The masked figure's blade pressed deeper. Blood trickled down Nina's throat, mixing with shower water streaming over her naked body.
Tim's grip tightened on his weapon. "Let her go."
The figure tilted their head. Silent. Calculating.
"I said—" Tim started.
The blade bit deeper. Nina's muffled scream died behind the gloved hand. Her eyes rolled with terror.
"Step back," the figure finally spoke. Voice distorted, mechanical. "Or she dies here."
Tim's jaw locked. Every instinct screamed to charge, but Nina's life hung on the edge of that blade.
"What do you want?" Tim growled.
"The Marathon." The figure's grip tightened on Nina. "Tidam stays home. Don't participate. Or everyone dies."
"Fuck that," Tim spat.
The blade shifted, angling for the killing stroke—
Lacey exploded through the doorway behind the assassin.
Her spear swung hard, aiming for the masked head. The figure twisted at the last second, releasing Nina. She collapsed onto the wet tile, gasping.
Lacey and the assassin clashed—steel on steel, sparks flying in the steam. She fought like a demon, every strike powerful, precise. Her sports bra was soaked with spray, chest heaving, muscles flexing with CrossFit-trained fury.
"Get Nina out!" Lacey roared.
Tim lunged forward, grabbing Nina's trembling body, pulling her toward the door. Jenny wrapped a towel around her, pressing against the throat wound.
The assassin spun, blade flashing—too fast.
Lacey blocked, but the edge grazed her shoulder. Just a scratch.
She didn't even notice at first.
The assassin staggered back, then reached up and tore off the mask. A young man's face—ordinary, forgettable, except for the fanatic gleam in his eyes.
"For Nomerci," he whispered.
Before anyone could move, he drove his own poisoned blade into his throat.
Blood sprayed. His body convulsed once, then crumpled to the tile.
"What the—" Tim started.
The assassin's body began dissolving into ash, claimed by whatever dark magic ruled Villian Ville.
But a folded paper remained where he'd fallen.
Lacey dropped her spear, breathing hard. "Everyone okay?"
"Nina's cut, but she'll—" Tim stopped.
Lacey swayed. Her hand went to her shoulder where the blade had touched. The scratch was shallow, barely bleeding.
But her skin around it was turning dark. Purple veins spreading like roots.
"Lacey?" Jenny's voice sharpened.
"I'm fine, I just—" Lacey's knees buckled. Tim caught her before she hit the floor.
Her skin was burning. Fever-hot. Sweat broke out across her forehead, her chest, soaking through her already-wet sports bra.
"What the hell—" Tim laid her on the floor.
Lacey gasped, her back arching off the ground. "Hot… I'm so hot…"
Her hands clawed at her clothes. She ripped her sports bra away in one desperate motion, her chest bare and gleaming with sweat that poured down like she'd been caught in a rainstorm.
"Poison," Jenny breathed, staring at the spreading veins. "The blade was poisoned."
Amy and Yuko rushed in, eyes widening at the scene.
Lacey's whole body convulsed. Her hips bucked upward, once, twice, her thighs clenching together. A moan tore from her throat—raw, desperate, the kind of sound you'd hear in those late-night premium channel scenes.
"Make it stop," she gasped, her voice breaking into whimpers. "I'm burning—I can't—oh god—"
Her hands slid down her own body, trembling, frantic. She arched again, breasts thrust upward, back bowed like she was posing for some twisted fitness magazine cover. Sweat ran in rivers between her curves.
"Lacey, look at me—" Tim grabbed her wrists, trying to stop her.
"Too hot!" She thrashed against him, her body writhing. Her legs spread involuntarily, knees drawing up. "Need—I need—please—"
Another moan ripped out of her, louder this time. Her whole body shuddered, hips grinding against nothing, seeking friction, relief, anything.
She looked like those scenes from movies that get taken down from streaming services—desperate, uninhibited, completely lost to sensation.
Yuko snatched the paper the assassin had left behind, reading aloud:
"Aphrodisiac poison. No cure. She'll burn with arousal until her body gives out. Days of suffering. Days of begging. Unless Tidam withdraws from the Marathon. Your choice, Leader. Her slow death… or your pride."
Tim's blood went ice-cold.
Lacey's hands broke free from his grip, sliding between her thighs. Her fingers worked desperately, her body convulsing. "Please—someone—anyone—I can't—"
She writhed on the floor, her movements shameless, primal. Every breath came out as a moan or a sob. Her thighs trembled, her stomach clenched, her whole body locked in waves of sensation that wouldn't stop, wouldn't ease, only built higher and higher.
"Tim…" she gasped, reaching for him with shaking hands. Her eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide. "Please… touch me… I'm dying… I need—oh god—"
Her back arched again, a scream-moan tearing from her throat. She looked like she was caught in an endless climax that brought no relief—only more desperate, aching need.
Jenny covered her mouth, horrified. Amy clung to Yuko, unable to look away. Nina pressed against the wall, still bleeding, watching Lacey completely unravel.
Lacey's fingers worked faster, her hips bucking off the ground. Sweat made her whole body shine like she'd been oiled for a photoshoot. "Yes—yes—please—more—"
But there was no satisfaction. Just more heat. More need. More agony disguised as pleasure.
Tim stared down at Lacey—strong, fierce Lacey—reduced to this. Her body betraying her. Her mind breaking under the poison's relentless assault.
"Make it stop," she sobbed, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "I can't—I can't take—" Another violent shudder. "Oh fuck—oh god—Tim—please—"
The Marathon started tomorrow.
And Lacey was dying—slowly, horribly—from a poison designed to torture her with her own desperate arousal until her body finally gave out.
Tim's fists clenched until blood dripped from his palms.
The assassin had delivered his message with his own life: withdraw, or watch her suffer for days like this.