A Wealthy Woman's Game 3

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#8 of Anteronian Adventures

Miranda is a noblewoman living in Anteronia, but when she hears of trouble being made for her house, she takes matters into her own hands.

Sometimes, I try new things out for fun, and this is one of those chapters. If you like what you see and want to see more, consider checking out my Linktree for ways to support my writing!

Posted using PostyBirb


The lady of the house returns home from a long and annoying day. Made up in the lastest Anteronian fashion of frilly-yet-form-fitting attire, she wastes no time loosening herself up. Black hair spills from its ties and knots over slender green shoulders. She unclips various rings and hoops from her gently pointed ears. She unbuttons the first of many buttons down the front of her outfit, gently relieving smallish but still constricted breasts.

Only a few moments in the grand estate, she sees one of the maids approaching her with a delicate curtsey.

"Miss... the madam wants to see you."

She rolls her eyes and turns away from the promise of a nice warm bath and a meal and towards the cold dark basement. When her form silhouettes in the light of the upper chamber, she stares down at the situation set up beneath her. The sandy pit that absorbs blood at the bottom of the stairway hosts a form laying there, bloodied and chuckling, sighing as she looks up. "Ah... the... there you are..." the old woman says. "How's life in.... Civilization?"

The mistress of the house steps down the dark stone stairs. She looks over at the woman who had been there for her with her fists clenched. "You're a fool, old woman," She growls. "Giving again. I thought I beat enough sense into you."

The woman coughs, wiping the blood from her chin. "Heh... maybe, but I thought... with that Tournament happening, I could give things a shot. For old time's sake. For my peoples' sake."

"Fighting and fucking... it's the epitome of decadence, old woman." The younger woman squats, her orange eyes burning as she sees the form underneath her. "Who was it this time?"

"One of the champions, believe it or not. If it weren't for the priest, heh... I'd be in worse shape."

"Tell me where I can find him."

The old tiger murrs as he sits at the corner table of the old establishment. He has a girl in each arm who swoon over him, all while he admires the meat brought to his table.

Tobias tears into the roast with large claws and strong jaws, ripping through the flesh with the abandon that he's hardly allowed. While many eat with gusto in places such as this, the ravenous devouring he performs here draws the attention of many. This, of course, includes the newcomer who steps into the room.

Her hair is tied back behind her head, and her tube top shows off her wiry and muscled form, all bearing the scarred evidence of conflict. Her hands are, and her feet are bandaged, ready for any sort of scuffle, just like the one she's looking for. She steps into the room, and she stops right in front of his table, speaking past a face mask that obscures her identity.

"You visited a lady this morning and nearly killed her today."

Tobias, holding onto the bone, gnaws at the rest of his meal. "Eh? So what of it? Old broad thought it was good to get herself punched around a bit."

The woman whips her leg up and slams a boot down at the table. The heel breaks through the wood, knocking the furniture to the ground and eliminating the only barrier between the two.

Tobias's companions shriek and scurry away, but the tiger stands tall, looming over her. "Well, now, she said her brat would be showing up to get a taste of me," he says, rolling his neck, tossing the bone aside. "Glad I just ate. You don't got the meat. Maybe you got something better going on under those pants of yours."

She rushes in, leaping up upon the booth and then jumping at him, grabbing his head and bringing his face against her knee.

Tobias roars and swipes, grabbing her from the back of the head and slamming her against the broken mess of the table. "Ha! You aristocrats are all alike--so removed from the real world that you'll take anything to be part of a real struggle. Let me guess--you're upset that you weren't in the Tournament of Pleasure? Don't worry, I got plenty of barbed meat here to make you feel like you were there!" He says this, grinding her face against the dirt ground.

The old woman is a pain... running political affairs for the house is a pain... living among many fake people is as pain, but this... this is life!"

She catches onto his ankles with her own. She twists her body, throwing Tobias off his balance and onto the ground himself.

He growls and swipes at her, but she curls up, his claws digging into the dirt.

A second later, she slams her boots against his face, striking him in the nose and sending him rolling back into another table. It knocks over, spilling someone's whiskey all over his head.

"Fuck, lady!" he growls, wiping the burning liquid from his eyes. "You aren't like that fat bi-iich!"

She slams her boot against his throat, his eyes burning with hate at her. His claws glimmer and she presses down against his windpipe, staring at him with hatred in her eyes. "You think this is a game? That you can pay someone to throw their life away for you? That woman is sick. She's delusional. She doesn't deserve abuse!"

She remembers it all-too-well. The bloodlust, the enjoyment she had when she pummeled the older woman's face, covering her knuckles in blood. She remembers when the staff tore her away and locked her up. She remembers when the doctor arrived and told her everything and apologized.

Battle Mania... a common affliction in those whose bloodlines come from the warring lands across the ocean. It is a disease, a curse, and there is no cure.