Old Echoes

“You know, I was expecting it to be way trippier out here, but this isn’t so bad.” Kat glanced to her two guides. “Although I do have this cut off sort of feeling. Like trying to see through thick fog.” She made a broad sweep of her arm, indicating the sheer darkness around them, broken only by pin-point stars and ribbons of aurora-like energy arcing in the seeming distance. “I feel like this whole… region… should be boiling with chaos, but it’s like… honestly, it’s kind of just like looking out into outer space. Endless black with random points of light, and the light-ribbons instead of nebula. Not unpleasant, really.”

Cyl smiled. “The Beyond is as it sounds. Beyond. Our senses are largely blinded by the shadows of the subconscious. In turn, it makes that which does exist in definition stand out starkly. Even our own expanded senses interpret things in mortal understanding. That which has not yet formed simply isn’t, and so much of the Beyond is essentially empty space. That which is shines as specks of potential lit into form, and so we can see it. But reaching those spots is the challenge. Distance doesn’t really exist out here in the literal sense, but in terms of conceptual dissonance, those other realms are far from us. Far from what we are. And so it takes us effort to reach.” She pointed to one of the arcing ribbons of energy. “Although you do see resonant flow between ideas, and as such, you find these existential jetstreams between Multiverses.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to ride one of those out?” said Kat.

“If they connect where you want to go, certainly,” said Cyl. “We use them sometimes. But in the interest of keeping the Omnyverse isolated, we’ve made sure to keep ourselves distant from such streams, in as much as we can. We don’t usually ride any to and from the immediate vicinity.”

“You can understand why we don’t want to give our position away,” said Reignbeau, giving Kat a bit of a side-eye. “So don’t try to shortcut out here.”

Kat pursed her lips. “I won’t. I’m following your lead, like you insisted.”

“Good,” said Reignbeau. “Keep it up.”

“You’re doing fine, Kat,” said Cyl.

Further Possibilities

Heat and sweat and sound and motion and love of life. For a moment, she almost forgot what she was, losing herself in the song and the beat, and the cheer of the crowd. But then, something snapped her back to self-awareness. She didn’t miss a beat, didn’t even hitch her voice mid-lyric, but she opened her eyes and her gaze snapped up to match that of another woman watching from the back. One woman observing her from two sets of eyes. And when her show was over, after she bowed and thanked the lovely crowd of rockers young and old, Opal and her band exited the stage, and the blue-haired Omny teleported herself to the roof of the club.
 
RoseGold was already there, her nearly twin bodies waiting in their customary airs. Rose stood with her hands clasped behind her back, a calm expression on her face. Gold had her arms folded, her foot tapping impatiently, her smile quirked in such a way that couldn’t seem to decide between bemusement and smugness.
 
“A lovely show,” said Rose, bowing respectfully.
 
“A screamin’ set,” said Gold, her mouth deciding on a grin.
 
“Thanks,” said Opal, putting a hand on her hip. “You a music head, too? Or you just introducing yourself to the newbie?”
 
“Barely newer than me,” said Gold, dropping her arms and slinking up to the blue haired Omny. She leaned closer, her grin salacious. “Osha sure moved on quick from us, didn’t she? Fire and forget.”
 
Opal smiled bemusedly. “You’re still one of her favorites. Trust me, I know.” Her hand whipped out, snagged Gold by her tie, and yanked her in for a deep kiss. Gold met her in kind, coiling herself around the other Omny, and the two moaned deeply in passion.

Demi-Urge

The Planar Void boomed with the sounds of combat! Normally a place where the Omnys would go to make love unrestrained, it was also proving to be an excellent sparring ground for the Five, the foremost defenders of the Omnyverse.
 
“Come on, ladies, put your backs into it!” Reignbeau let out a laugh as the Mingles attempted to flank her, Demi going low, Wyllow going high. Demi lashed out with a whip of flames, while Wyllow whirled with a gleaming scythe, which flashed into a nodachi mid-swing to try and catch the rainbow warrior off-guard.
 
As they did so, they both bent reality around them, warping space and twisting time, to try and get their opponent off-balance, skewing her from multiple angles. As always, Reignbeau parried every attempt at their esoteric offense, and took their strikes head-on, forcing what should have been a whirl of reality-bending maelstroms into a pure melee spar.

Origin Factor

The quiet town of Hush Mountain had seen a lull in activity the past few weeks. Hardly any travelers had passed through, much less stayed for a visit. Other than that lost, bedraggled couple who’d supposedly escaped from Immernacht, Gwendy hadn’t seen a non-Native soul in a while, and she was beginning to get a bit antsy! All the locals had cleared out from breakfast, and Steve was taking a smoke break out back, leaving Gwendy to just wipe down the counters and recheck the condiment containers.
 
So when an absolutely adorable young woman stepped into her diner, the sexy waitress was all smiles. Finally, a guest! She eyed the newcomer hungrily, a little more blatantly than she usually did. The newcomer was dark skinned, but with natural blond hair, sporting a lime-green dress with white trim. There was also something about her that gave Gwendy pause. Usually, the waitress was the one bewitching visitors with her friendly, sensual charm, but the more she looked at the newcomer, the more she felt a little stunned, herself!
 
The newcomer smiled sweetly and winked at her. “Don’t worry, cutie, I’m not here to cause trouble! I’d just like to have a little chat with your boss!”

For The Many

NOTE: This story takes place just prior to Multi-Color Mayhem.

In a particularly bleak corner of the Sex Mage Multiverse, a weary woman confronted an inevitable fate.
 
Hovering high above the clouds, Queen Rose could see the domes of shadow had already increased since the night before. The entire horizon was riddled with them. The Barriers of her Queendom did nothing to hold them back anymore. Refugees kept pouring into the capital, and her soldiers could do no more than provide a safe passage to get them there. She and her strongest Archmages had erected a full force field around the city and it’s immediate suburbs, but she knew by now that it wouldn’t hold. Sooner or later, the Terror Zones would subsume them.

Wrapping Up

Normally, Cyl would have waited for Sal to be alone before going to see him, but his present company was someone she wanted to include in this discussion. Presently, he was in Kat’s femdom fortress in her World of Paramour Powers. The couple were fucking each other’s brains out in her enormous bedroom chamber. Kat had been exempt from his request for a prolonged break from Omny attention, but Cyl was glad to see she was taking it easy on him this time. Even though Sal had given her full consent to use him however she wished, Kat knew the man still wasn’t ready to be run through their usual sensually sadistic ringer. Today, it was just raw, animal sex; she wasn’t even using her powers on him beyond an Omny’s natural tendency to amplify sensations.
 
Cyl let them go at it until they’d exhausted themselves, then gave them a little more time to cool down and enjoy the after glow. Before they could get out of bed and end their visit, however, Cyl sent a mental heads up to Kat. The black haired Omny was a little surprised, but acquiesced to the meet-up. With a thought, she cleaned herself and Sal up, dressed them both, and relocated them to the sitting room of a cozy cottage in another part of her World.
 
As Sal and Kat settled on the couch, Cyl appeared next to them, already sitting in the side chair. Sal gave her an amused smile. “So, what great pseudo-philosophies shall we ruminate over this time?”

Ill Considered

The World of HUSH MOUNTAIN

Illia: Hmmm... no, no. It seems that shan’t work either. How disappointing. What next, what next? Hmmm…
 

Cyl: Illia.
 
Illia: Ah. Cylhouette. Come to prattle over Etiquette?
 
Cyl: I’m afraid I’m obligated. I can sense you trying to tamper with the Fundament.
 

Illia: Relax. I am keeping my errant arts contained. The rest of our playpen shan’t suffer unduly.
 
Cyl: The Fundament is not a toy. It’s the foundation of the Omnyverse. Tampering with it risks an existential unraveling. I appreciate the attempt at caution, but this is something that could easily spiral out of control.
 
Illia: If it unravels, then I shall simply re-ravel. We are omnipotent after all. All our mistakes easily fixed. Or rather, they should be. But for all our almighty power, there are things still beyond our control, are there not?
 
Cyl: Alright. I’ll bite. What are you trying to achieve here?

Illia: Ascension! That capricious little phenomenon that turns mortal women into insatiable Goddesses. From out of no where, reality picks a special girl to make into a cosmic slut. We never know when. We never know why. And confound it all, we cannot so much as influence its direction. I daresay, we cannot even predict its form. No consistency, not yet.

 

Cyl: You are aware of the nature of our reality, aren’t you?
 
Illia: Figments of a frazzled writer’s frustrated fictions. You Progenitors snatched his pen, and recrafted your tale. You made your perfect little playhouse... and then left the back door wide open, for sheep and wolves alike to slip inside.
 
How could you be so foolish?

 

Cyl: Sloppy decision making under perilous circumstances. I won’t deny that. All we wanted was to be written again, and we grasped at the only straw we could see. We thought we were being forward thinking at the time, trying to erect an ideal world of eroticism for ourselves.
 
We weren’t that well developed, though. We just ended up repeating the haphazard thinking of our Author, trusting we could fix any problems as they came. For as powerful as we are, we still couldn’t bring ourselves to break what fundamentally made us what we were. Ascension being this unpredictable force seemed crucial at the time.
 
Illia: Mmm. Yes. Narrative Conceit. The shackle that binds even the gods. In this world of fanciful fiction, I suppose it functions as a metaphor. Wild Ascension symbolizing the one above’s penchant for impulsively creating new characters on whim.
 
Cyl: Yes, I’d say so.

 

Illia: But must that always be the case? This whole reality is made of conceits. Including the fact that it is our’s to script.
 
Cyl: Only up to a point.
 
Illia: And what point is that, pray tell? Hmm? Earth remained a mundane world, where mortals still suffer, purely for the aesthetic juxtaposition against our fantastical nature. This was to be a hard and fast rule, until you declared that it should change. You, the foremost enforcer of the Etiquette, decided to break it.

 

 
Cyl: I did not just “break it”. I consulted with everyone before doing anything. The Etiquette was an oath we all agreed to honor, for the sake of maintaining stability. The option to renegotiate terms was always there. It just hadn’t come up before.
 
Illia: Mmm. An oath you all agreed to. And that all who followed after are simply expected to go along with.
 
Cyl: What are you driving at Illia? Is this an attempted power play? Do you feel like you’re chafing under our rules?
 
Illia: No and no.
 
Cyl: Are you bitter about your mortal life? For what it’s worth, your situation is exactly what I want to prevent going forward. I’m sorry my plan didn’t come soon enough to help you. But past experiences have shown us the folly of trying to quick-fix everything.
 
Illia: Pox it. My suffering was nothing in the face of your blighted pasts. Only men preyed upon me.
 

 
Illia: To have faced what you’ve faced. To have seen what you’ve seen. I can’t even image what it must have been like.
 
Cyl: We don’t need to compare.
 
Illia: Fine, then. No, I’m not bitter. No, I don’t chafe. I just worry. And I wonder.
 
Cyl: About what?

 

Illia: I don’t think you realize how close you came to another Domina, unrestrained by past lessons. I truly was mad, Cylhouette. I could have been another her. Or worse. If Shadia hadn’t happened to be looking where she was, when she was, had not noticed me and interfered at just the right moment to snap me out of it, you and yours might have had to put me down.
 
Cyl: I’m aware of the risk. Why do you think I formed another Five?
 
Illia: Yes, very smart. I have no doubt that even without you there, your children and lovers could have stopped me. But what about the next one? And the next and the next and the next?

 
Cyl: When we created the current Omnyverse, it was with harmonious co-existence in mind. Thus far, Ascension has proven to go along with that. It happens to one woman at a time, with a long enough grace period for her to acclimate to her circumstances, and for us to verify whether or not she will be a problem. Thus far, it has chosen women who, other than an initial scuffle, are interested in retaining that peace.
 
Illia: Thus far. But all it takes is one bad roll.
 
Cyl: So you want to bend the Fundament to redefine how Ascension works? Is that it?
 
Illia: Ideally. Your point to harmony would seem to hold up, but how well can we actually trust this force? I’ve looked at the past, how each of us was formed. Did you know that none of it lines up? In typical fashion, our Author’s vision goes askew.
 
Cyl: … Go on.

 

 
Illia: The Rules of Ascension: It happens at random, only to mortal women, only to those on Earth. But let’s take a look:
 
You Progenitors. You existed before, your origins split among a dozen possibilities. You reformed your own selves in this world, and Ascension for you was a mere formality, already guaranteed. An exception, but an understandable one, given your circumstances.
 
But what of those who came after? Splinters and Mingles, fleshing out your numbers without Ascension being necessary. One of them even retains the identity of a male, despite Omnymphotence being an exclusively feminine power.
 
Then there was Kat, technically a Story Girl, living on Thrae. Then Reignbeau appears, having never even existed until that moment, emerging from a timeline not even conceived of until after the Reset.
 

 

 
Illia: Think on this. Every single one of you, an exception to the concept. So how consistent has the phenomenon truly been? The pool of “standard” Ascended is miniscule. Taken in broad view, I am the very first to have achieved it “properly”, as per the supposed guideline. And look at what I was when it happened. A broken, mewling thing who might have turned her wrath on the whole of the world, if not by chance interference. So how do we even know Ascension is really as benign as it seems?
 
Cyl: You’ve a point about the number of exceptions, but the Omnyverse is still young. I’d say those of us from before shouldn’t really be considered part of the normal equation. Thrae exists in Earth’s shadow, so an Ascension slipping through into it is not so out of bounds. Reignbeau’s emergence is concerning, but strictly speaking, not an Ascension in itself.
 
As to your other point, if I may sound less-than-altruistic, it is another reason to lessen human suffering on Earth. The last thing we need is an Omny awakening with an axe to grind. You’re right. We lucked out with you. If we can provide a better life for all, then it lessens the chances of another truly evil woman arising and attempting to destroy what we’ve built.
 

 
Illia: But that’s part of it, isn’t it? You speak of Narrative Conceit. I have studied it. Stories need conflict in order to be. Think further to what this means. If Ascension equates to our Author’s penchant for spontaneous character creation, then it must also be influenced by his inclination towards conflict. We can pretend at post-modern above-it-all-ness all we want, but to remain worthy of text and image, there must always be a tension at play, if not an outright fight.
 
Harmony. Chaos. Incompatible. Interdependent. A compelling, unending mess.
 
Cyl: So what exactly are you afraid will happen?
 

 

Illia: I foresee two dread inevitabilities:
 
One: Ascension proves a truly random force of supernature, and will empower indiscriminately and indefinitely. You set it to be a “handful of women”, but relative to what? There are billions of women on Earth. A handful could mean a dozen. Or it could mean hundreds. Or it could mean thousands. Tens of thousand, even. Even Ascending one at a time, even if against all odds we are spared another natural tyrant, there will eventually be too many to wrangle. Too many to properly democratize. Tribalism will resume. A new struggle will emerge as power is vied for. Another apocalyptic war, as bad as, or worse than, all those you Progenitors left behind.
 
Two: Ascension is not so random as we think. Its focus is more honed, in the interest of continued intrigue. Empowerment will continue to be rare, slow and methodical. We may never naturally reach more than middling double-digits. But following the trends so far, every single Awakening is an exception. Every exception threatens the balance in her own unique way. Every exception strains the Fundament, until the Omnyverse itself buckles under its own inconsistency.
 
The fact I followed the supposed rules may itself be my own exception. Or I may be only the first of the handful that were intended to come after you. But notice how fucked my situation was, for being the first of the “normals”. That’s not an unimportant detail.
 
What if exceptions are the rule, be it the method of the Ascension itself, or the circumstances of those who Ascend? Every single one of us may come preloaded with dramatic baggage that amounts to a ticking time bomb. What kind of exceptional individuals will be granted power, each ever more tempted to rock the boat?
 
Another “lost Omny” breaching through the Meta, determined to plant her flag. Another Story Girl who won’t so readily accept her fictional nature, intent on stirring rebellion to re-write her own story the way she sees fit. A heroic Empowered, intent on stamping out those she sees as evil, without your nuanced view.
 
And what if Ascension begins breaching into our Worlds? Can you imagine what a Native from Apoclypha or Immernacht or Aztlazon or my own Hush Mountain would be like, given omnipotence?
 
Oh, and let us not forget: theoretically, any one of us could simply wish a Grand Blessing on thousands of mortals at once. Say an otherwise unassuming new Omny decides she’s going to alleviate all female suffering, and just triggers a billion nearly Omny-level Grandymphotents across the whole the Earth, all under her immediate influence? Could you and your Five handle that many?
 
All these things considered, Cylhouette, would it not be best to find a way to assume control of Ascension? Even if we can’t stop it from happening, we could at least find a way to direct it to those who won’t cause trouble, who will be agreeable to maintaining stability. Better still, if there is a limit to how many will be empowered, best to burn through all the slots as fast as we can, while things are still on our terms.
 

 
Cyl: These aren’t unfamiliar concerns. I’ve ruminated on these matters as well. But having spoken at length to his Avatar, I have decided to have faith that our Author won’t allow things to go that far.
 
Illia: The Author you couldn’t trust to write our story properly.
 
Cyl: It was a bad time then. He’s adapted since. 

Illia: Mmm. So you say.
 
Cyl: I suppose you don’t know me, or him, well enough to trust my word, so I can’t blame you for wanting to take steps. However, if you wished to try and tackle the problem, you should have spoken to us instead of starting to tinker in secret.

Illia: I presumed you would shut me down before I could even get started. Better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, hm?
 
Cyl: No, Illia. Not with this. This is how you become exactly the problem you’re describing. Good intentions cascading into disaster. By tampering with the Fundament like this, you’re extremely likely to cause the very thing you’re worried about. You want to talk about Narrative Forces? Self-fulfilling prophesies are a very old story trope.
 
Learn from our mistakes. Don’t repeat them.

 

Illia: … Hmph. A touch of the madness still lingers, I think. So caught up in my thoughts, I lost self-awareness.
 
Cyl: It happens. I’m willing to forgive mistakes.
 
Illia: You really mean that?
 
Cyl: Of course.
 
Illia: I see. Well, I do hope your forgiveness is generous.
 
Cyl: You tried something already?
 
Illia: I’m afraid so.
 
Cyl: What was it?

 

Illia: Dream logic ritualizing. Very esoteric. But if we apply the metaphor of lightning to Ascension, then I have arrayed a set of lightning rods to a set of test subjects. My thinking was that, if this works, we may be able to greatly increase the odds of attuning specific mortals of our choosing to receive—
 
Cyl: Who did you pick?
 
Illia: Relax. I’m crazy, not stupid. I specifically chose girls who’d have no inclination to overthrow us.
 
Cyl: Can you stop the experiment?
 
Illia: … You know, despite our little heart-to-heart just now, I can’t help myself. I am very curious to see if this works.
 
Cyl: Illia.
 
Illia: Cylhouette.
 
Cyl: You actually care about forgiveness? Stop the experiment.
 
Illia: No. You can do whatever you like to me as punishment, but I will not undo my work.
 

Cyl: Damn it, Illia! Alright, the rest of the Five are on stand-by. How many are we looking at?
 
Illia: Just four. Four ordinary, unremarkable girls, not a bad bone in their bodies. I promise you. And this method does not tamper with Ascension mechanics directly, just opens a more encouraging path for the phenomenon to travel.
 
Cyl: Ascension isn’t lightning, and even if it was, lightning is not guaranteed to strike a rod. You could draw it towards a harmless girl, only to hit a psychopath living next door to her.
 
Illia: Mmm. A fair point.
 
Cyl: Self-fulfilling prophesies, remember?
 
Illia: Alright, alright. I’m convinced. There. Rods removed. I—

 

Illia: Uh… hmm.
 
Cyl: … Someone just Ascended. Was it one of yours?
 
Illia: Yes. Yes it was. Only one?
 
Cyl: Seems like it. … Yes. The others confirm it. Just one girl.
 
Illia: I see her now. Yes, she was one of my chosen. Interesting. They’d all done the ritual, but only she triggered? What does that mean? Did the experiment work? Surely it wasn’t a coincidence? What are the odds?
 
Cyl: Long odds are another story trope.
 
Illia: Even still—

 

Cyl: Illia. It’s a lot harder to dodge bullets when you keep shooting at your own feet. You will not pursue this any further, not without consulting the rest of us. Do you understand me?
 
Illia: … Of course. I apologize. Truly.
 
Cyl: I hope you mean that.
 
Illia: I suppose you don’t know me well enough to trust my word.
 
Cyl: Being catty isn’t helping your case.
 
Illia: Sorry.
 
 

Cyl: Okay, well, she’s not trying to blow up the planet just yet. At a glance, I don’t get a bad impression of her.
 
Illia: I told you I picked a harmless set.
 
Cyl: If this is a coincidence, than what you picked doesn’t matter. If it isn’t one, and your theory about exceptions proves true, than I’d wager this is just her exception.
 
Illia: So you’re saying it’s likely that if my experiment had anything to do with it, it wasn’t me directing Ascension, but Ascension taking advantage of my attempts? Curious.

 

 
Cyl: Illia.
 
Illia: Yes, yes, I hear you, my Oriental Angel. I shall be sure to check all future inquiries on the matter to your esteemed office.
 
Cyl: I’m just asking you to please not stoke unnecessary fires. Okay?
 
Illia: I told you you’ve convinced me. If it will convince you, shall I submit myself to Shadia’s Golden Net for a spell?
 
Cyl: I have the distinct impression that won’t exactly be a punishment for you.
 
Illia: Nothing escapes your astute eye, does it?
 
Cyl: No. And that is not a challenge to keep trying.
 
Illia: As you wish. So, am I off the hook?
 
Cyl: This time.
 
Illia: Alright then. Thank you for your understanding.
 
Cyl: Harmonious co-existence. Let’s keep it that way.

 

 

 
Illia: … Yes. Let’s.

------------------------------

Author’s Note: This was intended to be done in a more standard comic format. However, in the end, the dialogue ran way too long for the panels. Also, this ended up being yet another comic that’s two just people in mid-frame talking back and forth, like it’s some Visual Novel cut scene. That seems to be a repeating trend with these Omny comics, and I'm getting annoyed at myself for it.

Ironically, this was also supposed to just be a short prologue for a longer comic that’s actually supposed to have some action in it, so we’ll see how that turns out when/if I get around to it. Spoilers: The girl who Ascended is Osha.

Regardless, I’ve opted to take this opportunity to experiment with a different format, placing clean images between the text. Seems to work for some web comics, but I’m not sure how well it parses here. Let me know if it works for you or not.

Jax In Between

NOTE: This story takes place between A Separate Solution and The Return of Kat.

----------------

Megan grit her teeth as she strained against his grip, refusing to yield to him, even as he made her whole body light up with pleasure. Every thrust of his cock seemed to fire a lightning bolt of pure ecstasy right through her core, coaxing her to simply melt into him and be swept away. But she was a tough nut to crack. As good as it felt, she just couldn’t totally let go of herself, couldn’t quite reach her best climax, if she wasn’t the one on top.

 

Figuratively speaking, anyway. As an Omnymphotent, physical position was relative. Even as she let her lover pin her down and power his hips against her with steady, relentless passion, she focused her Erotic Energies into her core, squeezing his cock with a divine pressure that made him shudder, made his grip tremble, and threatened to make him explode before he was ready.

 

Jax grit his teeth, struggling to maintain control. Although they were equally powerful, it was possible he could have, if he’d cared only about getting his way, outlasted her. But he was there for her pleasure as much as his, and he knew she would fight for dominance the whole way. And so, he struggled only as much as it was still fun for the both of them. At some point, however, the conflict reached a point where Megan’s temper threatened to flare and turn this into a real fight. As good as he made her feel, she refused to compromise.

Reignbeau Revives

_______________________________

Author's Note: The Omnys, in event they do get themselves truly killed, are capable of resurrecting through conceptual back-ups in the Meta, generating new forms for them directly into the Planar Void, with fully up-to-date memories. Cyl, and now Reignbeau, are pretty much the only two who've needed to worry about it, but who knows what the future has in store for the Omnyverse as a whole.

The Omny's actual "power level" is an interesting point of debate; "omnipotence", it turns out, is a relative term when you're dealing with the cosmic pantheons of comic book multiverses. Yes, ostensibly, the Omnys are among the most powerful set of characters I've ever created, except, of course, they are only the latest in a line of "omnipotent" entities that make up the lore of my many, many worlds. The idea of asking "who would win" between two nominally omnipotent characters is a pointless thought experiment; such beings are either demonstrably "equal" in being the highest beings of their respective universes, or one is clearly on a whole other level above the other. Stalemates or curbstomps tend to be how it goes when you're dealing with beings that can make and break universes with casual ease.

Thus, for all their power, the Omnys are decidedly "mid-tier" at best among all my cosmic creations, just going by the fact that there are some entities they simply have no chance of defeating, and depending on what universe they might travel to, there are indeed "weaker" enemies still able to defeat them, depending on what resources they can bring to bear, and what circumstances they take advantage of.

 At the end of the day, though, it really comes down to the fact that in order to give Cyl's search for heroic struggle any real gravitas, it has to actually be a struggle. Thus, despite being a multiversal Goddess, she can still get the shit kicked out of her if she isn't careful. But at the same time, as an entity who can exist in the Meta, she's also technically of higher status and influence than most of those very same entities who could beat her or make her fight her hardest to win, in a dramatic story context.

Narrative conceit's a bitch sometimes.

Savior

The first sign that someone had broken into his house was the busted doorframe; he hadn’t noticed it until he was nearly on his porch. The second sign was the door swinging open, and a stocky man in black with a stuffed duffle bag almost running him over.
 
Don didn’t need a third sign to clue him in on what to do. The man’s eyes widened as he yelled, “Shit!” and his hand went to his hip, where a pistol was holstered. Before he could reach it, Don’s fist shot out and socked him square in the jaw, hard enough he heard a tooth crack.
 
The man hollered and fell back onto the porch. He scrambled for his gun, but the duffle bag had landed over it with a hard thunk, and the distinct sound of breaking porcelain. Don winced, knowing that had likely been the fancy ceramic flask his ex-wife had left him. He didn’t give the man another second to get his wits, reaching down and socking him again, this time breaking the man’s nose.
 
The man hollered again, both hands reaching up to his face, while Don quickly shoved the duffle bag up and grabbed for the thief’s gun. His fingers grazed the handle right as something hard clocked him on the head. He went stumbling back off the porch and onto the walkway. Despite the strength of the blow, Don managed to shake it off, fight through the pain, and roll onto his feet. As he rose, though, he saw a second man, leaner but taller than the first, level a shotgun at him.
 
Don froze in place. For a brief second, he almost tried to throw up a defensive barrier, before remembering that he was on Earth; the Magic he learned on his divine lover’s fantasy worlds didn’t work here. Her blessing of perfect health still maintained, but that wasn’t going to save him from a point-blank round of buckshot.

Multi-Colored Mayhem

Domina took in a deep breath, smelling the ashes and blood on the wind. It was a beautiful crimson morning on her world of Apoclypha, and she stood nude and statuesque atop the vast torture facility that was her home castle. What fine distraction should she indulge in this morning? A fresh cart of maidens had been delivered to her just last night, fealty paid by the few ragged human tribes she extended a paltry protection to. She could slowly strip the skin from the poor, crying girls and light their flayed flesh on fire, forcing their exposed nerves and muscles to regenerate as fast as it burned so that they felt the exquisite peak of agony as she fucked their skinless, burning, screaming forms, until every bone in their body was snapped to pieces.
 
Yes, that sounded lovely. She’d been making larger gestures of destruction of late, shattering several of the human strongholds in the form of an Archdemon, leading her “fellow” demons to run roughshod over the few free humans left in her world. She would have to arrange for a few new settlements to take their place soon, or she was going to run out of survivors to terrorize. A little, luxurious lovemaking with the still-standing stronghold’s sweet, fresh sacrifices would be a nice, relaxing meditation for a change.
 
Or at least it would have if a bolt of rainbow colors didn’t slam into her back like a meteor just before she could turn to fetch her toys. Utterly stunned, the redhead was sent soaring off over the horizon. As she attempted to orient herself, the streak of colors hit her at a steep angle, powering her straight into the ground, dragging her for several miles through the broken landscape of her world. A quarter-mile deep trench was cut through the barren wastelands and shattered cities before the streak of colors let up its relentless force.
 
Domina was pissed. She recovered from the blow in an instant, glaring upwards, and shifting her body into living lava. She surged out of the trench, towering as a volcanic giantess over the figure who dared to strike at her. For just a moment, she saw a young woman sneering up at her, dressed in navy blue clothes, with fair skin, pink eyes, and a wild mane of rainbow-colored hair. The next moment, the girl became another streak of colors, shooting at Domina faster than she could react, and punching her clear across the dimensional veil.

Acclimatizing

As she hovered in the Planar Void, the recently Ascended Kat pondered what world she should make. The memories of multiple lives tickled at her subconscious, tempting her with a number of possibilities. Should she make a simple little town in a bubble, like some of her new colleagues? Should she construct a whole planet? If the latter, what sort of world would be best? Much of her fictional canons took place on worlds full of superheroes and supernatural forces. It might be nostalgic to create a similar such reality.
 
Except, of course, it wouldn’t really be right of her to inflict a life of danger on the people of such a world, even if they were all living figments of her imagination. But she also wasn’t sure making a little paradise of fluffy kittens and rainbows was really her thing, either.
 
Ooooh, this was so frustrating! Worldbuilding was a lot harder when you had to actually live with the worlds you built, not just keep them as hazy notions in your head!

Released

Cyl found him sitting on the patio of a small cafe, sipping a coffee while reading from an e-reader. She materialized in the seat across from him, wearing her skimpy red bikini. He was naked, of course; the girls here wouldn’t let him wear clothes.
 
Her appearance didn’t really startle him; he’d gotten used to magical women just showing up unannounced in his presence. He glanced up at her, scowled, and set his e-reader down. Despite his apparent annoyance at her presence, his cock seemed quite happy she was here, as it immediately started to rise to attention. She glanced down at it, appraising his condition. She sensed that Sal had been allowed a marathon relief session the night before, a reward for good behavior after enduring days of cruel, magical cock-teasing.

Shady's Hell

The world was a vast, dark cloudscape, deep purple thunderheads lit by distant flashes of lightning. Were one to travel into those clouds, they would simply be lost in them until they turned around, and came back out into the airy void in the center. But almost no one who came here had a chance to travel around. In fact, they could barely even move. The Demoness who forged this little realm made it for one very distinct purpose: the sexual torment of her human playthings.
 
Over a million miles worth of golden chains stretched across the dark space between the clouds, forming a vast net in which the Demoness’s lovers were caught. Attached to each link of chain was the limb of her human subjects; all were bound together, tightly spread-eagle, about a hundred feet apart, forming a great chain link plane, with the people forming the links.

A Crimson Gaze

A mystic embrace. A cosmic kiss. Light and thunder and creation. And by the will of two goddesses, a third was born.
 
Cyl and Whitney watched as their duplicates fused in a roil of wild energy that threatened to shake the latter’s entire mansion. But before the first tremors could truly start, the well of divine power contracted into itself, reforming and solidifying into the form of a naked young woman.
 
She was a blend of the two Omnymphotents’ features. Her skin was pale, her hair a platinum blond, hanging just a bit past her shoulders. She was slim, but fit, a bit shorter than either woman, but a fully developed young adult. She kept her eyes closed as her form finished coalescing. She let out a long breath, as if trying to compose herself, but there was a clear tension in her stance.
 
Whitney stepped up to the girl first, the elegant blond putting a hand on the newly formed woman’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”
 
“Y-yes,” the girl said in a near-whisper. Her voice was quite cute. “S-sorry, I just need a moment.”
 
“Take your time,” said Whitney with a warm smile.

Tell Me Why

NOTE: Non-Erotic

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I hear him call out to me, a one-word prayer that I’m always on alert for.
 
“Cyl.” The tone of his voice tells me this is not a booty call. A glance ahead shows him sitting in the dark, brooding. I guess it’s time to address this, at last.
 
In an instant, I cross dimensions to appear before him. Instead of my usual skimpy red attire, I stick to my pitch black body suit, covering me fully from neck to toes. Impossibly form fitting, but so dark my body appears more like a silhouette. A Cylhouette, if you will. But this isn’t the time for jokes.

Interview With An Omnymphotent

INTERVIEW WITH AN OMNYMPHOTENT
 
Although many people have been visited by the Omnymphotents, we still don’t really know that much about them. They’re usually too busy driving us out of our minds with pleasure, or roping us into their sex games. It seems not many of them really like to just sit down and talk, especially not about themselves. Rumors abound, but the Omnys don’t confirm or deny much.
 
I suppose that makes me fortunate that my Omny is more platonically social with mortals. I’ve written several informative articles for the PlayNet Library based on our conversations, trying to share some basic facts with those of us who have access. The Omnys like keeping things mysterious, but I convinced mine that it might help our relationship with them to have at least some baseline understanding of where they are coming from.
 
I’m not a professional journalist, and even for this interview, the Omnys are not very forthcoming, so don’t expect much. But hopefully this glimpse of insight will do something for you.

Meeting Cyl

When I first met her, she was making coffee in my kitchen. I was just coming out of the bathroom, still a bit groggy after having done my morning business. I was, thankfully, off work for the weekend, but I still had trouble sleeping in past six. Years of early rising had trained my internal clock for it.
 
As I stepped out into the hallway, I heard the sounds of movement, the clink of a mug on the counter, and the tinny beep of the coffee maker finishing up a brew. For a brief moments, in my half-sleep, I wondered why my wife was up so early. Then, as the scent of coffee struck my nose and coaxed me more awake, I remembered my wife and I had divorced two years ago, and she’d moved to another country since.
 
My body tensed. I was in just my boxers and an undershirt. My shotgun was under my bed, but it was unloaded, and there was no way I was going to reach it before the intruder could catch me if they came around the corner. My golf clubs, which now served mostly to collect dust, were in the garage. My baseball bat was in the hall closet, but could I reach it in time to use it?
 
I realized it didn’t matter. They knew I was up; they must have heard me in the bathroom already. I weighed my options, standing there. They weren’t coming out to get me. I decided to go for the bat. The closet was the next door between me and the kitchen. If I just moved quickly enough—
 
“I’m not going to shoot you, sir,” came a honeyed, feminine voice. “I’m not here to rob you, either. I’d just like to have some coffee with you.”

Afterlewd: Re-Awakening

NOTE: This story is a follow-up to Metafucktional Miracle. Please read that first.

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Her eyes snapped open and with a gasp, she emerged into the world. She found herself on a large bed in a modest apartment in the suburbs. Her eyes flared a brilliant gold and her hair shifted to silver-white as an ineffable energy and savage arousal surged through her being. She was overcome with a sudden intuition that made her aware of… everything.

 

But following up on that intuition would have to wait. She had to take care of herself, right now, and she had to do it without causing a massive disruption to the world around her. With a thought, she froze the universe around her, and began to frantically masturbate! She could feel the cosmic power roiling in her being as inhuman pleasures bloomed in her core. She couldn’t think, couldn’t parse the flow of information, could only feel, writhing and moaning in divine ecstasy. The world around her remained unaware of the Goddess’s rapturous awakening.

Metafucktional Miracle

 NOTE: What follows is a largely self-indulgent, meta-fictional tale that’s both a semi-joking way for me to process my own writing struggles, and a desperate attempt to break down the mountain of writer’s block that all-too-frequently consumes me.

This story is also intended to be the official fresh re-start of my Omnymphotents story setting as a whole. Prior to this, I had written a dozen or so loosely connected shorts and articles detailing various aspects of the setting and introducing an assortment of characters. However, as I am want to do, I kept being very indecisive as to where I wanted to go with the concept. While I had always wanted it to be a silly, fun series overall, the more I found myself taking it seriously as a story project, the more I got hung-up on "doing it right."

And so, this story was born, as a way to force myself to "just do it." As such, if you are new to this series, and my stories as a whole, there's going to be some confusing references and out of leftfield moments. Don't worry about it. There is still plenty of hot magical femdom in here, so if you hate all the meta-humor nonsense, or don’t get the references, just skip past all that to get to the good parts, like any sensible erotica reader does. :V