This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

Sol left the restroom feeling much more intimately familiar with the process of sex, with two cum-filled, cum-covered, barely conscious friends dizzily holding each other. It had been a productive detour, and she departed with a bounce in her step.

She returned to her exploration. Not all of her adventures were centered around lewdness; she did plenty of mundane research. For most of the day, she snooped around town and observed people in their daily lives, trying to become less clueless on how people interacted, and what certain items, places, actions, and behaviors meant in specific contexts. How society worked.

Sol wanted to know more. Not just because she wanted to solve the mystery of Zoey's link to a Prime—though that was the excuse she kept at the forefront of her mind, considering the transgression of ignoring Mother's directive to stay hidden—but because she was also simply curious. She had always been. And humans were, objectively, much more interesting than most lifeforms her people invaded. More dangerous, too. Hence why they had only come to this world since it should have been abandoned.

Over the following days, Sol lingered mostly in public places, since they were the easiest to find many varied reactions in. She lurked in more private ways too, though: in homes, in private conversations, and other intimate encounters.

She understood the concept of privacy, by this point, so she did feel a little guilty at the invasion, but she did so in the way of an academic: with curiosity at the forefront of her mind. Even when she peeked in on lewd encounters, Sol did so as an impartial observer.

Or, to the best of her ability. Her human body reacted in ways she didn't always want it to. She at least kept her indiscretions invisible. The majority of people were far, far too weak to detect her presence. Sol wasn't the strongest of her kind, but she was the Fourth Daughter. A favored of Mother. Young, inexperienced, but definitely not weak.

But some of the humans were strong, so she wasn't completely safe in her sneaking-around. It could be difficult to tell a person's strength at a glance, since most kept their power under wraps. Sol found it easiest to detect dangerous wayfarers through ancillary methods, rather than a direct appraisal. The size of their inventory—that odd spacial pocket they stored items in—was one such useful give-away, but also other passive abilities that weren't masked as easily as their raw strength: their 'skills'.

Sol had the capability of seeing magic in its raw form, which none of these humans could—from what she had seen—and that afforded her many abilities and conveniences that were simply alien to these people. That they couldn't guard or defend against. Though she made sure to be careful; it was risky to take anything for granted in a foreign world.

Days passed as Sol slowly grew more comfortable in this fascinating society. Eventually, something caught her eye.

Or rather, someone.

Sol found the woman in an inn called The Wyrm's Respite. Inns had become a favorite place for her to spy on people—to politely observe, she meant—since they offered a wide selection of personalities, and the crowds were easy to blend in with. She would even try her hand at casual interaction, occasionally, which usually didn't go well, but was an exciting experience nonetheless.

Even the wayfarers—the name given to those dedicated to advancing in fields of combat magic—didn't draw Sol's attention much; most people passing through were simply … uninteresting. Mundane. Sol still studied them, but they weren't important. Not like Zoey.

But this woman. The newcomer she bumped into a few days into her observations. Sol knew immediately she was different. The woman stalked in and sat at the bar, mostly unheeded by other patrons, but only because she was clearly making an effort to not stand out. Sol saw through it. She had spent the past few days scrutinizing everything that moved, so it was clear as day.

She got the woman's name from her curt conversation with the barkeep. Lucinda. Further observation only grew Sol's fascination. There was something about the way the woman carried herself. A bored disdain in brown eyes as they passed over the rowdy inn.

She was an older woman, with dark hair streaked with silver done up in a tight bun. She had a severe facial structure, hard and arrogant like a predator, and what glimpses of skin Sol could catch beneath her cloak were covered with scars. Her aura was subdued, repressed to Sol's magical senses, not giving away her strength in a concrete manner—but Sol had other methods of detecting strength.

Not that she needed them. She could tell just by looking at the woman what she was. A fighter. A killer. Not a wayfarer of the caliber she had spotted throughout the city thus far, but someone who had climbed much, much higher through those ranks. Of the thousands of people Sol had observed since coming to human territory, she knew immediately that this woman—Lucinda—was the strongest. And it wasn't particularly close.

Brown eyes slid over to Sol, catching her staring from across the inn. It felt like cold water doused her entire body, and she hastily looked away. How had she even noticed?

Who was she?

What was her advancement? Sol had known this society hosted individuals of staggering strength—it was why the Famished weren't eager to rush headlong into confrontation, and instead had chosen to gnaw at the edges of their society, weakening them until the time was right.

Had she run into one such juggernaut? Or was Sol reading too much into the encounter? Getting overexcited and imagining things? She could read raw magic in a way no human could—and while certain passive effects swirled around the woman of a complexity she hadn't ever seen, it was all muted. Hidden from her, so that Sol couldn't decipher what she was looking at. The wayfarer's abilities were better masked than everyone else she had met, including her inventory, which was its own giveaway, but it also meant Sol couldn't pinpoint just how much of a threat she was.

Sol wasn't the only one whose attention gravitated to Lucinda, even when she was trying to blend in. Curious individuals approached her, and Sol eagerly—if trying to be discreet, since she'd been caught once—watched. But they were met only with glares and brusque, dismissive commands: for them to leave. Then, when people tried to insist, the woman summoned a giant weapon—a spear made of shiny black obsidian—and rested it to her side. That sent the proper signal. People stopped approaching her.

After finishing her meal, Lucinda scooped up her weapon, deposited it into her inventory, and strode for the exit. She really hadn't come to dawdle, then. Only for a meal.

And thus, with the woman leaving—the most fascinating individual Sol had bumped into, besides Zoey—Sol was faced with an important decision.

Did she follow?

It was dangerous. The mysterious wayfarer was perhaps the only person Sol had met thus far who could actually harm her—who could kill her, even. The Passage served as a difficult-to-thwart escape, but if Sol had the right impression of this woman, escape only mattered if she had the time to flee. A wayfarer of truly high advancement could strike her dead before she knew what was happening.

And there were ways of blocking the Passage, too. It wasn't a perfect defense. Especially in a world as diverse and uncharted as this one: the Famished, and Sol in particular, only had vague understandings of what this society was capable of.

So. If she did choose to follow the woman, she couldn't use abilities that gave her origin away. That was too risky for her people—to their mission. For that matter, following at all was risky, bordering on idiotic.

But Sol was curious.

Slinking out of her booth, Sol's feet carried her forward. Her heart pounded. This was really such a terrible idea, but she almost didn't have a choice in the matter. She'd grown too accustomed to indulging her curiosity in the past several days. She'd lost all self-control.

If she presented herself as simply a citizen, surely the woman wouldn't retaliate meaningfully if she were caught. Right? While strictly hierarchical, society from what she'd seen wasn't excessively violent. The weak weren't slaughtered by the strong—even if the strong clearly stood above them.

Though that might not be true with high-advancement wayfarers. Again, that was the problem: Sol knew so little that she had no way of weighing the risks. A rational judgment was impossible.

Regardless, she followed.

A thrill ran through her as she snuck onto the streets, trailing the woman. Mother had always kept her out of the frontlines; Sol had been in very few positions of danger. And this was definitely dangerous. It was a different kind of excitement than what she was used to. Fear. The sensation was strangely titillating.

She wondered what kinds of artifacts were stored in the woman's inventory. Even what she'd seen rifling through Zoey's had been fascinating, and Zoey was much, much weaker—though admittedly divinely imbued—than the woman she now followed. As far as Sol could tell, these people were oblivious to her ability to untie spatial constructs and sneak items out, so should she try? The potential for reward was immense, assuming she was correct about the woman's status. She had to be in possession of items of incredible magical potency. Those were hard to find—and Sol had been struggling to keep her Hunger quenched. She could go for a snack.

Enticing as it was, she discarded the idea. She was terrified to even follow. Stealing was entirely out of the question.

Lucinda took her through several turns of major streets, then into less-frequented parts of town. She didn't seem to notice Sol—and to be fair, Sol had become very good at hiding herself. Stealth was her people's natural state; they were scavengers who hid in the woodwork. Between states of being, even, though Sol didn't employ that kind of stealth: she was avoiding using the Famished's abilities, in case the worst happened.

Then Lucinda veered down an alleyway, and Sol hesitated. She'd been hoping the mysterious woman would go somewhere public so she could keep eavesdropping and observing. But into an alleyway?

Sol bit her lip, then, sidling up to the edge, peeked around.

A hand grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, and Sol was slammed into the side of the building. Stars filled her vision. A hand pressed into her neck, choking her, and Sol scrambled against an iron grip, fingernails digging into skin but failing to free herself—to make the hand budge in the slightest.

She repressed her panicked instinct to fade into the Passage. She had been ready for the possibility of being caught, and her best defense was pretending to be a regular human. Veering from that could go very badly. Both for herself, and her people. Sol would not be the one to give away the Famished's invasion.

"You've been following me," Lucinda said calmly.

Cool brown eyes gazed into Sol's, and Lucinda seemed nearly bored with the situation—or perhaps a muted sort of exasperation that her busy schedule was being interrupted by this interrogation. It was rather intimidating, especially with Sol flailing and choking in her grip.

"C-Can't—breathe—" Sol gasped. "Please."

The grip loosened, and Sol sucked in a breath of air. She forcibly stopped herself from struggling. Her head spun from being slammed into the wall.

And yet, Sol knew the woman was being delicate with her. She could feel the strength in the woman's muscles, now, rather than just interpret it. Sol was much, much stronger than a human, and she doubted she could thrash free even if she tried. And with Lucinda this close, she couldn't even escape into the Passage. She was entirely at her mercy.

"Now," the woman said, sounding vaguely annoyed, but not worried that she'd been followed. "Let's get this over with. I'm busy. Which faction sent you, and why?"