wider and real.
"Lyra," he said, his voice full of admiration. "Beneath that 'Order' facade of yours lies a true lover of chaos. I... approve your idea. Including the first match, all matchups will be drawn live from the 'Anima Fountain' before the eyes of the entire universe. Kael! Rewrite the narrative accordingly. Brand it as 'Destiny's Draw'."
Kael's form transformed from a muse to an excited orator. "Magnificent! 'The Capricious Finger of Fate'! 'Roulette of Souls'! I love it!"
Lyra hadn't relaxed; she had just moved on to the next problem. "What about the balance of power? I took a look at that hall, Aetius. On one side there are goddesses like Hela, Hive-minds like Kerrigan. On the other side... there are mortals like Harley Quinn, even... non-warriors like Mother Teresa. This will not be a competition, this will be a massacre. What 'justice' explains this?"
Aetius waved his hand. "You see the surface again. This tournament is not about muscle power. It is about 'will'. This is an arena where the one with the strongest 'What if...' can win even in the weakest body."
Just then, Chief Statistician Cygnus intervened from the corner of the Council Hall. His metallic voice echoed in the room: "Council Member Lyra's observation is statistically correct. Power imbalance produces predictable results at a rate of 94.3 percent. This negatively affects spectator participation and betting odds."
Lyra cast a grateful look at Cygnus.
Aetius rolled his eyes. "Ah, very well. You want 'balance'. Then let there be 'balance'." He turned to Lyra. "Did you think our participants came to the Palace 'naked'? When I directed them from the 'Pale Hall' to their rooms, a 'Mini-Creator' was placed in each of their rooms. Mind-matter interface. Using the power of their own 'What ifs...', they can create any equipment, weapon, or armor they desire."
"So," explained Aetius, "does Lara Croft want her standard gear? She can create it. Does Yennefer want a staff to focus her chaos? She can create it. And what about Mother Teresa? If her will is strong enough, she can create the 'Armor of Faith'—which might be more durable than Hela's necro-swords. The balance of power is here, Lyra. Not in weapons, but in imagination."
"Also," continued Aetius, "this is not a death match. This is a 'soul harvest'. As designed by our Chief Life-Weaver Selene, a tiny piece—a backup—was taken from each participant's existence. They are safe in our 'Soul Traps'. If their bodies are destroyed in the arena, Selene will reconstruct them in the 'Pale Hall'. Full body guarantee."
He paused, the mockery in his voice returning. "Of course, they will return having lost those 'What ifs...', those most precious pains, spiritually emptied. But physically safe. Can your moral compass accept this much?"
Lyra remained silent. This was an acceptable abomination.
Just then, a third entity appeared in the light in the hall. This was neither from Aetius's team nor Lyra's. This was the SGC's 'External Observer'; its duty was to monitor the effect of the Council's actions on 'sub-universes'—less developed realities not part of the SGC. Its presence was like static noise.
"Council Members," said the Observer, its voice like thousands of news bulletins speaking at once. "A status report. In the 'sub-universes' where subjects were taken, especially Sector 7-G, planet 'Earth', a mass anomaly has been detected."
"Explain," said Lyra sharply.
"Simultaneous disappearances. Marilyn Monroe. Amelia Earhart. Princess Diana. Mother Teresa. Frida Kahlo. And dozens of other 'famous' and 'familiar' figures. These figures hold significant places in the collective consciousness of that planet. Their absence has begun to create mass hysteria, conspiracy theories, and political instability in the social fabric. Earth governments are issuing 'missing person alerts'. The planet is currently on the verge of panic."
Aetius sighed with boredom. "Mortals. How noisy they are."
"Aetius!" said Lyra angrily. "This is your 'interaction' field! You are destabilizing a whole planet! You must send them back!"
"Let them not worry," Aetius said to the Observer. "When the tournament ends, the winners will receive their 'prizes', and the losers... will be 'reconstructed'. All will be placed back into their time-streams at the exact moment they were taken. Their minds will be cleansed with a gentle veil of 'oblivion' that will erase every memory of the Palace of Pleasure. They will remember nothing. Planet Earth will have drunk a cold glass of water over their hysteria. Now, if the trivial problems of 'sub-universes' are over, we need to start a universal broadcast."
Lyra looked at him with disgust, but Aetius had already turned to Cygnus.
"Cygnus. Send the broadcast invitations. To all frequencies. From Shadow Merchants to the Celestial Court. I want everyone to know that 'The Crimson Communion' has begun."