The account of our unscheduled detour into Drusilla’s fanatical little world requires a precise, chronological record. The official report for the Blockhouse archives must be accurate, after all. I began to dictate my recollection, the cool, analytical process of it a familiar comfort after the chaos.

"The flash of green light dissolved, and the roar of the crowd was replaced by a profound, chilling silence..."

"Hang on a second."

I paused, looking across the polished oak table in the Blockhouse debriefing room. Alex was leaning forward, a challenging glint in her eyes. Alistair, sitting at the head of the table, merely steepled his fingers, a silent observer.

"Before we get to the marble panic room and the psycho-bitch," Alex said, her voice a low growl, "let's be clear on one thing. The record needs to show that I won."

I sighed. "You won a simulated contest via a sleeper hold that—"

"That put you to sleep," she cut in, a smirk playing on her lips. "Clean win. No 'technicality.' The Great Hanavari was snoring on the canvas. Just so we're clear."

"Duly noted in the minutes," I said dryly. "May I continue?"

Alex leaned back, crossing her powerful arms. "Proceed."

As I was saying... My senses, still reeling from what Alex insists on calling her 'clean win', were assaulted by a new reality: a room with marbled walls, both vast and confining.

"While she was doing her magic spreadsheet," Alex interjected, looking at Alistair, "I was mapping the room. My first instinct is always the same: map the terrain. It was a box. White marble, maybe thirty feet square, high ceiling. One main archway, guarded by two statues. No other visible doors or windows. A kill box."

Her tactical assessment was, as usual, brutally direct. I continued. "As Alex was mapping the exits, or lack thereof, a voice, ancient and crystalline, echoed through the chamber."

"Be quiet."

"It wasn't happy about our little post-match debate," Alex added.

"Indeed. The statues, as I deduced, were magical constructs. I advised a cautious approach."

"She told me not to punch it," Alex clarified for Alistair. "I was going to punch it."

"A tactical error at that juncture," I said, resuming the narrative. "However, our continued discussion provoked them."

Without a sound, they moved, a fluid, impossibly fast surge. A cold, unyielding grip closed around my arm. Beside me, Alex met the statue's grab with a reflexive surge of her own superhuman strength, but her power met unyielding stone. I saw a flicker of horror on her face, but it was instantly replaced by a cold, analytical focus as she began testing the grip, her eyes tracing the lines of the statue's arm.

"It was like trying to arm-wrestle a mountain," Alex explained, her voice tight. "The shock of it, the sheer negation of my power, hit me harder than any punch. I hated it. But I was already looking for a leverage point, a weakness in the joint."

We were pulled through the archway into an ancient, oppressive arena. At the far end, on a raised dais, sat Drusilla, no longer an academic, but a warrior-priestess for her goddess.

"An arena," Alex continued the debrief. "My tactical brain kicked in again. Open ground, high ground for the commander, a dozen more statues lining the walls, and about a thousand brainwashed women for an army. Our odds were not good."

Drusilla explained we were to be part of her 'honour guard,' then demonstrated her power with the Scourge, forcing the captive women to fight to the death. It was a purge.

"It was a waste," Alex cut in, her tone laced with disgust. "All those women, fighting with pure rage, no technique. All flailing and screaming. A real fighter could have taken ten of them at once. She wasn't building an army; she was just breaking her toys."

I looked at Alex. Our rivalry was an absurd memory. We had to get out. Our defiance, however, was noted. More statues seized us and we were carried to a chamber of horrors.

"Another box," Alex said, taking over. "One entrance. Torture racks everywhere—potential improvised weapons. They stripped us and bolted us to the floor in the centre. A perfectly designed trap."

We were at our lowest point. Her footsteps echoed from the corridor. She entered wearing the heavy, sleeveless apron of a butcher, the Scourge in her hand pulsing with a predatory hunger. She stopped before Alex. "You," she said. "The body. The one who defies."

She raised the Scourge and struck. I flinched, not just from the sound, but from the sheer empathic shock of the impact. I saw Alex’s entire body lock up, her abdominal muscles tensing into an unyielding wall of granite.

Alex leaned forward again, her voice low and intense. "The first hit was like being electrocuted and dunked in ice water at the same time. Not just pain, but a deep, cellular cold that tried to snuff out the fire in my muscles. Every nerve ending screamed. With the pain came a voice, a nasty little whisper in my head, some ancient bitch telling me to kneel, to break, that I’d feel so much better if I just gave in. I gritted my teeth. ‘Fuck off,’ I told her. ‘My body, my rules.’"

Drusilla's serene expression faltered. "Interesting," she murmured. "The goddess's gift is not enough to break you."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, princess," Alex had grunted.

Drusilla's fury was palpable. She struck again, and again, and again. I lost count after the tenth blow, each one a sickening thud of divine energy against mortal flesh. And yet, that flesh did not break. I was watching something impossible. It wasn't just strength; it was an act of pure, indomitable will that bordered on the sublime. She was magnificent, a masterpiece of defiance.

"The second hit was worse," Alex continued, her eyes distant. "She was getting angry, putting more juice into it. This time it felt like acid being poured into my veins. The bitch in my head got louder, showing me images of me bowing to her, serving her.

It took everything I had to build a wall in my mind and tell her to piss off again. After the tenth hit, the pain just became a constant, white-hot noise. The voice wasn't whispering anymore; it was roaring, trying to rewrite my instincts, trying to make my muscles obey it instead of me. It was an actual fight, inside my own damn head, for every inch of ground."

Her goading was a masterclass in psychological warfare. "Come on," she'd taunted. "What's the matter? Is your little toy not working?"

"I wasn't just trying to piss her off," Alex confirmed. "I was trying to make her sloppy. I needed her so focused on breaking me that she forgot all about you."

Her strategy worked. Drusilla's power became a single, unguardable point of vulnerability. This wasn't just a lesson for Alex; it was a lesson for me.

Drusilla, in her ultimate frustration, looped the Scourge around Alex’s neck, pulling it taut. I watched, my own heart hammering against my ribs, as the green light flared, a direct channel of divine, destructive energy. Every muscle in Alex's neck and shoulders stood out like steel cables. She was holding back the will of a goddess with nothing but sinew and sheer bloody-mindedness. It was the most incredible thing I had ever witnessed.

It was then I knew I had to act. Now.

I closed my eyes, audited the magic of the chamber, and found the command line for the statue nearest me. I inserted a new directive: 'Acknowledge new user.' The connection was instantaneous. With a single, explosive thought, I sprang the locks on our cuffs.

"My turn," Alex roared.

She exploded upwards. My statue intercepted its counterpart. Alex’s assault sent Drusilla stumbling back, the Scourge clattering to the floor. Its green light pulsed, and as my eyes fell upon it, I was pulled into a vision of the goddess Bellona herself. She offered me her power. "A goddess who is so fickle with her followers is a poor investment," I told her, and the vision shattered.

The chamber began to collapse.

"Hanavari, do something!" Alex had yelled, turning her fury on the remaining statue.

While I gathered the ambient magic into concussive blasts, Alex put her environmental map to use. "This was my turf now," Alex said. "Chaos. I used the mental map I'd made. I bypassed the torture racks—too small—and went straight for a decorative marble column. Felt good to finally break something."

It was a losing battle. I needed an exit. I reached out with my mind to you Alistair. The image formed—you in the ring, waving. A shimmering, violet portal tore open in the chamber.

"Alex, now!" I had screamed.

She slung the unconscious Drusilla over one shoulder and grabbed me with her other arm. "No way was I letting her go," she stated simply. With a powerful leap, she launched us through.

We landed hard on the canvas, our new stone pet thudding down behind us. The adrenaline of the fight was still a raging fire in Alex. She dropped Drusilla and grabbed me, not in anger, but as an anchor.

"After having that thing in my head," Alex explained quietly, "I needed to hold onto something solid. Something real."

I collapsed with her, understanding completely. We held each other, two exhausted survivors.

It was then, Alistair, that you made your entrance. You broke the spell, and you pointed out that our unconscious guest was beginning to stir. I knew what I had to do. I raised my hand, and the shrieking Drusilla became a small, elegant statue of a Roman priestess.

You picked it up, expressing your satisfaction. "You learn quickly," you had said. You provided raincoats and directed us to the Jaguar.

In the car, you prompted us for this very debrief. After I recounted the magical systems, you turned to Alex. "And you, Alex?" you asked. "What did you experience?"

"Heads up," Alex said, her voice rough. "That whip isn't just for show. It gets in your head. She wasn't just hitting me, she was trying to recruit me. The cold, the acid, the voice... it was an all-out assault."

You nodded slowly. "As I suspected. A parasite." You held up the statue. "It's a shame, in a way. All that devotion, so thoroughly misspent." You then revealed her identity.

"Her name was Drusilla Volumnia. An archaeologist. The Scourge found her, and her academic obsession curdled into this."

Alex had snorted. "An archaeologist? All that trouble for some nut who couldn't separate her job from her hobbies? Just another crazy fan who took things way too far."

"There is often a very fine line between a scholar and a fanatic," you had replied, your eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "She simply crossed it. And in doing so, provided you both with an invaluable, if rather brutal, field examination."

I looked out the window at the passing city. An archaeologist. A scholar who dug too deep and unearthed something that consumed her.

In the car, you prompted us for this very debrief. After I recounted the magical systems, you turned to Alex. "And you, Alex?" you asked. "What did you experience?"

"Heads up," Alex said, her voice rough. "That whip isn't just for show. It gets in your head. She wasn't just hitting me, she was trying to recruit me. The cold, the acid, the voice... it was an all-out assault."

You nodded slowly. "As I suspected. A parasite. And the device itself? The Scourge. Did you retrieve it?"

There was a beat of silence in the car, broken only by the rhythmic swish of the wipers. I looked at Alex, whose jaw was set. I answered for both of us. "It was lost when the chamber collapsed."

Your eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, unreadable. "A pity," you murmured, the words holding a weight that settled over us. "A great pity. An artifact that can channel divine will is a rare prize. And exceedingly dangerous to leave lying in the rubble for the next fanatic to unearth."

You then lifted the small statue from the console. "Still, we have the user, if not the tool. It's a shame, in a way. All that devotion, so thoroughly misspent." You then revealed her identity. "Her name was Drusilla Volumnia. An archaeologist. The Scourge found her, and her academic obsession curdled into this."

Alex had snorted. "An archaeologist? All that trouble for some nut who couldn't separate her job from her hobbies? Just another crazy fan who took things way too far."

"There is often a very fine line between a scholar and a fanatic," you had replied, your gaze lingering on me in the mirror. "She simply crossed it. And in doing so, provided you both with an invaluable, if rather brutal, field examination."

I looked out the window at the passing city. An archaeologist. A scholar who dug too deep and unearthed something that consumed her. Our ordeal was over. But the accounting, for a mission that was only a partial success, I realized, was just beginning.

I then looked at Alex, staring at her after recounting all of this, "Fancy a rematch?"

"What Wrestling?"

"No, fucking, all this energy need a release Alex"