Quick squick warning. If the scene toward the end with Kashka and the Bull makes you uncomfortable feel free to skip it. There is no crucial information you will miss by doing so. I can't say more here without it being a spoiler but I tried very hard to make the scene palatable. -Blu
Kashka slowly opened her eyes. Surprised she was even alive, the cat-girl reached down and gingerly prodded her stomach where the mage hit her. Curious why she wasn't feeling any pain, the woman lifted her head and looked down at her body. Where she expected a huge bruise, the skin of her belly appeared normal. The cat-girl also noticed her belt was missing along with her sleeping potions, vials of poison, and lockpicks.
The bed she was lying in seemed ordinary, but the roof above her appeared to be canvas. The mage was supposed to be going out into the desert. Was this his tent? No, she wasn't on a bedroll on the floor. She was lying in a bed. Though Kashka had never slept in a tent before, she knew they were mobile shelters, and a wooden-framed bed made no sense in that regard.
Flexing her legs, she guessed someone had given her an excellent healing potion. Bozun's potions always left her a little sore, as though it stopped just before healing her completely.
That, or she wasn't in pain because this was the afterlife.
For some reason, she felt the world beyond this one could do better than canvas tents. In her belly, light cramping reminded her it was empty despite her healed body, reinforcing the belief she was still alive.
She pushed the discomfort in her stomach from her mind. If she was alive, she needed to get back to Bozun before he determined she ran away. The assassin had a way of making sure anyone trying to escape him ended up dead. Though unsure how he accomplished this, she assumed it was similar to how he dealt with girls captured while on assignment. Whatever the mechanism, it often resulted in everyone nearby dying as well.
Moments later, she had the grim realization that if she returned, Bozun would kill her anyway. A small part of her mind entertained the idea he might forgive her and give her another chance, but she knew the man too well. Forgiveness was not something he did. The women working for him were disposable, and he reminded them of this constantly. As he said, he didn't need broken blades.
The cat-girl closed her eyes. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't. The only thing changing was how she chose to die. Remembering the feel of Bozun's fingers digging into her scalp and the look of rage on his face made it an easy choice. He would make her death as painful as possible and use it to keep the other girls in line by showing them the price of failure.
Sighing, she realized the only thing left was how she chose to spend her last bit of time in the land of the living. She wished she could see her mother and sisters one last time, but that was impossible. Her mother died protecting her kittens from slavers. Kashka and her sisters were quickly rounded up afterward and sold off at the slave market here in Fazal. She hadn't seen her siblings since then and probably wouldn't recognize them if she did.
After a few months of intensive training, Kashka spent a handful of years as a young woman's pet. As the girl approached marrying age, her father began looking for his daughter's future husband and saving for her dowry. Days before she came of age, the man decided that a cat-girl was an unneeded expense. She was sold to Bozun shortly after.
Kashka scowled at the memory of training to become an assassin. The transition from a pet and companion to a living weapon was difficult, and the punishment for mistakes was severe. Bozun beat her nearly to death then poured a healing potion down her throat, reviving her so she could continue her lessons. She learned those lessons extremely fast and, combined with her natural abilities, became a stunningly good assassin in a short time.
While passing through an alley while returning from a mission, she heard music coming from a nearby inn. Though Bozun pounded most of her past life out of her, the sound reminded her of the songs sung by her previous owner's mother, and she took a few minutes to listen before returning to the assassin. Afterward, she adjusted her routes across Fazal in hopes of chancing upon another inn with a minstrel. Somehow, Bozun never caught wind of her activities.
The songs and stories she heard fueled her imagination between assignments. Bozun had her and the other girls train in their downtime, but while the other girls continually honed their skills, something in her breed made her deadlier than even the other cat-girls. Bozun had her train about half as much as the other girls, and the lack of incessant practice led to many days laying in her room, letting her mind wander.
Shortly after the cat-girl came of age, she was training with a fluffy, white-haired dog-girl tasked with seducing and killing a particular man. The woman told her Bozun feared Kashka's abilities. He worried that if she were allowed to perfect her craft, she would surpass his skills and become a threat to him one day. Kashka scoffed at the woman. Their Master's skills were so far beyond hers, the idea was comical. She assumed the dog-girl was trying to be nice since she got to practice pleasuring human men nightly. Kashka and the other 'blades' only got to masturbate occasionally as a reward for successfully completing a difficult mission. Being with the Bull didn't count. That was intended to be punishment and not as pleasant as her experience the night before last.
At first, Kashka envied the monster girls who became seductresses. Her jealousy evaporated when she realized the women never returned from their assignments. Information traveled slowly among Bozun's charges. The girls were kept apart except when training, and the only reason it flowed at all was because the girls learned quicker when instructed by the others. Despite Bozun's efforts, news would eventually trickle back to her that a girl completed her mission but was killed before she could escape. By the time Kashka noticed a pattern, Bozun's other two' blades' had died and been replaced multiple times as well. When the assassin said she was disposable, he meant it.
She brought her revelation up to the other girls, but they dismissed her observations, fearful it might draw their Master's ire. Unable to discuss her epiphany and unable to do anything about it anyway, Kashka retreated into the minstrel's tales.
Each time the cat-girl heard a new story, she tried her best to commit it to memory, repeating it over and over in her head until she knew it by heart, albeit with the occasional misheard or garbled word.
She loved the tales of redemption, especially when a villainous character falls in love and the experience alters them fundamentally, turning them into a good person. But the stories that stuck with her most were of the valiant and honorable heroes. Crisscrossing the countryside, they helped the down-trodden, rescued damsels, and struck down the evil people of the world. There always was a part of these legends where the hero let a disarmed opponent obtain a weapon. After all, killing an unarmed man was dishonorable. Kashka frowned as her thoughts flickered to the beggar, but she pushed them away. Her time was limited, and she didn't have the luxury of regrets.
Instead, she thought about the songs that came later in the night, where a rescued damsel or a group of younger single townswomen offered their bodies to their savior as a reward. Her thoughts often turned to the bawdy accounts of the men's sexual prowess on the nights she was allowed to masturbate, imagining herself as one of the women gleefully impaling herself on the hero's prick.
Looking around the canvas room to be sure she was alone, Kashka slid a hand over her belly and cautiously touched the top of her sex. When nothing happened, she steeled herself and moved her hand a little further. Again, nothing happened. The thought flitted through her mind that maybe she really was dead. The cat-girl sighed, of course she wasn't dead, there was still a collar around her neck, but there was one way to be sure. Sliding her hand a little further, she pressed a finger through her folds and touched her clit. Wincing, she jerked her hand away, but the expected searing pain in her jaw never came.
Spreading her legs slightly, she began moving her hand down again but stopped. It was only a matter of time before Bozun realized she failed and wasn't coming back. Was this how she wanted to spend her last moments? Yes, it was. But if this was going to be her last time touching herself, she wasn't going to do it wearing this damn collar. Kashka reached up to undo the buckle, and a jolt of pain shot through her body when she touched the metal. Yowling, she wrenched her hand away, her eyes widening in surprise as she realized the collar was real.
"Aww, I was hoping you were going to keep going," came a female voice from the foot of the bed.
Kashka's head shot up, searching for the source of the voice. The mage's sprite faded into view as she landed on the bed between the cat-girl's feet. Kashka jerked her legs back as though the little avatar were about to burn her.
"No need for that," said the small, glowing woman, "I'm not here to hurt you. Unfortunately, I am here to tell you that you are Kal's prisoner."
Kal, that was the mage's name. After her first few assignments, she tried to forget the names of her marks. Knowing their names made the guilt of taking their lives more intense. It was easier when they were just a body whose heart needed to stop. After working for Bozun for a couple of years, forgetting her target's name was second nature.
"I'm Ria," continued the sprite, "and a quick rundown of the rules Kal gave you—"
"It won't matter," the cat-girl interrupted, her head dropping back to her pillow.
"Why not?" asked the avatar.
"My master has a way of killing those who get captured," she explained while staring up at the canvas ceiling. "Once he figures out I'm gone—"
"I'm certain Kal already took care of that," Ria butted in, returning the favor with a smirk.
