Aerion stands at the top of the temple stairs, gleaming in his ceremonial armor, but his confident swagger falters for a split second when he sees "Malvor" approaching.
There's something off.
The way he walks is too smooth. The smirk, too sharp. The eyes, gleaming with something... extra.
But the illusion is good. Too good. And gods know, Malvor is always extra.
Still, Aerion's gaze shifts to the perfect, docile version of Annie trailing behind. Her head is tilted just slightly. Her lips curved into that soft, sultry pout.
He narrows his eyes.
"Is she... glamoured?" he asks, not bothering to mask his suspicion.
Annie, as Malvor, laughs. Loud, smug, cocky. It echoes through the courtyard like a whip crack.
"Please. If I wanted to glamour her, I'd have given her wings and declared her my new religion. This," she says, running a hand down the false-Annie's arm, "is all natural."
Aerion's brow twitches.
Something's wrong. Too polished. Too perfect. But pride's a hungry thing. And gods don't second-guess gifts.
"She seems... different."
Malvor/Annie leans in, grinning like a wolf. "Oh, she is different. I've broken her in for you. Smoothed out the rough edges. That look in her eyes? That's obedience. You're welcome."
He hesitates.
Just for a moment.
The part of him that leads armies. That recognizes traps. That feels the subtle shift in magic and warning in instinct.
But then Annie smiles.
Not the real Annie. The fake one.
Obedient. Docile. Waiting.
And that's what seals it.
The hesitation rots into pride, bitter and blinding. Of course Malvor's just showing off. Of course this is real. He deserves this. It's about time someone gave him something worth owning.
Aerion's mouth curves into a smirk.
"Fine," he says. "I'll take your castoff."
Malvor/Annie's laugh is velvet and fire. "Do enjoy your... ride."
She presses the false Annie's hand into his and walks off with a swagger that's pure Malvor, the kind that says I know what I've done, and I'm going to enjoy the show.
Aerion watches her go.
But that hesitation? That flicker of doubt?
It lingers just a breath too long before pride crushes it flat.
Malvor, real Malvor, waits invisible beside her near the outer columns, already doubled over in laughter.
"Oh Annie!" he whispers with absolute reverence. "That was… magnificent. I have never wanted to propose to myself before."
Annie watches from the shadows as Aerion, confused but determined, starts leading the docile illusion toward his chambers. She leans toward Malvor and whispers, "You think he will notice?"
"Oh, he will. Right about the time she asks for oats and kicks down a wall."
They both burst into barely contained laughter as chaos finally begins to unfold behind them.
Malvor waves his hand dramatically, conjuring a shimmering dome of silence and invisibility around them. The world outside muffles to nothing, the chaos dimmed like a stage show behind velvet curtains.
With another snap, a plush velvet love seat appears, crimson and gold, of course, and a massive bowl of popcorn hovers between them, already buttered to perfection.
They settle in like royalty watching a private play.
Inside the temple courtyard, Aerion is already far too eager. He practically paws at the illusion Annie like she is a prize he has long deserved.
"Oh no," Annie mutters, one hand full of popcorn, eyes wide. "He is going in fast."
"Bold of him," Malvor replies, stuffing his mouth. "Does not even know she has hooves."
The horse Annie, expression still enchantingly blank, suddenly snaps. She lunges with unnatural speed, sinking her perfect human teeth into his hand.
Aerion screams.
Malvor doubles over laughing. "Oh yes! YES! Bite him again! Gods, I should have given her fangs."
Annie winces through her grin. "Did she break skin?"
"Oh absolutely. That was a divine bite. She will be chewing on his pride for years."
Inside the dome, the world is soft and silent, but outside?
It's chaos.
Priests scramble. Aerion shouts something about betrayal and teeth. The horse Annie starts bucking wildly, knocking over priceless statues and kicking one of his guards directly into a ceremonial fountain.
Malvor wipes a joyful tear from his cheek. "Best prank I have ever co-authored."
Annie beams, the pride nearly leaking through the silence bubble. "And I told him," she says, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth, "he would get the ride he was begging for."
Malvor lets out a wheezing, unholy cackle. "Annie, my dark little genius, I don't deserve you."
"No," she agrees sweetly. "But you get me anyway. All teeth, no reins."
Aerion, bless his delusional, ego drunk heart, doesn't learn.
From inside the silent dome, Malvor and Annie watch with rapt attention as the bruised and thoroughly bitten god of battle wipes blood from his lip and squares up again.
"Oh no," Annie murmurs, eyes wide with both horror and awe. "He is going for round two."
Malvor snorts into his popcorn. "Gods above, he is going to get the full cavalry charge this time."
Aerion approaches the illusion Annie slowly, eyes narrowed with the deadly seriousness of a man preparing to tame a wild beast. He mutters something under his breath, undoubtedly believing this is some test of strength or dominance. As if the horse had not already claimed his pride and left it bleeding in the dust.
He reaches for her waist again.
And that is when all seven hells break loose.
With the grace of a trained war stallion and the fury of a scorned woman, horse Annie rears back and slams both hooves into Aerion's chest. The force sends him flying backward like a divine rag doll, cracking straight through a marble column. Before he can regain balance, she charges, knocking him down and pummeling him with full equine vengeance, hooves striking like thunder, flattening him into the temple floor.
It is brutal.
It is majestic.
It is practically romantic.
Annie watches slack-jawed as Aerion groans, halfway sunk into a crater shaped suspiciously like his body. "He's… he's actually buried."
"Annie," Malvor says solemnly, raising a handful of popcorn in tribute. "I think that technically counted as a ride."
"I think it broke him."
"He should thank us," Malvor adds. "That horse just taught him more humility in ten seconds than his entire pantheon has in ten thousand years."
The temple erupts into chaos again, priests panicking, guards shouting, someone fainting into a vase.
Annie wipes a fake tear. "My only regret," she says, eyes sparkling, "is that I can't frame this moment for our wall."
Malvor leans in close, smirking. "Oh but we can, my Queen of Vengeance. This realm has replay."
Malvor stands from the love seat with a flourish, cape materializing out of sheer drama as he offers Annie his arm. "Shall we depart before the crushed dignity of a war god ignites the heavens?"
Annie takes his arm, head held high like the goddess she isn't, but certainly is in spirit. "Yes. Our work here is done."
With a casual snap of Malvor's fingers, the dome dissolves, and in one synchronized step, they walk through the chaos like nothing happened. The air swirls around them, cloaking them in shimmering mischief as the illusion fades.
Watching her humiliate Aerion as him awakened something in him. Something terrifying. Something perfect.
Behind them, the horse flickers, her disguise melting away, until she is simply herself again, majestic and wholly uninterested in Aerion, who is currently groaning in a crater shaped divot in the temple floor.
As they vanish from view, Aerion rages to his feet, eyes wild, pride shattered.
"Malvor!" he bellows, voice echoing through the temple like the sky splitting open. "YOU CHAOTIC SON OF A—"
Too late.
They are gone.
The only thing left behind?
A small calling card floating down from the air: A gift from your favorite trickster, and his perfect ride.
Back in the Realm of Mischief, the horse gets a new golden stall, a crown of laurels, and a nameplate that reads: Annie, the Slayer of Egos.
Arbor approves.