There are a handful of well-groomed men in airy silks lounging around in the lounge. They watch in horrified and baffled fascination as living slime dismounts one of the mounted girls.

There is one security guard standing unobtrusively in the corner. He steps forward, brandishing a heavy stick. "Whoa there, girl. You're not supposed to be out of your hole during business hours."

The insight hits Mira in a flash: the Lucratites didn't tell their staff about her. They wanted to keep the Clear Heart Milk a secret, even from their employees.

Does this change anything?

Not in the immediate moment.

Either you're cooperating, or you're not. Either you're negotiating, or you're at war. Either the people between you and your goal matter more than your goal... or they don't.

Mira hates conflict. That doesn't mean she's bad at it. It's always easier to destroy than to create.

With a twist of will, she splits her mana into three streams and empowers three of her runenodes in the same instant she flicks her hand toward the guard. Her core, [Attack], and [Projectile].

The spellbolt takes the guard in the chest like a gunshot, impacting before he even sees the girl casting a spell. It drives all the air from his lungs, cracks his ribs, and throws him backward hard enough to crack his head against the wall and fall to the floor in a heap.

After a moment, he starts regenerating, and his eye flutter open.

Three more sparkling blue-white spellbolts slam into him, rapid fire, breaking more of his bones and driving him back into the floor before he can get up.

As she stands over him, Mira nudges her slime suit with a thought. In response, it flows out over her skin and then contracts, turning opaque and glossy as it solidifies into a featureless purple-black latex leotard, covering her crotch and torso while leaving her arms and legs bare. It's split at the bottom, exposing her pussy, and has cut-outs for her breasts. That wasn't part of the image she intended, but her suit seems to like it better and she's not going to complain about being lewder, even if this is serious time and not sexy time. At another nudge, some of its mass flows down her legs to coat and protect the bottoms of her feet.

The airily-dressed rich men scramble out of their seats and hide behind the richly cushioned furniture, one of them disengaging from another wall-mounted slavegirl to do so, his wet cock bouncing in front of him even as it wilts.

After three more spellbolts, the guard starts regenerating but stays unconscious.

"Don't hurt us!" one of the rich men blurts in an attempt at an authoritative tone.

Mira feels a warm and fuzzy affirmation flow through her as she thinks to herself that she has no intention of hurting any of the brothel's customers.

What?

Orders.

Her mind makes the connection, obvious in retrospect. She feels repulsed and cringey and alienated when she disobeys, she feels accepted and fluffy and fulfilled when she obeys. Any order. Any person. The slave collar she now wears is the obvious culprit.

"I wasn't going to hurt you," she says without looking back. "But you might want to cover your ears. This is going to be loud."

Turning to the door, Mira blasts it to splinters and strides out of the room.

Splinters and wood-shards spray out into the main pleasure den, causing patrons and prostitutes alike to scream in fright, to duck and cover. A low, crooning song about tentacled dreams screeches to a halt.

Security is tighter, here, with the less affluent clients. A full dozen men with truncheons and brass knuckles emerge from the shadows on high alert.

Stairs lead to an upper level. A hallway sealed with heavy double-doors leads out to the greeting area and the street-facing section. Here in the main den, there is a bar, and a pillow pit, and private booths, and a stage.

When the figure of Mira becomes visible, the guards immediately start shouting orders like, "Stop!" or "Don't move!" or "Cease all actions!" and things like that.

It feels terrible, disobeying.

But Mira is not operating in a mode where she cares about that, right now.

Three concerns. First, getting out of the physical building. Second, not being chased, violently. Third, not being chased, legally.

She reaches out with her senses. She's a Mana-Esper and has Truesight. Nothing magical can hide from her.

The most magical things present are her own breastmilk. There are tanks of it back in her cubbyhole, as well as behind that wall over there, and a smaller amount upstairs among a few other enchanted items; probably the Lucratites' office.

Two of the twelve guards are mages, both with far smaller mana pools than Mira. That one has lightning magic. That one, water. That one has an enchantment etched on his truncheon, something to cause extra pain.

Painchantment is the first to make a move, his eyes bugging out when the orders to stop don't even slow Mira down. He dives at her, swinging his blunt object.

Mira steps into the blow, then flicker-blurs through it, appearing behind the man in an instant. She twists her mana into four streams, hitting the right nodes within her soul as she spins around.

A scintillating beam of blue-white sparkles slams into Painchantment's back. Mira holds the beam on him as he flies through the air, shredding his spine and accelerating him until he smashes into and through the back wall of the den, shattering the claycrete with his broken body.

"Weapons free weapons free! She regenerates!" Mr. Lucratite is on the balcony above, staring down at the carnage in outraged dismay.

Several of the guards draw crossbows.

The lightning mage get's off a, "Kazchirr talkot!"

From across the room, the water mage attempts to catch the rogue slavegirl in a crossfire. "Lurchir-"

A bolt of lightning strikes the floor at Mira's feet, but as the flash clears, she's gone, already hurtling across the room in a blur.

Sparkling blue-white spellbolts slam into the water mage in a volley, cutting him down in the blink of an eye, then she switches spells, a glimmering blue-white ghost-blade forming in her hand as she takes the lightning mage in the gut, bisecting him cleanly before he spills to the ground in a flood of blood and entrails. She really hopes that one has regeneration but she's not going to let worrying about that slow her down!

Switching spells again, back to the mana-beam. She sweeps it over the crossbowmen, sending them sprawling, then holds the beam on the biggest one, driving him through a banister and ripping a hole in his shoulder.

She switches spells to something new, a scintillating cyclone of mana gathered in her hand, blazing brighter and brighter as she dodges another truncheon and then flicker-blurs directly into him, body-checking him with her full weight. She's tiny compared to him, but she hits him fast enough that it breaks her own shoulder, and sends him careening into his companion, both of them tumbling to the floor in a heap.

Her latest spell has charged enough by now, she figures. Mira dashes forward and then leaps, shooting straight up to eye-level with the shocked-looking Mr. Lucratite, hanging in the air, eyes meeting across the empty space above the main den. Then she flicker-blurs and appears right behind him on the balcony. She grabs his arms and holds the blazing ball of mana up to him threateningly.

"Dispel that! Let me go! Obey me damn you!"

The still-standing guards look on in horror as their boss is taken hostage.

"No."

Hostage? Hahaha, as if. This isn't a hostage situation you silly thugs.

"Before you decide to chase me, I want you to think really hard about this." She waves the now-screaming and blindingly-bright ball of mana in his face, making him wince. "I could survive it, if this was an explosion spell. It could've been an explosion spell. Next time, it will be an explosion spell. Anyone asks about me? I'm a free woman, and you have no claim on me. Tell me you understand."

"I understand!!! You won't be chased! Whatever you want! Just dispel that!"

"Good. If you feel like changing your mind once I don't have a spell to your head, just remember: next time, this will be an explosion spell. ZUD."

Mira discorporeates in place, dodging without moving, as the spell goes off like a bomb. Chirr sushmelva-zud.

An orgasm bomb, to be precise.

A wave of mana blasts outward, sweeping over the room and shaking the walls as it forces its way through. Everyone in the building and probably the entire city block collapses in instant orgasm, creaming their pants or spraying cum everywhere as they writhe around on the ground.

Mira casts a shield over her head with a slot in it, then fires her spellbeam at the ceiling. She could use the front door, but she feels like this'll be more satisfying. A few seconds later, the beam erupts into the sky, clearing a hole for her to jump through.

Mira leaps, shooting up through the hole and into the evening sky.

At the peak of her arc, she releases the energy from the jump, allowing herself to kick off of empty space, and flicker-blurs forward, sending herself shooting over the city like an arrow. She's going for the River. She doesn't want to stay somewhere she's legally a slave, and from what she saw and read during her library visit, civilization was mostly on the Sands side. In the Green, nothing will care what is and isn't written down in a ledger in Vynait.

Arcing from rooftop to rooftop, from spire to flattop, brings Mira to the water's edge in minutes.

She flies from her last leap, passing over cargo barges and pleasure yachts as she arrows through the sky.

Then she flicker-blurs into the water, creating a bizarre reverse-splash as she materializes already underwater, and rapidly decelerates, without ever actually hitting the water's surface.

Mira dives, and swims, and dives, and swims some more.

And once she finally emerges on the opposite shore, the jungle welcomes her with open... petals.