KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess

The common room was silent, broken only by the pop of the hearth fire and Naomi's rhythmic sharpening of her dagger. Ashley sat cross-legged on a cushion, her posture rigid as golden fractures pulsed beneath her skin, synchronized with a heartbeat that wasn't her own.

Margaret hunched over a copper kettle, blue-streaked hair falling into her face while she carefully measured dried herbs. "This wintermint blend should help stabilize those fractures," she said without looking up. "Brother Aldwin said it helps restore balance to disrupted Essentia pathways."

Ashley remained silent, her focus turned inward as she explored the new landscape of her body. Since Calypso had anchored her soul, her Guardian Covenant had transformed into something unfamiliar – a strange entity living beneath her skin. The golden fractures that once symbolized her failure now channeled power beyond her understanding.

Shing-shing-shing. Naomi drew her blade across the whetstone with mechanical consistency. "You look constipated," she remarked, glancing up. "Maybe try relaxing your face before it gets stuck that way."

Ashley was about to snap back when it struck her. Pure, boundless love caused golden light to flare across her skin and cast intricate patterns against the stone walls.

She gasped sharply.

Margaret abandoned her tea preparations and rushed over. "Ashley! Are you in pain?" Her hands hovered uncertainly.

"No," Ashley replied, her voice tight and strained. "It's..."

Before Margaret could ask for clarification, the emotion shifted. The love remained but now intertwined with playful, giddy desire that sent heat crawling up Ashley's neck and blooming across her cheeks.

Then came the phantom sensation of being lifted, cradled by strong arms.

"Ngh..."

The sound lingered in the suddenly thick air.

Margaret's turquoise eyes widened. Naomi's blade stilled on the whetstone as she tilted her head.

"What was that?" Naomi asked.

Ashley jumped to her feet, nearly toppling Margaret's carefully arranged tea service. "Nothing. I'm... tired. The scars are acting up. I'm going to my room to rest." She hurried toward the door without waiting for a response.

Ashley slammed the door behind her, stumbling down the corridor toward her private chamber. The sensations grew stronger with each step—more focused, more intimate. By the time she reached her room, she could barely walk straight.

She collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in the pillows. But there was no escape. Without the distraction of others, the connection between her and Calypso crystallized into perfect clarity.

The ghost of Xavier's lips traced a burning path down her neck—no, Calypso's neck—but the distinction hardly mattered. Every sensation translated perfectly across their shared bond. Ashley felt the gentle scrape of teeth against tender skin, the teasing pressure of fingers tracing patterns along sensitive flesh.

"Ah!" The sound tore from her throat, unbidden and raw. She clamped her hand over her mouth, mortified.

What followed was a torrent of sensation so intense she thought she might drown in it:

The taste of Xavier's mouth, a sweetness no mortal should possess.

The press of his body against hers (not hers, Calypso's), hard muscle and warm skin.

The tickle of his hair brushing against her collarbone.

Each touch, each kiss, each sigh resonated through Ashley's body as if she were experiencing it firsthand. Her hips pressed against the mattress of their own accord, seeking pressure, release, anything to ease the building tension.

And beneath it all ran Calypso's emotions—her joy at being seen for who she truly was, her wonder at the vulnerability of physical connection, her possessive love for Xavier Valentine. These feelings tangled with Ashley's own carefully guarded heart, creating a chaotic storm of desire, jealousy, longing, and a strange, painful happiness.

"Xavier..." she whispered into her pillow, the name a confession she would never make aloud.

Then came a moment of stillness, a breath held between heartbeats. The anticipation built like a gathering storm until—

Lightning struck.

Calypso's climax hit Ashley hard. Her back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as pleasure that wasn't hers—yet was undeniably hers—crashed over her in waves. The golden fractures covering her skin blazed with blinding light, turning her small chamber into a momentary sun.

Then, nothing.

The connection snapped closed like a book slammed shut. Ashley lay trembling on the bed, covered in sweat, her body humming with a pleasure that felt both stolen and rightfully earned. The ringing silence that followed was almost worse than the assault of sensation had been. The emptiness left her hollow, aching for something she couldn't name.

She stared at the ceiling, panting, her fingers tracing the golden fractures that marked her collarbone. They were warm to the touch, pulsing with a gentle afterglow.

Gods, she thought in the darkness, a raw admission she would never voice aloud.

It's over. It's done. They're finished.

She rolled onto her side, pulling the blankets tight around her trembling body. If she could just fall asleep, she might escape this... this violation of her most private self. Not that Calypso had intended it—at least, Ashley didn't think so. How could either of them have known their soul-bond would translate into... this?

Her eyelids grew heavy as exhaustion claimed her. The frantic glow of her fractures dimmed to a soft pulse. Sleep. She just needed sleep.

A phantom giggle whispered through her mind.

Ashley's eyes snapped open.

No fucking way.

They were starting again.

"Ngh..." Ashley pressed her face into the pillow. "Please..." she whimpered, though she wasn't sure who she was begging. Calypso, to stop? Xavier, to continue? Herself, to endure?

This time was different. The frantic edge had softened into something worse—something languid and exploratory. Each caress was torturously slow, deliberate, as if Xavier were memorizing every inch of Calypso.

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut, but it only made the sensations more vivid.

"Stop," she hissed into the darkness, though no one could hear her. "Just stop."

But they didn't stop. Why would they? They had no idea what they were doing to her.

===

Hours had passed. Or days. Or years. Ashley had lost count of how many times her body had been hijacked by their pleasure. She was both physically satisfied to the point of exhaustion and emotionally starving.

That was the true torture—feeling the physical ecstasy while the emotional core remained hollow. She could feel Xavier's touch but not his love. She could experience Calypso's pleasure but not her joy. She was an unwilling voyeur, granted the shadow of intimacy without its substance.

Another wave built inside her, threatening to drag her under yet again.

"Enough," she rasped, her voice cracking. "ENOUGH!"

She threw back the tangled sheets and stood on unsteady legs. Her silk robe lay discarded on a nearby chair; she yanked it on over her shift without bothering to tie it properly. Her hair hung in wild tangles around her flushed face. The golden fractures on her skin pulsed with a frantic, unsteady rhythm that matched Calypso's racing heart.

The stone floor was cold against her bare feet as she stalked through the corridors of Hearthome fortress. Any guard who saw her quickly looked away, intimidated by the blazing fury in her eyes and the golden light that spilled from her skin.

The heavy wooden door loomed before her. Behind it, she could feel them—still lost in each other, oblivious to her torment.

Ashley didn't knock. She pounded on the door with both fists, the sound echoing down the empty corridor.

"Xavier!"