"Hey," John said, his voice soft. "Everything is going to be alright. Seriously. You're safe now. Those guys are dead. They can't hurt you anymore. And I'm not going to hurt you. I know it's scary, but I promise, I'm not that kind of—"
The woman just stared at him, her eyes still wide, her body still trembling. She wasn't crying anymore, but she wasn't exactly calm either. She looked like a rabbit waiting for the fox to strike.
John needed to lighten the mood. He needed to crack a joke, something stupid and silly to break the tension. He racked his brain, searching through the dusty archives of his chud humor, and finally landed on one.
"Okay, okay," John said, holding up his hands. "Why don't scientists trust atoms?"
The woman blinked. "What?"
"Because they make up everything!" John grinned, waiting for the laugh.
Silence.
The woman just stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her brow furrowed in confusion. The joke hung in the air like a dead fish, smelly and awkward. John's grin faltered. He could feel his face heating up with embarrassment. This was supposed to be funny. It was funny. In his head, it had been funny.
Then the woman started laughing.
Not a polite giggle. Not a nervous chuckle. Full-on, knee-slapping, tear-streaming, can't-breathe laughter. "HAHAHAHAHA!" She doubled over, clutching her stomach, her whole body shaking with the force of it. "Oh my god—HAHAHAHA—I can't—"
John stared at her, caught completely off guard. "Uh. You're laughing."
"I know! HAHAHAHA!" She tried to catch her breath, wiping tears from her eyes. "I-I'm sorry—HAHAHA—it's just that—" She dissolved into another fit of giggles, practically rolling on the floor.
John waited, arms crossed, tapping his foot. After what felt like an eternity, she finally managed to compose herself enough to speak.
"It's just that," she said, still sniffling with laughter, "your face is so cute! But like, in the ugly kind of way, you know? Like a pug. Or a baby who hasn't grown into its features yet. It's just so... so... silly looking!"
John's eye twitched. Cute in an ugly way. Like a pug. He had just saved this woman from being raped, and she was making fun of his face. He took a deep breath, counted to three, and let it go. Whatever floated her boat, he guessed. At least she wasn't crying anymore.
"Right," John said flatly. "Glad my face amuses you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another body to deal with."
He turned and walked over to the serving woman's corpse. She was still lying where Alrick had dropped her, her throat a gaping wound, her eyes still wide with fear. The blood had dried now, dark and flaky, but the wound itself looked fresh. John crouched down beside her, studying the damage.
"System," John said. "Revive her."
The blue screen flickered to life.
Do I have to? I'm tired. You keep making me do things.
"Yes, you have to. She didn't ask to get her throat slit by some necrophiliac freak. Bring her back."
Fine. But you owe me. Again.
A pulse of blue light washed over the serving woman's body. The wound on her throat knitted itself together, the flesh sealing, the blood vessels reconnecting. Color returned to her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell with a sharp, gasping breath, and her eyes snapped open.
And then she started screaming.
"No! No, please! Don't kill me! Please, I'll do anything! Don't rape me! Don't hurt me! Please, please, please!" She scrambled backward across the floor, pressing herself against the wall, her hands held up in front of her face like she was trying to block a blow.
John sighed. He was fighting an uphill battle here. Every woman he revived or rescued immediately assumed he was going to rape and murder them. Which, okay, fair. He was a stranger. He had killed two men right in front of them. But still. It was getting old.
"Hey," John said, holding up his hands. "Hey, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to rape you. I literally just brought you back from the dead. Why would I do that if I was just going to kill you again?"
The serving woman stared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes darting between John's face and the noblewoman who was now sitting up and watching the scene with wide eyes.
"He's telling the truth," the noblewoman said, her voice still a little shaky. "He killed the men who attacked us. He's... weird. And his face is kind of ugly-cute. But he hasn't hurt us."
John cleared his throat and stood up, brushing off his too-long coat. "Right. Well. Now that we've established that I'm not a complete monster—"
Debatable.
the system interjected.
"Shut up," John muttered. He climbed the twenty stairs back up to the throne, his boots clanking awkwardly because they were still too big for his chud feet. When he reached the top, he closed his eyes and let his body shift. The chud form melted away, replaced by the husk avatar. Tall. Muscular. Black hair. Yellow eyes. The overlord clothes fit perfectly now, the coat draping elegantly over his broad shoulders, the boots hugging his calves.
He turned to face the two women, his expression serious.
"Listen," John said, his voice deeper now, more commanding. "I revived you because you were victims. You were attacked by two annoying dickheads who thought they could do whatever they wanted because they had swords and titles and no one told them no. I'm going to take care of their bodies later. But right now, you have two options."
The noblewoman and the serving woman exchanged glances, then looked back up at him.
"Option one," John continued, holding up a finger. "I teleport you back to your families. Right now. Tonight. You go back to your lives like nothing happened. But." He held up a second finger. "I can't guarantee that you won't be attacked again. Or raped. Or killed. The world outside is dangerous, and I'm not going to be there to protect you."
The women's faces fell. The serving woman started trembling again.
"Option two," John said, holding up a third finger. "I teleport your families here. To my mansion. I give you food, water, clothes, whatever else you need. You live here, in this place, where it's safe. I know the real estate is kind of... well..." He gestured vaguely at the black marble, the water floor, the dragon-headed pillars. "It's a lot. But if you want, you have a place here. You can stay as long as you need. Forever, if you want."
The noblewoman was quiet for a long moment, her brow furrowed in thought. The serving woman stared at the floor, her hands twisting in her lap.
Finally, the noblewoman spoke. "Your generosity is... overwhelming," she said carefully. "And I thank you for it. Truly. But I have a family. A husband. Children. They're out there, in the world. I can't abandon them. And I can't ask them to leave everything they know to come live in... in this." She gestured at the throne room. "It's beautiful, but it's not home."
John nodded. "I understand."
"I would rather be on the outside," she continued. "With my family. In the world I know."
The serving woman nodded vigorously. "Same. I have a mother. Sisters. I can't just disappear."
"Fair enough," John said. "I can teleport you back. But before I do, I have one more question. Do you want me to wipe your memories? So you don't remember what happened tonight? The assault, the fear, all of it. I can make it so you just remember being at the banquet, and then waking up at home. Nothing else."
Both women's eyes widened.
"You can do that?" the serving woman asked.
"I can do a lot of things," John said. "So. Yes or no?"
"Yes," they said in unison. "Please. Yes."
John nodded and looked up at the ceiling. "System. You heard them. Wipe their memories of the past twenty minutes. Everything from the banquet onward. And then teleport them back to the banquet. Make sure they're safe. Make sure no one questions them."
Fine. But this is the last thing I'm doing for you tonight. I'm going into sleep mode after this.
"Since when he fuck did you have sleep mo- you know what… sure what ever."
A pulse of blue light washed over the two women. Their eyes went glassy for a moment, then cleared. They blinked, looking around the throne room with confusion, and then they were gone. Vanished in a flash of light, teleported back to the gala, back to their lives, with no memory of the horror they had endured.
John stood alone in the throne room, surrounded by water and marble and the bodies of two dead rapists. He turned to look at Zedrik and Alrick, their headless corpses laid out on the floor, their severed heads resting beside them like grotesque decorations.
He grinned.
"Now," John said, cracking his knuckles. "Time for the fun part."