Some people are massive thorns in the sides of godly plans. Because when those strategists are involved, then unexpected things keep happening.
—
Thunder Junction always smelled like heat.
Not just the dry, cracked-earth kind. Not just sunbaked wood and old iron. There was something restless in the air here… something akin to a feeling that if you stayed too long, the ground itself might start moving under your feet.
Vraska liked places like that.
They matched her mood.
She pushed open the swinging saloon doors and stepped inside without hesitation. The room was wide, dimly lit, and mostly empty, just a few scattered patrons hunched over drinks and a piano in the corner playing something slow and dusty.
Good.
Less witnesses.
Less noise.
And most importantly of all, less time wasted.
She chose a table with her back to the wall and sat down, setting her staff beside her chair with deliberate care. From there she could see the entrance, the bar, and the stairs leading to the upper floor.
Habits like that had kept her alive for a long time.
She folded her arms.
“…Of course he picks Thunder Junction,” she muttered under her breath.
Her fingers tapped once against the wood.
She already knew why.
It's because it was a lawless territory, a chaotic environment with easy exits and so many unpredictable variables that surely no one would ever expect him to come here.
But that was exactly the point.
Jace never chose a meeting place without thinking ten moves ahead.
That was the problem.
Vraska exhaled slowly and leaned back.
“I like him,” she admitted quietly to herself. “Because he’s Jace.”
A pause.
“But I also hate him,” she added, almost immediately. “Mainly because he’s Jace, and I know things are gonna get complicated again.”
Jace never called Vraska just for fun.
If he did, that also meant he had a plan.
A genius plan most likely.
A plan that would involve at least five unnecessary layers of secrecy, two dramatic reveals, and probably some kind of moral dilemma he’d pretend not to notice until the last possible second.
She rolled her eyes.
“Why can’t he ever just say what he means? Or make things easy for once…”
The saloon doors creaked again.
Vraska didn’t look.
Footsteps approached anyway.
Light ones. Very much non-threatening in every way.
A young bartender, or at least someone who looked like one, stopped at her table with an easy, practiced smile. He must have been human… or at least human adjacent. Vraska wasn’t that good at telling human races apart, nor did she want to be good at it.
“Welcome,” they said. “First time here?”
Vraska gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Passing through I suppose.”
“Well,” the bartender said brightly, “you picked a good night. We’re hosting a party later.”
Vraska stared at them flatly, stopping a groan from leaving her mouth.
“…Great.”
The word held absolutely no enthusiasm.
They either didn’t notice or chose not to.
“Music, drinks, travelers from all over. It should be quite lively in a few hours.”
“I’m not here for lively,” Vraska replied. “I’m here to meet someone. Then I’m leaving.”
The bartender nodded sympathetically.
“Of course. Still… while you wait, would you like to try our new Party Blend?”
They gestured toward the bar.
“First one’s on the house for every guest.”
Vraska hesitated.
Suspicion flickered briefly.
Free drinks were rarely free, especially not in a lawless place like this.
But the place seemed harmless enough, and especially that bartender looked so honest and oblivious that Vraska wasn’t sure how he wasn't eaten alive yet.
She took another look around. The crowd was still small. She wasn’t planning to stay long.
And honestly…
She was bored.
“Fine,” she said. “One. If you are going to give me something for free, then it would be rude to turn it down.”
The bartender’s smile widened just a fraction.
They returned moments later with a short glass filled with amber liquid that caught the lamplight in slow, swirling patterns.
Vraska took it. Smelled it.
Sweet. Spiced. A hint of something unfamiliar beneath it.
She took a cautious sip.
The effect was immediate.
Warmth spread through her chest like sunlight through stone. The tight coil of irritation she’d been carrying since stepping onto this plane loosened slightly. Her shoulders lowered without her noticing.
“…Huh.”
She took another sip.
The piano suddenly sounded better.
The room felt less oppressive.
Even the idea of Jace’s inevitable overcomplicated scheme didn’t seem quite as aggravating.
Vraska leaned back in her chair, glass resting loosely in her hand.
Maybe she had been overreacting.
He did mean well.
Usually.
Probably.
She let out a quiet breath.
“Alright,” she murmured to herself. “Maybe this won’t be so bad.”
Outside, Thunder Junction’s wind rattled the windows like distant laughter.
Then the doors swung open again.
This time Vraska did look.
Jace stepped inside like he always did, calm, composed, already scanning the room for threats and exit routes before the dust from the threshold had even settled behind him. His cloak hung perfectly straight despite the dry wind outside, and his eyes were sharp with purpose.
He spotted her immediately.
Of course he did.
He crossed the room without hesitation and took the chair opposite her, leaning forward slightly as if the entire plane might vanish if he wasted even a second.
“Vraska,” he said. “Good. You’re early.”
“Of course I’m early,” she replied, taking another slow sip from her glass. “Someone has to compensate for your dramatic timing.”
For a moment, something softer flickered across his expression.
Then it was gone.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
She shrugged.
“I still have mixed feelings about this whole thing,” she admitted.
He almost smiled.
They sat in silence for a moment. The piano continued its lazy tune. Somewhere behind them a glass shattered and was followed by laughter instead of alarm.
Jace folded his hands.
“We need to talk.”
“Obviously,” Vraska said.
Small talk came first. It always did.
How long since their last meeting. Where she had been. Where he had been. Half-truths traded like currency neither of them fully trusted. Familiar territory.
It felt… easier than usual.
The Party Blend sat warmly in her stomach, smoothing the sharp edges of the conversation. Even Jace’s habit of watching her too closely didn’t irritate her as much as it normally would.
Then he began.
“I’ve been tracking a pattern,” he said. “Something that connects several planes. We met up so that we can discuss—”
Vraska blinked.
His voice kept going.
“—the movement of certain forces that might indicate… and for that it is essential that we—”
She tried to focus.
Really tried.
But the words slid past her like dust in the wind.
“…and when we get it, then we can finally—”
Her eyes drifted toward the piano.
Someone had started playing something more upbeat.
“…—which is why the timing has to be precise or the entire—”
She nodded automatically.
“Mhm.”
Inside her head, a different commentary was running.
He’s overthinking.
Another sip of warmth spread through her chest.
He always overthinks.
Jace was still talking.
Gesturing now. Drawing shapes on the table with one finger as if mapping invisible strategies only he could see.
“…so if we approach it from—”
Vraska watched his mouth move.
None of it stuck.
She tilted her head slightly.
He needs to relax.
The thought came easily.
Naturally.
The bartender appeared at her shoulder like they had been summoned by the idea.
Two fresh glasses were set down between them.
“Another round,” they said cheerfully. “You ordered this earlier. Thought your friend might want one too.”
Jace’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“I didn’t order anything,” he said.
Vraska frowned faintly.
She tried to remember.
Had she?
She must have.
Her own glass was empty now.
She hadn’t even noticed finishing it.
“Well,” she said slowly, pushing one of the drinks toward Jace, “it’s here now.”
“I’m not thirsty,” he replied flatly.
His annoyance was growing. She could see it in the tension around his eyes, in the way his fingers had stilled on the table.
He was trying to stay focused.
Trying to pull the conversation back to whatever elaborate mental maze he had been building.
Vraska watched him.
He really needs to drink.
The thought felt stronger this time.
More certain.
Her eyes flickered faintly, a brief golden flash beneath her lashes.
She leaned forward.
“Jace,” she said, voice softer than before. “Just try it.”
He hesitated.
Suspicion warred with curiosity.
“With you?” he asked.
She nodded.
“It’s good.”
That was true.
It was good.
After a moment, he sighed and picked up the glass.
“One sip,” he said.
He drank.
Paused.
Then took another.
Then another.
Vraska watched as his expression shifted from wary to surprised.
“…Alright,” he admitted. “That is… unexpectedly excellent.”
He took a longer pull.
Then another.
By the time he lowered the glass, it was nearly empty.
A slow warmth crept into his posture. His shoulders loosened. The sharp focus in his eyes softened.
“…I can see why you’re distracted,” he murmured.
Then his gaze lifted to meet hers.
For just a heartbeat.
His eyes flashed.
Not golden like hers.
But bright.
Reflective.
Like moonlight on deep water.
The world tilted.
The tension in the room dissolved like mist in sunlight. The piano sounded richer. The lamplight warmer. Even the dust motes drifting through the air seemed to move in lazy, beautiful patterns.
Vraska leaned back in her chair.
Everything suddenly felt simple.
Easy.
Jace let out a quiet laugh.
“…You know,” he said, “maybe the plan can wait a minute.”
Vraska smiled.
“See?” she said. “I told you.”
—
Time became… slippery.
That was the closest word Vraska could find for it.
At some point she had leaned forward. At some point Jace had stopped talking about plans entirely. At some point the piano had changed songs three times, maybe four.
Now they were laughing.
Actually laughing.
Not the dry, sharp amusement she was used to sharing with him. Not the tense humor that usually lived between strategy and survival.
This was easy.
They talked about everything.
And nothing.
Old places. Bad food on worse planes. Strange creatures they had both encountered. Which one of them had made worse decisions in the past year.
Vraska couldn’t remember ever having a conversation with Jace that felt so… unserious.
It should have bothered her.
Instead it felt wonderful.
She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself as a small pocket of clarity drifted back into her thoughts.
This is so strange. Why don’t we do that more often?
Still in a warmth that made her so happy, a haze that made all thoughts simple, but she could feel her world become a bit more clear again.
Like things were sharpened slightly around the edges.
Enough for her to really look at him.
And notice.
“…Jace?” she said.
He tilted his head.
“Yes?”
Something had changed.
His silhouette was different now… softer somehow. The straight lines of his shoulders had curved subtly inward, his waist narrowing before flaring into fuller hips that pressed more comfortably against the chair.
His cloak no longer hung flat.
It followed shape.
There were gentle rises beneath the fabric of his chest. Curves that were unmistakably feminine in ways she had never imagined them on him before.
Vraska blinked slowly.
Her gaze lingered.
A faint outline of a generous chest, the gentle curvature of a trim waist, the plush thickness of a large behind…
For some reason, the sight sent a pleasant heat curling through her stomach.
“…Huh,” she murmured.
She didn’t felt as alarmed or confused as she probably should have been.
If anything…
She felt drawn to those curves.
Her eyes traced the line of his waist. The way he leaned back now, posture more fluid, less rigid. The subtle sway of movement when he reached for his glass.
It suited him.
More than she expected.
He looks… good.
The realization surprised her.
Then she breathed in.
And became aware of herself.
Her clothes felt tighter across her chest. The fabric beneath it stretched more than before. Her hips pressed more firmly into the sides of the chair. Her balance felt different, much heavier in some places, a lot lighter in others.
She shifted slightly.
Her hair moved.
Not just swayed, but full on, moving on seemingly their own accord. It had never done that before… at least she thinks that it never did.
The snake-like strands at the edges of her vision writhed softly, alive in a way she had almost forgotten to question.
“…Have things changed?” she asked quietly.
Jace smiled.
There was something dreamy about it now.
So relaxed and so warm.
And so happy.
He leaned forward again, resting his chin lightly on his hand as he studied her.
“Oh, so much has changed since we first met,” he said, his voice soft and much lower. Much more intimate. “And I don't have a single regret.”
The piano music blurred into the background. The lamps seemed brighter. The room felt smaller, like the rest of Thunder Junction had simply stopped existing beyond their table.
Vraska felt herself smiling back.
Without effort.
Without strategy.
Without thinking.
He looked at her like she was the only person in the world.
And then his eyes flashed.
Just for a heartbeat.
Deep blue light rippled across them like waves under moonlight.
The effect was immediate.
The small pocket of clarity she had been holding dissolved.
Warmth flooded back in stronger than before… thick, comforting, irresistibly simple. Thoughts slowed to a pleasant drift. The tension she hadn’t even realized was returning melted away again.
“Oh,” she breathed, leaning forward.
The world became soft.
Fuzzy.
Happy.
She laughed — lighter than she ever had in his presence.
“Well,” she said, voice playful now, “what point is there to dwell on the past when we could enjoy the here and now… together?”
Jace laughed with her.
And this time neither of them tried to remember what they had originally come here to do.
—-
At some point, the table had disappeared.
Or maybe they had.
Vraska wasn’t entirely sure.
She only knew that she was laughing.
Not the sharp, cutting laugh she used in negotiations. Not the dark amusement she reserved for enemies who underestimated her.
This was so light. So breathless and carefree.
The kind of laughter that made her eyes water and her shoulders shake while the rest of the world simply… didn’t matter anymore.
She sank deeper into the worn velvet couch near the back of the saloon, the lamplight softer there, the music muffled into a warm, distant rhythm.
Jace was curled against her.
Snuggled in close like she belonged there.
Like she had always belonged there.
Vraska didn’t even think of her as a man anymore. That thought felt distant, irrelevant… like something from a different life. The person pressed against her side now was unmistakably a woman. Warm and soft. Laughing under her breath as she traced idle patterns on Vraska’s arm.
They talked quietly.
About nothing important.
About everything at once.
Words flowed easily between them, smooth and effortless like the Party Blend still humming through their veins.
Vraska took a moment to really look at her.
And gods.
There was nothing subtle left.
Jace had become a full, breathtaking curve of a person. Her chest pressed generously against Vraska’s side, soft and warm through layers of fabric that had long since stopped pretending to conceal anything. Her waist dipped sharply before rising again into wide, inviting hips that shifted whenever she moved.
Her face had changed too.
So much softer. So much prettier.
Almost disarmingly cute in a way Vraska had never imagined possible. Not to mention just straight up looker in every way possible.
And her hair…
Vraska’s gaze lingered there.
It was long. And thick. Dark strands spilled down Jace’s shoulders and across her lap. But they didn’t just fall.
They wriggled.
Tiny, sinuous movements rippled through them as if each strand had a will of its own. Some curled lazily. Some stretched. Some nestled closer against Vraska’s clothes as though seeking warmth.
Wurms.
Small ones, but most definitely living, breathing wurms.
Vraska’s own snake hair responded instantly. Several of her serpents slid forward with soft, curious hisses, coiling affectionately around the living strands. The two masses of writhing hair mingled without tension, an oddly tender dance of scales and soft bodies.
For a brief moment, a thought surfaced.
Snake hair… do we gorgons… usually have those?
She leaned forward slightly, studying Jace more closely.
Jace looked up at her with a dreamy smile.
“What?” she asked softly. “Something wrong?”
Vraska blinked.
Her eyes burned faintly, a familiar pressure gathering behind them.
They flashed, gold light flickered across her gaze.
Jace melted instantly.
Her entire body relaxed further, sinking deeper into Vraska’s lap as though gravity itself had grown heavier. A contented sigh escaped her lips.
Vraska just watched, fascinated.
Then she noticed.
Jace’s hair lengthened, the wurms growing thicker and more defined. Tiny mouths formed along their tips, opening in sleepy little yawns as they wriggled happily through the lamplight.
Her legs shifted next.
They stretched. Elongated.
At first it looked like she was simply adjusting her posture, but the movement didn’t stop. The shape of her lower body softened, lengthening into smooth, sinuous forms that barely resembled human limbs anymore.
Two long, tapering appendages coiled lazily across the couch.
Tentacles. Or something close enough.
They grew thicker.
Stronger.
Beginning to press together at the hips as if remembering a single, older shape.
Vraska followed the movement downward.
And noticed her own legs.
They had changed too.
Longer than before, and much sleeker. The familiar sensation of bone and muscle had given way to something more fluid… more serpentine. They had not fully fused yet, but the intention was there, unmistakable.
A slow, thoughtful silence fell between them.
Then Jace spoke.
“I know that face,” she murmured, her voice warm with quiet amusement. “That’s the face you make when you’re thinking too hard.”
Vraska huffed softly.
She couldn’t deny it.
Jace lifted one hand and brushed it gently against Vraska’s cheek.
“Don’t worry about things,” she said. “Just enjoy this.”
Her smile deepened.
“I’m supposed to be the thinker between us, remember?”
She giggled in a light, almost musical way.
Then her eyes flashed.
Deep blue light rippled outward like a tide.
The effect hit Vraska instantly.
The faint clarity she had been holding dissolved again into soft warmth and floating happiness. The tension slipped away. Questions faded before they could fully form.
She missed the moment her legs shifted further.
Missed the slow, inevitable pull as they began to fuse just a little more.
All she felt was comfort.
And the pleasant certainty that wherever this night was taking them…
She didn’t want it to end.
—
The next clear thought Vraska managed to hold onto was bliss.
Pure, floating, shimmering bliss.
She was on the dance floor.
When had they moved there?
She didn’t know.
She didn’t care.
Soft romantic music filled the saloon, the kind that seemed to slow time itself. Colored lantern light drifted lazily across polished wood, turning the entire room into a dream of warm golds and deep violets.
And Jace was in her arms.
They moved together in slow, instinctive rhythm… bodies close, hips brushing, the long sinuous coils of their new forms wrapping and unwrapping around one another like living ribbons.
It felt like magic.
It was magic.
Their massive chests pressed together with every turn, every gentle sway. Vraska could feel the steady warmth of Jace’s breath against her cheek, could feel the subtle strength beneath her curves, could feel the strange, delightful sensation of their transformed bodies fitting together in ways they never had before.
Her snake hair had become bold in its affection. Slender serpents coiled curiously through the flowing mass of Jace’s living hair, brushing against the soft wriggling wurm-strands that responded in kind. It was an oddly tender exchange, scales against smooth skin, tiny movements of comfort and trust.
Vraska never wanted the moment to end.
She let herself feel everything.
Jace’s smiling face, flushed with warmth.
The long, elegant sweep of blue scales along her serpentine lower body, sleek and fluid, faint ridges catching the colored light like the back of some deep-sea creature.
A sea serpent.
Her drunk little sea serpent lover.
The thought made Vraska giddy enough that the rattle at the end of her own growing tail began to shake softly, a rhythmic, gentle percussion that somehow fell perfectly in time with the music.
They laughed together.
They turned.
They leaned in for another slow kiss that seemed to last far longer than any music could justify.
Then—
BANG.
The spell shattered.
“Well hold up! This is a robbery!” a harsh voice shouted.
The music faltered. Conversations stopped. Several patrons turned in alarm.
Near the entrance stood an overexcited goblin clutching a weapon far larger than he was. Behind him loomed three companions. A tall, imposing mix of silhouettes that Vraska vaguely registered as some combination of probably an elf, an angel, and a demon.
Or something like that.
She had never been particularly good at telling humanoids apart.
Jace unwound herself from Vraska’s coils with graceful reluctance and began to glide forward across the floor, her long scaled body moving in smooth, effortless waves.
“Easy there,” she said gently. “This is just a little party. Nothing special.”
The goblin jabbed his weapon closer, voice rising.
“Listen up, you little slither-freak! You either give us your money and get outta the way or we will…”
“…join us on the dance floor for a drink,” Vraska finished lazily from behind.
Both she and Jace lifted their gaze at the same time.
Their eyes glowed.
Gold and deep ocean blue light pulsed outward together.
The change in the intruders was immediate.
Tension drained from their shoulders like water. Angry scowls softened into unfocused smiles. Weapons lowered. Steps became uneven.
It was as if all four of them had suddenly become drunk in a fraction of a second as well as someone actively scattering all their thoughts so that none of them would stick.
“…You know… hic… now that you mention it…” the goblin mumbled.
The angel swayed visibly.
“Yeah… we can rob this place another day…”
The demon nodded dreamily.
“…Let’s get a drink.”
“Of course!” the bartender chimed, appearing beside them as if summoned by the sheer fact patreons were now there itself. “Today’s special is the Party Blend. First one’s on the house for everyone tonight.”
Vraska barely listened to what happened next.
She had already slipped back into Jace’s arms.
The music resumed.
Colored lights spun overhead.
They returned to slow dancing, then laughing, then kissing again, entirely unconcerned with the fate of the would-be thieves.
Somewhere in the corner, voices rose in drunken delight. There was singing. Possibly furniture moving. At one point Vraska thought she heard distinctly feminine laughter and moaning, despite none of them being girls before. In fact, by a certain point, she stopped hearing male voices at all.
She considered investigating.
For half a second.
Then Jace’s coils tightened gently around her waist again and the thought drifted away like smoke.
The night was warm.
The party was perfect.
And nothing in the world felt more important than staying exactly where she was.
—
High above the mortal world in theros, beneath the living constellations of Nyx, Xenagos was thinking.
Which was unusual.
Thinking was not his favorite activity.
Celebrating? Excellent.Scheming? Acceptable.Improvising during a party? Ideal.
But sitting alone with a cup of divine wine and thinking about problems?
An absolute Akroan Tragedy.
And unfortunately… necessary.
He swirled the liquid in his goblet and scowled at the drifting stars.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s talk about Jace.”
The name tasted like effort.
Jace Beleren was not just another planeswalker. Xenagos could feel that much from the ripples already spreading through the Blind Eternities.
He was absolutely brilliant. Inconveniently so.
A mind mage strong enough to tear apart illusions, unravel enchantments, and… worst of all… notice patterns.
If anyone could start freeing revelers from the Eternal Party…
It would be him.
Which meant Xenagos needed a plan.
He leaned back in the star-lit nothingness, staring upward.
“Alright. Let's think of dealing with him would hypothetically need,” he said to himself, counting on his fingers. “Step one: get Jace drunk on enchanted liquor.”
Reasonable.
“Step two: don’t let him suspect anything.”
Already harder.
“Step three: whoever gives him the drink cannot know what it does. At all. Not even a little.”
Annoying.
“Step four: only get one shot. Because the moment he realizes I’m targeting him, he’ll start reading every mind within ten planes and ruin the whole mood.”
He paused.
Took a long drink.
“…Great.”
Silence stretched across Nyx.
Stars shimmered politely.
Xenagos groaned.
“How in the revel am I supposed to do that? I can’t just walk up and hand him a cup. He’ll read the intention before I even think about thinking it. And I am probably the hardest mind to read of all of my followers, since drunk people are usually not in the most mentally solid state.”
He paced.
He muttered.
He considered disguises. Dream manipulation. Divine accidents. Very elaborate coincidences.
None of it felt satisfying. Or realistic for that matter.
Eventually, with a frustrated huff, he waved a hand.
“Thinking isn’t working,” he declared. “Let’s check on something more fun.”
There had been another ripple recently.
A small one.
Apparently some enthusiastic mortal had purchased several barrels of his enchanted liquor and transported them to a place called Thunder Junction.
Xenagos had never visited the plane.
But curiosity, and ego, were powerful motivators.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s see what my product is doing out there.”
From the safety of Nyx, he leaned forward and peered through the fabric of worlds.
And what he saw was… Dust. Then Neon lamplight. Then Music.
A saloon packed with dancing bodies.
He squinted.
Focused.
And then froze.
“…Wait.”
He leaned closer.
“…Is that…”
He blinked.
“…Is that wurm-naga… is that Jace right there?”
The mind mage, now unmistakably serpentine, feminine, and extremely intoxicated, was wrapped around a towering gorgon lamia while colored lights spun overhead.
They were kissing.
Passionately.
On a table.
Several former bandits that were now just as busty were cheering nearby.
Xenagos did not move for a full minute.
Constellations drifted past in awkward silence.
Finally, he set down his goblet.
“How…?” he asked slowly, “How in the name of everything that is fun and games at a party did that happen?!”