Every room lined along the corridors of the Palace of Pleasure was a sinister, personalized alloy of heaven and hell.
Lara Croft's sanctuary consisted of an intricate combination of a massive library, a cold armory, and a sheer climbing wall. She spent her days testing the 'Creator,' which turned the designs in her mind into reality. She had recreated a carbon-fiber bow, an ice axe, and those familiar dual pistols, yes, but her mind was more occupied with the psychic echoes she had tasted from the fountain. Kerrigan's telepathy commanding the Zerg swarm, Hela's Asgardian magic raising the dead... Lara was collecting not just weapons, but information.
Just beyond, Harley Quinn's room hosted an abandoned, rusty amusement park. While smashing mirrored labyrinths into smithereens with the giant mallet in her hand, she was plotting how to turn that "mint chocolate betrayal" taste she got from the fountain into a weapon. The only things she demanded from the Creator were that famous baseball bat with "Bite Me" written on it and a box of dynamite.
Diana's room was a calm temple mimicking the peace of Themyscira. She meditated for hours, trying to drown that poisonous "What if..." seed Aetius had planted in her mind with the truth of her Lasso. She had refused to touch the Creator; for her weapons came not from mortal machines, but from the grace of the gods.
Meanwhile, the SGC Academy Square was invaded by the most bizarre, powerful, and wealthy figures of the universe.
This platinum-covered massive square, normally the scene of Council members' parades, now resembled an intergalactic paddock area. While Shadow Merchants docking with silent ships woven from pure darkness bent the light around them with their presence; CEOs of the Xylos Corporate Union had landed with their kilometers-long luxury yachts carved from diamond. Each was pouring fortunes for the broadcasting rights of the upcoming 'Crimson Communion.'
Cosmic entities not deigning to use physical vehicles glided into their boxes with bodies made of pure sound accompanied by operatic notes. Gas giants arriving in massive plasma spheres were querying betting odds with psychic waves.
In the center of all this chaos rose Chief Life-Weaver Selene's masterpiece: Arena 1, aka 'Cathedral Garden.'
Although from the outside it resembled a Gothic cathedral dome thousands of meters high wrapped in black vines, those vines were alive; writhing, breathing. The stained-glass window at the top of the dome depicted not a saint, but Aetius's ominous symbol—the snake eating its own tail fertilizing a lotus flower.
A tense, electrically charged anticipation dominated the atmosphere. Spectators had come not just to watch, but to join the storm created by that psychic energy leaking from the 'Anima Fountain.' Ozone, the exotic perfumes of thousands of different species, and that irrepressible metallic smell of blood mixed in the air.
Betting terminals managed by Cygnus were operating frantically. Hela was a three-to-one favorite, Kerrigan five-to-one. Wonder Woman, given no chance because she "refused," was at fifty-to-one odds, while Marilyn Monroe... was off the board. No one could predict what an "icon" could do on the battlefield.
Days melted away, preparations concluded, and the first day of the 'Crimson Communion' arrived.
The interior of 'Cathedral Garden' was even more breathtaking than its exterior. In boxes rising like balconies clinging to ruined walls, billions of beings focused on the arena below, shoulder to shoulder or with their psychic fields touching. The floor, composed of cracked marble and pale blue glowing mushrooms sprouting from between them, offered natural cover with overturned altars. The air was humid, heavy; intensified with the burden of ancient prayers and fresh sins.
One hundred and fifty participants waited with strained nerves behind their personal transit gates beneath the arena. Power was at a tangible intensity.
Suddenly, the giant stained-glass window above the arena glowed, washing the interior of the cathedral in blood-red light. Billions of breaths were held simultaneously.
Within the beam of light descending onto the overturned altar appeared Chief Bard Kael. Today he was in the form of a knight clad in silver armor, but his unhelmeted face was constantly changing, holding a glowing energy staff instead of a physical microphone.
His voice vibrated the pillars of the cathedral, translated into each being's native language in their minds.
"BEINGS OF THE UNIVERSE! CHILDREN OF CREATION! MERCHANTS OF SHADOWS AND LORDS OF LIGHT!"
His voice trembling with enthusiasm turned into a roar shaking the marble walls.
"THE SUPREME GALACTIC COUNCIL INVITES YOU... TO THE 'CRIMSON COMMUNION'!"
"Today," continued Kael, "we are not writing history, we are reconstructing it! This arena is not merely stone and light; this is a temple where regret and desire unite! 150 Champions pulled from the four corners of the galaxy, from different layers of time, are here to destroy their biggest 'WHAT IFs...', those indelible regrets!"
The murmur rising from the crowd was a sign of identification beyond betting.
"But victory has a price! While the winner gains the right to rewrite that 'moment', the loser will present that piece of her soul, that most precious pain, to the victor! This is not a fight, ladies and gentlemen; this is a COMMUNION! A spiritual harvest!"
Kael raised his staff dramatically. "Now, thanks to Council Member Lyra's fair insistence and Aetius's chaotic generosity... We determine our first matchup! Let the ROULETTE OF DESTINY spin!"
As the stained glass at the top of the cathedral darkened, a massive holographic image of the 'Anima Fountain's bubbling champagne-colored liquid appeared. One hundred and fifty points of light were dancing, spinning, merging. When Kael lowered his staff, a single beam of light shooting from the fountain concentrated in the middle of the arena.
Blonde hair. A white dress. Red lips.
The wave of astonishment spreading through the crowd stemmed from this figure being not a warrior, but an old 'sub-universe' icon.
"OUR FIRST CHAMPION!" roared Kael. "Symbol of earthly desire! Dream of men, envy of women! Her regret: 'If I could have remained just Norma Jeane, not an icon...' Presenting... MARILYN MONROE!"
The symbol on one of the participant doors glowed; inside, Marilyn—or Norma Jeane—opened her eyes.
"And HER OPPONENT!"
The fountain churned again, the second light appeared in a much sharper form. Ponytail, determined gaze, dual pistols. The crowd welcomed this familiar archetype, this warrior, with applause.
"HER OPPONENT! Daughter of logic! Conqueror of the impossible! Explorer of lost tombs! Her regret: 'If I hadn't let my father get on that plane...' Presenting... LARA CROFT!"
As Lara took a deep breath and checked the slide of her pistols, Kael spread his arms wide. "Icon versus Archaeologist! Soft Power versus Pure Will! This is not just a fight, it is a philosophy! CHAMPIONS! TO THE ARENA!"
The doors slowly opened.
Lara Croft emerged from one side. The tactical gear she procured from the Creator shone in the dim light of the cathedral. Instead of her standard khaki outfit; she wore a dark green, ballistic vest-like top hugging her body and black carbon-fiber textured cargo pants. Modified silenced pistols hung in holsters at her hips, a carbon-fiber bow on her back, and an ice axe at her waist. With her face lightly camouflaged with mud and practical ponytail, she was there not for a show, but for a hunt. Her eyes focused not on her opponent; but on covers, cracked marbles, and moving vines.
From the other door glided Marilyn Monroe.
Instead of walking, she flowed a few inches above the pink marble floor. That iconic, pleated white dress on her was not made of cotton, but of the material of Aetius's Palace; woven from moonlight and solidified whispers. It rippled with a non-existent breeze, becoming transparent with every movement promising the contours of the body beneath. While her platinum blonde hair shone like an ethereal halo, her red lips were the only warm color in the gloomy cathedral.
She had no weapon. No armor.
But she had drunk from the 'Anima Fountain', accepted her 'What if...'. She had demanded from the Creator not a weapon, but a concept; 'desire' itself as a weapon. When her eyes locked onto Lara, there was no trace of fear in her gaze; only deep, bottomless understanding and hunger could be read.
The silence settling over the crowd was proof that the brutality they expected would not come.
"BEGIN!"
With Kael's roar, the cathedral's old bells began to ring with a rusty and eerie noise.
Although this noise signaled the start of the match, the two opponents, one a hunter and the other a divine bait, had not yet moved.
Lara Croft's eyes did not leave her opponent's gliding form for even a moment. Her tactical mind was analyzing the situation: Target unarmored, no visible weapon, posture defenseless. Threat level: Unknown. Or maximum. Marilyn was just smiling; examining not the arena, but Lara, the tension in her shoulders, the pressure in her fingers gripping the hilt, and her controlled breathing.
As Lara slowly sidestepped toward the nearest broken pew, Kael's voice filled the air in the arena, this time with a more educational, almost obscene tone.
"As our champions take their places," the voice echoed, "let us remind you of the rules of the Crimson Communion! This is not one of those barbaric fights you know! This is an art, a seduction!"
Lara paused. "Rule One!" continued Kael. "Killing is FORBIDDEN! Bodies are our property, inflicting permanent damage on them is waste. The defeated body will be reconstructed by Chief Life-Weaver Selene."
Killing forbidden. Lara frowned; although this was a restriction she was used to, the continuation was worrying.
"Rule Two! The main goal!" Kael's voice had now turned into a lustful whisper reaching the farthest corner of the cathedral. "The goal is to activate sexual impulses, to reach the peak of desire and lust! This is a battle of wills. We will see who can subjugate their opponent's body. In this context... everything is permitted!"
While that deep, almost orgasmic murmur of approval rising from the crowd nauseated Lyra, Aetius watched in awe, fingertips joined in the shadow of his box. Cramps entered Lara's stomach as she tried to comprehend what she heard. Desire? This wasn't a fight, it was collective perversion.
"And finally Victory Conditions!" said Kael. When the cathedral bells struck with a single and deep GONG sound, Lara moved instantly, taking cover behind the marble altar with two rolls. Fast, fluid, and lethal. She drew her pistols and aimed at Marilyn, but Kael wouldn't stop talking.
"VICTORY CONDITION ONE: Total Surrender! Whoever falls on their back due to their opponent's actions and whose will refuses to rise loses! That moment you embrace the marble with your entire being is defeat!"
Lara held her breath. She ran through Jiu-jitsu techniques, pressure and locking moves in her mind.
"SECONDARY VICTORY CONDITION: Absolute Pleasure! If a champion stimulates her opponent so much that her body can no longer endure and releases 'pleasure fluid' from that sacred gate... This is absolute victory! It is the moment the body wins against the soul, the will submits to lust!"
While the crowd went wild, Lara was frozen. Interference with sexual organs, fluid... Her brain refused to process these data, she felt nauseous.
Just then, Marilyn's soft voice was heard from the other side of the altar: "No need to hide, little Explorer. There are no treasures here. Only... me."
Lara flinched and looked over the altar. Marilyn hadn't moved, she was still shining with that impossible light in the middle of the arena. When she slowly opened her palm, a ripple appeared in the air around her. This wasn't a physical shield, but the concentrated form of desire; a transparent aura that was the combination of Marilyn's identity and 'What if...', bending every intention and turning it into desire.
Putting aside hesitation, Lara made her decision. The bullet from her silenced pistol cut through the air; a perfect shot, right to the kneecap. However, a meter away from Marilyn, the bullet slowed down as if stuck in invisible honey, hung in the air, and its kinetic energy turned into a red-gold spark, falling to the ground as a harmless piece of metal.
Her eyes widening in astonishment saw that the two bullets she fired in succession shared the same fate.
"Guns..." whispered Marilyn, her voice echoing in the arena. "So... masculine, aren't they? So penetrating. But there is nothing here that wants to be penetrated, honey. Everything here is already open."
Pistols weren't working. Lara drew the bow on her back and fired a shock arrow. Even the arrow traveling faster than bullets, when it hit that 'desire shield', its electrical charge dispersed with a pink light; instead of sticking, it changed direction as if gently caressed and glided to the ground.
Kael was shouting excitedly: "Champion Monroe has neutralized the 'Explorer's entire arsenal! Lara Croft must now rely only on her muscle power and will!"
Ignoring the words, Lara came out from behind the altar. She took the ice axe at her waist, that most reliable primitive tool, into her hand. Her other hand was empty; this would be close combat. "Alright," she murmured, "old school."
She started running toward Marilyn with the focused attack of a panther. Her goal was to breach that shield, catch the body, and knock it down. However, as she approached, she realized that "shield" didn't just stop bullets, it also changed the air. As the dizzying mix of Chanel No. 5, sweat, champagne, and ozone filled her lungs, her muscles grew heavy, her tactical armor turning into a burden choking her.
Her earpiece began to crackle; this wasn't static noise, it was a distorted, whispered echo of the song "Happy Birthday, Mr. President." Psychic attack. Lara ripped off the earpiece and threw it away, raising her ice axe. Five meters remained.
Marilyn opened her arms wide and fluttered her skirts. "Come, tired explorer. Come and rest."
Lara roared with a final strength and crashed into that invisible wall. Her will—that pure, stubborn survival instinct—breached the desire shield for a moment and the first contact occurred. Her body crashed into Marilyn, the ice axe grazed her shoulder but that "whisper-silk" dress didn't tear. The moment metal touched fabric, it lost its sharpness and slid.
When Lara grabbed her opponent by the waist and moved into a shoulder lock, what she felt wasn't a woman's skin, but pure sensation. It was as if she had stuck her hand into thousands of volts of emotion; cold, smooth, and burning. As her body shook with this intense sensory overload, "W... what is this?" she hissed.
Marilyn hissed like a snake in Lara's arms and whispered: "This is what you never had, honey. Permission."
Turning like water inside Lara's lock, Marilyn was now chest to chest with her. Her hands slowly reached for Lara's tactical armor. "Rule," said Marilyn, "ripping clothes is permitted."
Buckles opened not like rusty locks, but as if persuaded by Marilyn's touch. Click. Click. When the ballistic vest slid off her shoulders and fell, Lara was left with only her sweaty tank top. Trembling with rage and humiliation, "Stay away from me!" she shouted and pushed Marilyn.
Gliding back gracefully, Marilyn raised her hands innocently. "But rules, Explorer. I'm just following the rules."
Lara was breathless. No weapons, armor gone, only her will remained. When Marilyn approached gliding again, Lara swung a left hook. However, Marilyn slipped past like a matador while caressing Lara's abdominal muscles with her hand. This touch created not pain, but a strange and nauseating wave of pleasure. Lara's breath caught, her fist hung in the air.
"No..." she moaned.
"Yes," whispered Marilyn behind her. "Your body is more honest than your mind."
Her hands went to the hem of Lara's tank top this time. "All those tombs, those cold stones... You deserve a little warmth." Even though Lara shouted "Shut up!", Marilyn delivered the final blow: "Your father... wouldn't want you to be so tense."
This mental blow broke the door opening to Lara's soul. The tank top tore with the sound of a scream; Lara's back was exposed to the cold light of the cathedral. Falling to her knees, Lara was experiencing a spiritual collapse, not physical.
Marilyn knelt in front of her. "Rule Two... Direct interference." When her hand reached for Lara's belt, the Explorer's voice turned into the plea of a scared woman: "No! Please!"
"Shhh..." Her dress wrapped around them like a tent. Lara's body was shaking with strange waves of pleasure, losing control. However, Marilyn hadn't finished yet, she lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. Lara's gaze was lost in that insatiable vortex of desire.
When she pushed gently, Lara's body slowly toppled onto the marble floor. Her back, shoulders touched the ground; her legs opened involuntarily, her arms fell to the sides as if crucified.
On her back. Total Surrender.
Although her muscles worked, her will had been crushed by Marilyn, covered like a blanket by that desire shield. As Marilyn stood over her with her white dress shining victoriously, Kael whispered in shock: "Champion Croft... is down. And not getting up."
Marilyn leaned down, she could have forced the Second Rule but there was no need. She planted a gentle kiss on Lara's forehead. "Thanks, honey."
With that kiss, the gray, smoky light filtering from Lara's soul—that 'What if...', her father's memory and regret—was drunk by Marilyn's lips. When Marilyn straightened up, her eyes shone with Lara's memories, then merged with her own desire. She had now swallowed an explorer's will too.
A deep GONG sound echoed.
"AND THE WINNER!" roared Kael. "WEAPON OF ABSOLUTE PLEASURE... MARILYN MONROE!"
As the crowd exploded, Lara's body was being pulled back by Selene's system, vanishing with a pale light on the marble floor. Marilyn was alone in the middle of the arena with that million-dollar smile.
Kael's hysterical laughter broke the silence. "THIS WAS POETRY! Did you see how those heavy weapons, steel will melted against a single whisper-silk dress?"
The crowd, shaking off the shock, began to applaud this new paradigm, this art where will was spilled instead of blood. Marilyn, with the discipline brought by that 'father regret' she sucked from Lara's soul, was now looking more analytically. Blowing a final kiss to the crowd, she glided and retreated to her room.
Kael shouted: "Our first meal was sweet and soft. Let's see... how hard our second meal will be?"