Sunny unlocked the front door and stepped into the house with a heavy, exhausted sigh.
Running the Brilliant Emporium was profitable, but it was also a logistical nightmare that tested every single ounce of his patience. He had spent the last six hours arguing with merchants over shipping tariffs, organizing inventory, and glaring at people until they stopped trying to scam him.
He locked the door behind him, kicked off his boots, and walked into the living room.
Cielle was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her. She was wearing one of his shirts, reading a manual on basic household plumbing, and looking entirely, flawlessly innocent.
"I am home," Sunny announced, collapsing face-first into the armchair opposite the couch. "The outside world is a mistake. I am never leaving this house again."
"Welcome back," Cielle said, not looking up from the manual. "Did you extract many benefits today?"
Sunny frowned into the upholstery. "Benefits? I mean, I made a profit, if that's what you mean. Where did you pick up that phrasing?"
"Nowhere," Cielle said promptly. She turned a page. "I have been sitting here learning about PVC pipes. I have not done anything else."
Suspicious, Sunny's gloomy shadow muttered, sliding across the floor to inspect her.
Sunny was too tired to interrogate her. He rolled over onto his back, sinking into the soft cushions. He pulled out his communicator, intending to check the general news feeds to see if the Chained Isles were experiencing any new, exciting apocalyptic weather events.
He opened the network.
The front page was not about the weather.
The front page was, once again, entirely about Mongrel.
Sunny felt a familiar, cold spike of dread hit his stomach. 'Oh gods. What now? I haven't even logged in today! Are they still analyzing that stupid 'creature of ruin' quote?'
He scrolled down to look at the top trending threads.
[THREAD]: Wait... is Mongrel a LADY?!
[THREAD]: [CLIP] The Philosophy of Violence - Mongrel's New Teachings!
[THREAD]: DEBATE: Can a man possess those proportions under a plate armor?
[THREAD]: Lady Mongrel Supremacy! She is so HOT!
Sunny completely stopped breathing.
His eyes locked onto the first thread title. He stared at it. He read it again. He blinked rapidly, his brain violently rejecting the information it was receiving.
'What?'
With a trembling, hesitant finger, Sunny clicked on the top video clip attached to the main thread.
The video loaded instantly. It was a high-definition recording of the Colosseum.
Standing in the center of the arena was Mongrel. The dark plates of the Mantle of the Underworld gleamed in the artificial light. The terrifying, three-horned visage of Weaver's Mask stared blankly ahead.
But as Sunny stared at the screen, he realized something was fundamentally, undeniably wrong.
The armor was identical, but the physical silhouette underneath it was different. It was subtle, subtle enough that you had to look closely, but it was there. The shoulders were narrower. The waist was significantly more tapered. The way the heavy onyx breastplate sat across the chest was... well. Definitively not flat.
'Oh my god,' Sunny thought, absolute horror blooming in his chest. 'It's her.'
He slowly lowered the communicator and looked across the room at Cielle. She was still reading the plumbing manual. She turned another page. She looked perfectly calm.
He looked back at the screen and pressed play on the video.
A massive brute with a shield was standing in front of the female version of Mongrel.
"I don't fear your poetry, Demon!" the man roared in the clip. "Break my defense if you can!"
On the screen, Cielle didn't move. She just stared at him through the mask.
"Then you will die a braver death than most," Cielle's voice echoed out. It was heavily modified by the mask's illusion to sound exactly like Mongrel's deep, resonant mechanical tone, but there was a distinctly flat, terrifyingly calm cadence to it that Sunny recognized instantly.
Sunny felt a sudden, massive rush of conflicting emotions.
'Holy crap!' Sunny's brain supplied, temporarily forgetting his panic. 'That was an incredibly cool line. That was actually terrifying. She sounds like an absolute badass!'
He watched in awe as Cielle, acting as him, simply walked up to the massive steel riot shield and punched it. The shield shattered like glass. The man behind it instantly dissolved into a shower of sparks.
"See?" Cielle said to the empty air in the video. "I told him."
Sunny couldn't help it. A massive, proud grin spread across his face. She hadn't used a weapon. She had just used pure trauma to shatter a man build like a wall while delivering an incredibly cold one-liner. He was so proud of her he could burst.
And then, he scrolled down to the comments section.
User_GigaChad: Look at the waist-to-hip ratio on the armor! That is NOT a man! Mongrel is a woman!
ShadowStabber: Bro, I don't care if she's a demon or a metaphorical concept. If she wants to punch me through a shield, I will gladly accept.
LoreMaster42: Are you idiots blind?! Look at the chest plate! The memory clearly had to adjust its structural weave to accommodate those mounds! Physics doesn't lie!
Simp_Lord99: LADY MONGREL SUPREMACY! She is so HOT! Step on me, Queen. Extract my benefits. I am ready.
The proud smile on Sunny's face instantly vanished.
It wasn't replaced by embarrassment. It was replaced by a dark, murderous, apocalyptic rage.
His gloomy shadow practically exploded out of the floor, manifesting on the wall like an angry, jagged stain of pure malice.
'Degenerates!' Sunny hissed internally, his grip on his communicator tightening until the casing physically groaned. 'Absolute, unredeemable, filthy degenerates. I will track their IP addresses. I will find where they sleep. I will feed them to the Sky below.'
He continued reading, his eye twitching violently.
User_Blade99: Okay but did you hear the quotes today?! "If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you." She's a philosophical genius with the body of a goddess!
SwordFanatic: I want her to ruin me. I want her to crush my ribcage.
Sunny saw red. Pure red.
He didn't care that they were destroying the Mongrel persona. He cared that thousands of sweaty internet losers were currently drooling over his cohort member. They were talking about her waist. They were talking about her chest.
"Cielle," Sunny said. His voice was very quiet. Very strained. It sounded like he was trying to hold back a natural disaster.
"Yes, Sunny?" she replied politely, not looking up from her book.
"When did you learn how to hack my pod?"
Cielle finally looked up. She blinked slowly, her large green eyes perfectly innocent.
"I did not hack it," Cielle said truthfully. "You left it unlocked. Saint Tyris gave me a very nice necklace that creates illusions. I thought I would help you with your aesthetic. I won fifty matches for you."
Sunny dragged a hand down his face. "You helped me, alright. You helped me become the most desired entity on the global network! They are calling you Lady Mongrel! They are discussing the change of your chest plate!"
Cielle tilted her head, processing this information. "Is the illusion flawed? I did not sustain any damage."
"That is not what they mean!" Sunny groaned, running both hands through his hair in absolute distress. "They are being degenerates! They are making inappropriate comments about your body!"
Cielle looked down at her oversized t-shirt, and then back at Sunny's entirely flustered, furious face.
"But they cannot see my body," Cielle reasoned calmly. "They only saw the illusion of your armor. If they are making inappropriate comments about the shape of the armor... are they not just making inappropriate comments about you?"
Sunny's brain abruptly blue-screened.
He froze. He mentally replayed her logic. The illusion had been based entirely on the Mantle of the Underworld. It had just slightly adjusted to fit her height.
"No," Sunny denied immediately, his voice rising in panic. "No, that's not how it works! They clearly noticed a feminine shape! They were talking about... about..." He couldn't even bring himself to say the word 'mounds' out loud.
"I think they are attracted to your armor, Sunny," Cielle concluded, nodding sagely. "You have a very desirable aesthetic."
"I am going to throw my communicator into the ocean," Sunny announced, burying his face in a pillow. "I am going to fake my death and move to a different continent."
Cielle watched him thrash on the chair. She set her book down on the coffee table. Her expression, usually completely blank, shifted into something slightly pinched.
She stood up and walked over to the armchair. She looked down at him.
"You are angry," Cielle stated. It wasn't a question. It was a very flat observation, but there was a strange, quiet stiffness to her posture. "You are angry that I used your pod. You are angry that I ruined your aesthetic."
Sunny lifted his head from the pillow. He saw the way her shoulders were slightly hunched. She didn't look scared, she was fundamentally incapable of feeling fear as far as he had seen, but she looked... discouraged. Like a cat that had brought him a dead mouse as a gift, only to be yelled at.
"I was trying to help…." Cielle added quietly, looking at her bare feet. "I gave them good philosophy. I told them water was wet."
Sunny's heart immediately cracked in half.
The murderous rage directed at the internet instantly evaporated, completely overwritten by a sudden, desperate need to fix whatever expression she was currently wearing.
"No, no, I'm not mad at you," Sunny backpedaled furiously, sitting up. "I'm not mad! The quotes were great! You sounded incredibly cool when you broke that guy's shield!"
Cielle looked up, her green eyes unreadable. "Then why are you yelling at the pillow?"
"I'm loud because the forums are full of brain-damaged gremlins," he said. "Not because of you. You—" he exhaled, "—you were incredible. You kept my streak. You fought like a disaster. You sounded terrifying. 'Then you will die a braver death than most'? That was… gods, that was perfect."
Some of the tightness in her shoulders eased. She glanced away, just once, as if embarrassed.
"I observed your cadence," she admitted. "I tried to match your atmosphere."
"You did," he said. "Too well. That's half the problem."
"What is the other half?" she asked.
He hesitated. Then forced it out.
"The other half is that now there are thousands of degenerates arguing over whether Mongrel's chest plate is hot."
She processed that, her frown returning. "So you are… upset because people are reacting to my actions in a way you dislike."
"Yes," he said. "Also jealous. Also homicidal."
He immediately regretted the word jealous, but it was too late. It hung there between them.
Cielle's eyes widened just a fraction. She stepped closer to the chair, close enough that he could feel her warmth. It was almost routine; she'd done this dozens of times, leaned into him, brushed against him, pressed casually close. She tilted her head, her face inches from his.
She kissed him sometimes, too. Little, unannounced, matter-of-fact things, pecks on his cheek, the corner of his jaw, his forehead, mostly when she was copying his Aspect or "checking temperature." He'd almost gotten used to those. Almost.
But this time, as she leaned over him, her eyes searching his face, something was different.
"What does jealousy feel like?" she asked softly.
He swallowed. "Like… like I want everyone on the network to spontaneously lose access to their eyes."
"Mm." She nodded thoughtfully. "You did make the murder face."
She was still close. Too close. Her hair brushed his cheek. Her scent, soap, dust, something faintly metallic, was all around him.
His brain slid on some internal patch of black ice.
Before he could think better of it, Sunny reached up, grabbed a handful of her shirt, and pulled her down.
Cielle's eyes widened just a fraction. She stepped closer to the chair, close enough that he could feel her warmth. It was almost routine; she'd done this dozens of times—leaned into him, brushed against him, pressed casually close.
She kissed him sometimes, too. Little, unannounced, matter-of-fact things—pecks on his cheek, the corner of his jaw, his forehead—mostly when she was copying his Aspect or "checking temperature." He'd almost gotten used to those. Almost.
But this time, as she leaned over him, her eyes searching his face, something was different.
"What does jealous feel like?" she asked softly.
He swallowed. "Like… like I want everyone on the network to spontaneously lose access to their eyes."
"Mm." She nodded thoughtfully. "You did make the murder face."
She was still close. Too close. Her hair brushed his cheek. Her scent—soap, dust, something faintly metallic—was all around him.
His brain slid on some internal patch of black ice.
Before he could think better of it, Sunny reached up, grabbed a handful of her shirt, and pulled her down.
He kissed her.
Not a quick, absentminded brush like hers.
A real kiss.
It was a sudden, desperate, slightly clumsy collision of mouths. He grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her slightly off balance, and kissed her with all the frustrated, angry, completely overwhelmed affection he had been bottling up for months.
Cielle froze. Her eyes went a little wide with surprise. Sunny realized what he was doing about three seconds into it.
His internal monologue instantly began screaming in absolute terror. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! ABORT! ABORT MISSION! YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!
His heart went supernova. Every nerve in his body lit up.
He pulled back like he'd been burned.
"I—sorry!" he blurted, voice cracking. "That—that was— I didn't mean— I did mean, but I shouldn't have—"
Cielle stared at him. Slowly, very slowly, she brought her fingers to her lips. Her pupils were a little bigger than usual. She looked… bewildered. Not displeased. The sudden heat. The pressure. The rapid spike in Sunny's heart rate, which she could hear hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
She dropped her hand. He had a completely panicked, blushing face.
"You kissed me," she said, as if confirming it.
Sunny wanted the floor to open and drop him into the Sky Below. "Yes," he croaked. "That was— that was me. I did that. I'm sorry."
"Why?" she asked.
He made a helpless noise. "Because I don't know…. I mean you do it all the time and I like it, obviously, and my brain is broken."
Her brows knit. "You like it?" she repeated. She sounded… cautious.
He wanted to scream into a pillow.
"Yes," he said. " Specifically with you. Exclusively with you. Don't make me say it more clearly, I will die."
She stared at him for one more heartbeat.
Then she leaned in again—and sank her teeth gently into his neck.
Sunny yelped, grabbing the armrest. "Ow! What—what is that for?!"
She pulled back just enough to look at the faint red mark, clearly pleased with herself. "I am returning the favor," she stated. "You marked me with your mouth. I am marking you. This is fair."
"That's not how—" he started, then stopped, because honestly he had no idea if there was a proper manual for this.
"Also," she added calmly, "I liked it."
Sunny's brain froze. "…The bite?"
"The kiss," Cielle said without hesitation. Her cheeks were barely, barely pink now. "The bite was also acceptable." She reached out and patted his hair with the exact same motion she used to pet Saint. "It was an affectionate bite. You are very warm."
Sunny buried his face back into the pillow, letting out a muffled, agonizing groan of absolute defeat. He was never going to win an argument with her. He was never going to understand how her brain worked.
And, worse yet, he kind of liked the bite.
He made a strangled noise "I am never surviving this," he muttered. "Forget the Spell. You are going to be the death of me."
Cielle, apparently satisfied with the exchange rate, circled the chair and sat on the armrest, half on him, half off. It was a position she'd used before, wrapping herself around him for warmth, for the Aspect of course.
This time, she pressed a little closer. Her fingers found the collar of his shirt, tugging it aside just enough to look at the faint bite mark blooming on his neck.
She made a small, satisfied noise and settled against his shoulder, grabbing his communicator off the table.
She flipped it open and scrolled back to the infamous thread.
"'Lady Mongrel supremacy! She is so hot!'" she read in a perfectly flat tone. "This is the comment that made you angry?"
"One of them," Sunny muttered.
She considered it, then nodded. "It is wrong."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Yes," she said, putting the communicator down. "You are clearly more of a jade beauty, while mongrel is more of a…. cat"
Sunny's heart did something complicated and painful in his ribcage.
He cleared his throat. "…You know that's also me, right? Mongrel is technically me."
"Yes," Cielle said. "That is why they are doubly wrong."
He gave up. Completely.
He leaned his head back against the chair, letting her sit half in his lap, and stared at the ceiling.
"I hate the internet," he announced.
"I like it," Cielle said. "It listens when I talk."
"That's the terrifying part," he said.
She hummed, then nudged his shoulder with her head. "Sunny."
"Hm?"
"Next time you want to kiss me," she said, tone utterly flat "do it before you read the comments. It is more efficient."
Sunny groaned louder.
Her hand found his fingers, interlocking without comment.
And somewhere on the network, a fresh thread appeared:
[THREAD]: NEW THEORY – Lady Mongrel has a boyfriend. Pray for him.