Abyssal Surrender

As thousands of men prepared to face their doom, King Breved of Athkora took a long sip of wine. Princess Mehrai stood a short distance behind her brother, jaw clenched and hands clasped tightly.

The columns of men assembled on the plain below, moving in ragged lines barely held together by officers and grizzled veterans. Many of the infantry had been torn from the dungeons or mines, offered freedom in exchange for spilling blood on the battlefield. Others had been driven into Breved's army by sheer desperation. Only a handful had sworn their oaths out of genuine devotion to the king and Athkora.

Mehrai herself was only there out of stubborn family loyalty and the knowledge that Breved would have wasted the army's treasury on wine, whores, and dream-dust without her to keep him in line.

Beyond the ragged lines of soldiers awaited the shimmering white walls of the rebel fortress which had withstood the king's wrath for nearly a year. Jotkaar had been the first provincial capital to rise against Breved after his ascension to the throne. Every other rebel province had fallen to guile, sorcery, bloody assaults, or Mehrai's schemes. To her sorrow, every entreaty and desperate ploy had thus far failed to open Jotkaar's gates, and it stood firm above the shallow graves of those who had died in past assaults.

"Shall we get on with it?" Breved asked, his voice low and bored.

Breved looked over his shoulder to Lord Hugoth, clad in dark armor that would have been better suited upon one of the front-line soldiers. Great power rested in Hugoth's wrinkled old hands, of course, for he'd planned most of the battlefield victories thus far.

"The mages?" the king asked.

"I received a missive from the assassins' coven-master: three of them were slain in the night, as you commanded."

Mehrai's brow furrowed. Her agents had reported that Jotkaar had nine mages still in service. Most were little more alchemists or practitioners of parlor tricks, but several wielded reality itself as a weapon. Over the past few months, they'd unleashed horrific storms, ripped scars in the earth, and amplified simple torches into horrific infernos. Breved had his own mages, of course, but a great deal of their strength had been spent subduing other keeps or fending off rebel reinforcements.

The scheme to winnow the ranks of the enemy mages had cost enough to feed the army for a year and would drive Breved into further debt with the loyal legates and guilds. Mehrai had suggested using such funds to bribe the mages or commanders instead, but Breved was so insistent on killing the ringleaders that he'd raged at her for an hour after she'd dared make that suggestion.

Thus while the soldiers in the plain had slept fitfully in their tents, hired assassins had conducted an expensive war in the shadows within Jotkaar. And that war had only reduced the enemy's sorcerous strength by a mere third.

"It will be enough," said the king.

After a nod from Breved, Lord Hugoth lifted an elegant white horn to his lips and blew. Matching signals rose in reply, followed by thunderous drumbeats as the columns of men moved into position.

Elsewhere, catapults spun like the arms of giants to fling chunks of stone at the ancient walls.

Mehrai didn't know why the engineers even bothered, for the result was exactly the same as the hundred bombardments that had preceded it. The great stones slammed against the silvery walls, only to disappear in a burst of red ash. The enchantments also burrowed deep into the earth, much to the consternation of the miners and sappers who had tried to undermine the city's walls.

Only the handful of stones which reached high enough to sail over the walls would actually do any damage. One crashed into a towering, pyramidal slum of hovels. As it came tumbling down, Mehrai thought back to when Breved had kicked apart her dollhouse during their childhood. Another stone skipped along the domed roof of a temple before crashing into the dark streets below.

Wincing, Mehrai tried not to think of how many might have been slain in that first barrage. Only a handful of the city's residents were actually zealous rebels, with most just being innocent people caught between King Breved and the impudent provincial legates.

So much blood... and all because Breved had suggested a slight increase to the river tolls and a reduction in royal subsidies to the provincial militias.

The foremost ranks of Breved's legions raised their circular shields into a protective formation, resembling a great scaled serpent. Within the armored ranks, other soldiers carried ladders and grappling hooks. The deployment of larger siege engines had been rendered useless by the power of sorcery and the walls themselves; the ashen ruins of siege towers and battering rams littered the plain alongside withered corpses.

Heart pounding and hands sweating, Mehrai watched the towers for telltale ripples of sorcery. Whenever a mage reached their fist into the skein of reality, existence itself would fight back. For the moment, she saw nothing but the shadowy movements of enemy archers.

When the front ranks marched past the ruins of a scorched battering ram, Mehrai's fingers dug into her palm. The last time the troops had made it that far, lances of molten glass had erupted from the nearest tower. Yet for the moment, reality remained intact.

By the Fates... perhaps the horrific expense of hiring those assassins had been worth it. Maybe the shadowy assassins had actually killed the most powerful rebel mages, leaving behind only the weaklings and apprentices.

Her hope soared further as more troops neared the walls. Not a speck of sorcery emerged from the battlements. She bit her lip, ashamed of her joy when a torrent of arrows sliced down from the parapets. Even without the fury of sorcery, the Jotkaari rebels could still inflict mundane death in droves.

The thuds of arrows upon shields echoed far and wide. Thankfully, the distance was too great for the screams to reach her... at least for the moment. When men began to falter or when the wounded staggered back to the siege-lines, the ghastly sounds of broken men would soon fill the night.

"Fucking wondrous," Breved muttered as the first of the reinforced ladders neared the walls.

Even as arrows raked down upon them, the brave vanguard raised the first ladder up and up until its hook settled against the parapets. Great time and effort had gone into enchanting those ladders to keep them intact against the wall's own wards.

Loyalist archers loosed arrows up at the enemy to purchase a window for their comrades. Other ladders slammed home as well and soon Breved's men were rushing upwards towards their doom.

It was not the first time Breved's troops had actually managed to summit the walls, but never before had they ascended in such numbers.

"They'll be taking the gatehouse soon," said the king. "Deploy the cavalry. When the gates open, I want our lances stained red."

Hugoth nodded at a young black-armored soldier, who had at first stared out with regret at the advancing soldiers, no doubt wishing he'd been out there with his fellows. As bodies tumbled from the walls and arrow-riddled corpses were scattered about, the lad's regret turned to shameful relief. After a moment of staring out at the carnage, the young soldier nodded and scurried off to convey the order.

"Are you certain that is wise, my king?" Mehrai asked as she regarded the immaculate heavy cavalry which had been lurking down behind the hill.

Brutish coursers scraped at the dirt with massive hooves. Warriors wreathed in scale mail adjusted the straps of shields and sword-belts. From their lances dangled ebony fangs: heirlooms of the bygone days of the knightly orders, when their predecessors had hunted demons across the realm. Now all that remained were little trinkets which would adorn those riders as they scourged the streets of Jotkaar.

The king raised a dubious eyebrow at his sister.

"Ah, so you have some gem of strategic wisdom to offer?"

"I am no strategist, of course, but surely the lancers will not count for much in the cramped streets of the city."

"The traitors will be deploying their best troops just beyond the gates to hold the breach," said Hugoth. "And thus we need our finest warriors to crush them. The lancers will clear a path for the next wave."

Horns rippled through the formation of knights. Hungry cheers drowned out the horns as the warriors took to their mounts. Aside from a few skirmishes against scouts or raiders, the vaunted heavy cavalry had done little during the siege. While they might never slay the demons exterminated by their forebears, they could ride down foolish rebels and crush seditious bones beneath the hooves of their mighty steeds.

Each squadron of knights rode forth under a different demonic banner, proudly displaying grisly trophies of ancient glory. One squadron bore a banner with the crimson skull of a six-eyed canine, another carried a spike festooned with the glowing skin of a serpent, while another standard-bearer carried a pole adorned with pale, clawed hands.

Mehrai shivered at the grisly trophies, taking some small heart in the fact that at least there were only rebels facing them, rather than demons. It was said that the walls of Jotkaar had been built to hold off those very same demons once hunted by the knights of old. In another age, knights such as those might have helped defend that citadel against an infernal horde.

Now the old ways were forgotten, cast aside in favor of new disputes and grudges. She imagined hidden demons laughing in cruel amusement at the dissent tearing apart Athkora. A chill went down her spine as she pictured a teeming mass of horned, inhuman abominations writhing up in great mounds of flesh towards the battlements. Winged monstrosities shrieked down from above in her mind's eye, jet-black claws claiming lives as spiked tails claimed souls.

The terror of the present reared up before her. More bodies tumbled over the parapets as yet more ladders notched along the walls. Scores of legionaries scaled the heights. Occasionally a corpse or severed limb would impact the wall and turn to red ash. Some of the enchantments upon the ladders failed, allowing the walls' defenses to strike. The ladders smoldered beneath the arcane onslaught and sent dozens tumbling to their deaths.

And yet onwards and upwards they pushed. For their king, for Athkora, for loot, glory, or a chance at freedom.

Momentum and desperation were the attackers' most potent weapons. They swept the battlements free of archers and surged towards the gatehouses. Hellish bells clanged through the night as the defenders tried to rally. Beyond the walls, mobs of rebel soldiers were preparing to retake the walls or hold the gates. Even if Breved's men secured the gates, untold slaughter would spill forth within the city streets.

Her hands grew pale as her fingers tightened, though the agony of her grip was nothing compared to what those poor souls were facing. Somehow the distance made it all the more horrific, for it forced her mind to conjure ghastly images of sundered bodies, broken men, and the faces of orphaned children.

Through it all, King Breved simply sipped on his wine just as if he were watching a horse race or a bout in the arena back in the capital.

And for the first time in a year, the gates of Jotkaar at last yawned open. The king's troops must have made it within or beyond the gatehouses. Like the maw of a hungry beast, the open gate beckoned for the next wave of soldiers waiting outside. Thrumming horns sounded the advance.

Beneath their grisly demonic trophies, the famed knights thundered forth across the plain. Hooves trampled dead soldiers and fallen siege weapons, sundering the yellow grass. Other columns of infantry moved in to support the riders or to push up other ladders.

Hugoth smiled, a sight so rare that it took Mehrai a moment to even recognize it, and the king let out a short, approving laugh before waving for a servant to fetch him more wine: his fifth cup of the evening. How much more wine would flow before the bloodletting at last ended?

As the elite lancers neared the gates, demonic banners snarling and spears gleaming, something shimmered from atop the gatehouse. With a frown, Mehrai snatched a spyglass from a nearby table and swept her gaze across the horrors.

She flinched at the sight of broken bodies tumbling from the walls and the panicking masses of men trying to push forward. Her heart skipped a beat upon seeing that the red-cloaked rebels still held the battlements of the gatehouse. It had thus not been Breved's men who had forced it open...

"Wait," she murmured, whispering as if trapped within a dream. "Something's wrong."

The words became a horrific understatement within moments as the air above the gatehouse whirled. Silvery fissures crackled within the fabric of reality as the soul of a mage dueled with the very laws of the universe. Rebel soldiers dumped buckets of water down over the parapets towards the troops racing for the gates.

The sparkling fissures reached out like the limbs of a spider and tapped the growing torrent of water. The deluge froze before it hit the ground and expanded into a great jagged sheet of ice. It exploded a heartbeat later, sending a scourge of frozen death down at the approaching lancers and the soldiers lagging behind. The ground rumbled with the immense impact. Each icicle shattered and sent skewers through the ladders and the approaching ranks of infantry. The strands of silver spread within the sprays of blood, turning the blood to ice as well. Each red blossom detonated in turn and created a cascade of grisly horror across the field.

Mehrai's stomach roiled; she tore her gaze away lest she faint or grow sick before her brother and his advisers.

Hugoth cursed and murmured a prayer to the Fates, begging for them to reassert their hold upon the world to tear control away from the enemy mages.

And as hundreds died within the clutches of the rebel trap, King Breved muttered a low curse and calmly sipped on his wine.

"Sound the retreat," he said in a low, bored tone to Hugoth.

The older lord continued to stare as Athkora's prized knights were turned to bloody pulp.

Only after the king cleared his throat did Hugoth murmur and raise his horn to sound three sharp, shrill blasts to call for a withdrawal. The signal proved unnecessary, for the survivors of the assault were already breaking and rushing back to the safety of the earthworks. They left behind smoldering ladders, twitching corpses, and great crimson stains upon the earth.

The famed knights even left a few of their prized demon-banners behind, which loomed mockingly over the mounds of dead. Oh, how those demons would have laughed...

"Time for another path," said the king.

"And what path might that be?" Mehrai hissed, her voice trembling so fiercely she scarcely recognized the sound. "Negotiations, as I've been suggesting for months? They'll never meet with us now, not when we've taken even more losses. Our leverage is slipping away, if it isn't gone entirely. Or perhaps we'll deplete the treasury further by hiring more inept assassins."

Breved ignored the tirade and stared down at his cup, as if the wine held all the answers. Without a word, he rose and stumbled slightly as he descended from the hill. Black-clad knights followed, their hands resting upon the hilts of their long, bejeweled blades.

The baffled princess looked to Hugoth, who still stared out over the ruinous expanse.

"What is he speaking of? What is this 'path?'"

After another prayer to the Fates, the elderly lord swallowed.

"The sappers found something down below last month. Something not even the king was desperate enough to exploit until now."

Mehrai blinked, curiosity clashing with horror. Her brother had been so quick to expend all those lives, so what possibly could have made him balk or hesitate?

Leaving Hugoth to the task of reorganizing the shattered army, Mehrai tugged up her frilly skirts and scampered down the hill after her brother.

Breved remained silent as he walked, his escort guiding him past the large tents that would soon overflow with wounded. Riderless horses thundered through the camp, pursued by tearful squires and manservants. Horns bleated and drums pounded as officers tried to restore some semblance of order to the broken host. With the assault's failure, the catapults soon began to thrum, sending their futile payloads towards the defiant city. There would be no tactical gain from such attacks now, only spiteful vengeance for the fallen.

Without sparing a glance at the princess, Breved and the knights headed for a small, inconspicuous tent near the empty paddocks where the warhorses had once grazed.

Within the tent were six knights in armor black as obsidian. Only two faced the tent's entrance, while four others instead glared down at a tattered blanket upon the ground.

Every single man had his long, curved blade in hand.

"Breved," she murmured as he knelt to tear the blanket away, revealing a dark hole in the earth. "What is this?"

"One of the first tunnels dug by the sappers during the siege. They were trying to find an entrance into the city's cisterns. They found something else instead."

After a nod from the king, one of the knights ignited a torch and descended into darkness. Though terror and confusion left her trembling, Mehrai followed her brother down into the tunnel. Before them stretched a low passage into which they all had to stoop. On any other occasion, she'd have flinched at the dirt now clinging to her fine dress, but she crawled on after her brother and the knight, while other men took up the rear. She let out a soft yelp as her head bumped against the small tunnel's ceiling. The impact tugged at the fine strands of her bun and unleashed the silky dark tresses, but she hardly had a care for fashion at the moment.

Thankfully the passage grew larger and wider after a minute or so, leading into a rough-hewn chamber and several other passageways. Three more knights stood guard, swords drawn, as did two figures in dark blue robes and silver veils. The robed figures bore tall, gnarled staves topped with shimmering pieces of jade which cast a ghostly gleam down the various passages.

Mehrai blinked. Amidst all the slaughter up above, the king had tasked two powerful mages with simply guarding some mysterious passages down below. Had the pair been deployed aboveground, their power could have saved many lives, even if they could not have averted disaster entirely.

The mages gave Mehrai a dubious glance until Breved waved his hand.

"Tell her," Breved said, his words slurred from the wine and the effort of crawling down the tunnel. "I've not the stomach for it."

"Centuries ago, before the walls of Jotkaar rose over these lands, the Uthkalite tribes would gather in places of power to make offerings to demons," said the mage, her voice echoing softly down the winding caverns. "When Jotkaar threw back the demons and Uthkalites alike, they scourged the land of such shrines, but our sappers found one they missed."

Mehrai swallowed and glanced at each of the passages, wondering which one led to that horrid place.

"But... the demons themselves are gone from this province. It must just be old ruins at this point, correct?"

"Sparks remain of their power. Sparks which could become an inferno."

The mage lifted her glowing staff and led the way down the central tunnel. Two knights followed, then the king, and after suppressing another shudder, Mehrai followed well.

"Another path," she muttered to her brother. "You want... you want to claim the power that still remains? By the Fates, if the priesthood discovers this-"

"They won't," he snapped back. "Unless you for some reason are inclined to tell them."

Athkora already had enough problems; a religious schism or a holy uprising would be worse than the ongoing revolt.

The light of the mage's staff illuminated slow drips of water running down the walls. The ground grew muddy at their feet, soiling Mehrai's fine boots. The passageway widened further as the rushing of water filled her ears.

A small river coursed across the cavern and into fissures on the far side. Stalactites reached down like grasping claws towards a ziggurat on the banks of the underground river.

Despite the absence of natural light, the ziggurat was fully visible thanks to dark red runes that pulsed upon its steps. While Mehrai was no scholar or linguist, she recognized such symbols from murals in the great temples, which had depicted the heroes of old trampling the demonic idols of the Uthkalites.

A demon's spark still lingered in this place.

"And you think we can use this," she murmured.

"The Uthkalite tribes did. It was in places like this where they would make offerings, calling forth great power or hordes of lesser demons to fight against the holy crusades."

She imagined gnarled, horned beasts bursting up from below, sweeping the walls clean of defenders. Hope turned to grim sorrow as she pondered what such creatures might do to the defenseless innocents of the city, and how the realm would reel in horror. Even the most loyal of Breved's vassals would never forgive the unleashing of demonic power in such a fashion.

The mud sloshed against Breved's boots as he ascended the ziggurat. Only the mage followed him, leaving Mehrai and the knights down at the base.

"Did you confirm the third translation?" Breved asked the mage.

"I believe so."

It was only when they were halfway up the ziggurat that she realized neither of them cast a shadow. Chills slithered up and down her spine but she forced herself to ascend. Her wet, muddy boots left not a trace upon the gleaming surface as she scampered to catch up.

At the summit were three gaping, hexagonal holes in the stone, each ringed by glowing red runes. Looming between the three pits was a smaller replica of the ziggurat itself. Intricate stone carvings stood upon the smaller ziggurat: most were vaguely humanoid, kneeling or crawling at the base of the model. Other stood in a row like royal bodyguards, taller than the supplicants, with long, clawed hands and angular heads adorned with curled horns.

Foremost among those idols was one taller than all the others. The face was a blank mask which chilled Mehrai even more than a ghastly, fanged face might have. The mystery of the creature's visage was more potent and dreadful than any artwork could capture. The creature had arms that ended in wicked claws, a thick tail like that of a lizard, and chiseled muscles that would have been the envy of Athkora's grandest gladiators.

"Which of the Uthkalite gods was this?"

Something tugged at her voice as she spoke, a slight pressure when she'd tried to say 'demons.' The strange tic had forced her to say 'gods' instead, which earned her a baffled glance from Breved.

"Velsharzaloth," said the mage, pointing to the runes at the base of the structure.

The name was harsh and jagged, like rusted metal carving against a stone wall. It was not a name Mehrai remembered from her religious studies, for such dark knowledge was surely reserved for the higher ranks of the priesthood and Inquisition.

Seeking a reprieve from the eyeless stare of the demonic statue, she peered down into pit, unable to see the bottom even with the benefit of the eerie, crimson glow.

"'A gift of blood,'" the mage said, pointing to the set of runes around that pit, and then the next. "'A gift of freedom.'"

She then pointed to the last.

"And this one, as far as I can tell, translates to a 'gift of kin.'"

"Are you certain?" Breved asked.

"A more thorough translation would require tomes from the holy archives back in the capital. Given the delicate nature of the work and the pressure of time, we do not have the luxury of doing so."

She stared at her brother's young, clean-shaven face, at the little stain of wine upon his lower lip, at the sweat coating his cheeks, and the cold, pained look in his gaze.

"Breved," she muttered, not daring to allow her mind to stray fully into darkness.

The king said nothing.

"We already tried blood," said the mage. "Fifty deserters and rebel prisoners were given to this pit. The runes did glow a bit brighter but nothing else happened."

"Fifty?"

She took a step back, nearly slipping on the top step of the structure.

"They would have been executed anyway or sent in the first wave," Breved said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Better for them to die this way, I think."

Mehrai's vision blurred as she looked to the next pit.

"And what is a 'gift of freedom?'"

"Presumably the chaining of one's soul to the demon," the mage answered. "A terrible risk, as you can imagine."

Her fearful gaze drifted to the last pit.

"And a gift of kin..."

A shiver tore through her as she imagined Breved shoving her into the darkness. She blinked and instead wondered if the demon would accept the sacrifice of their mother, Breved's newborn child or one of their cousins. The thought sent a dagger of regret into her heart and she shook her head fiercely.

"We are still not completely certain about the translation," the mage continued. "Some of the other runes appear to resemble the old demonic sigils for 'forge' or 'seed,' but there is clearly some connection to kinship."

Mehrai looked back to the far side of the cavern at the passage leading to the surface. The distance had stretched impossibly wide, fifty paces turning to half a mile. The longer she stared, the greater the gap stretched between her and escape. When she glanced back at the others, she caught a flicker of movement from the largest of the idols upon the ziggurat.

"No. A trick of the light."

"What was that, your highness?" asked the mage.

"Nothing," Mehrai murmured. "Just... thinking out loud about this 'new path.'"

No doubt there would be more deserters sentenced to death after the latest assault but certainly no rebel prisoners, yet the tide of blood had already not sufficed. Only the greatest of fools would chain their souls to that of a demon, and Mehrai was Breved's only nearby kin. Surely he was not desperate enough to offer his own sister to the dark echo of an ancient god.

"This presents an opportunity," she said abruptly. "Jotkaar is proud of its history of defying the demonic tide; their local chapter of the Inquisition is among the most fervent when it comes rooting out cultists and heretics."

"Indeed," said the mage with a nod. "Which makes it all the more galling that those fools have let this sit under their nose for so long. All the more justification for tighter royal control."

By the Fates, now was not the time for sycophancy.

Teeth gritted, Mehrai pressed on.

"If this shrine survived hidden all these years, perhaps others have as well. Therefore I propose we send more emissaries to Jotkaar to warn them of this place and the possibility of other shrines. Surely a demonic infestation under our feet is of greater concern than a petty squabble over river tolls and subsidies. We can unite and face a greater foe together."

"'Petty,'" Breved repeated after a moment, his head cocked as he stared at the idols.

When his cold gaze shifted back to her, it was as blank and unnerving as that of the faceless idol.

"Their defiance. The lives lost in my name. The months and months of war. You call that 'petty?'"

"I misspoke, my king," Mehrai said, recognizing the dullness in his eyes as his most dangerous expression. She'd much rather endure his frothing scowls or snarls than that blank stare.

"You never misspeak. Always so careful and precise, in both deed and thought. Yet not when it came to your choice of husband, eh?"

The mention of Remal stole what little warmth was left in the chamber. The ambitious young lord had seemed a promising match at first: wealthy, witty, handsome, from a family with notable lineage but not notable enough that he'd try to usurp the throne for himself. As a test of his acumen before the marriage, Mehrai had suggested appointing him as royal treasurer. As expected, he'd performed admirably, until Breved's agents learned Remal had been siphoning funds from the treasury to support the nascent uprisings.

Though now months removed from his execution, she still heard the hissing of the executioner's blade and the wet thump of Remal's severed head.

"Yes," Mehrai said finally, though she might have backed down had he not used Remal's fate against her. "Petty indeed. A petty king who incites revolts by making foolish decrees within days of taking the throne. A petty king who sees autonomy as an insult. A petty king who dreams of dabbling with demons instead of compromising with his subjects."

Each word struck the king with the force of the arrows that had scourged the ranks of his men.

"Petty," he said slowly, venom dripping from his wine-stained lips.

His hand lashed out and snatched the largest idol from the altar. A wild swing came for Mehrai's head; she squeaked and flailed backwards, her muddy boots slipping on the gleaming white stone. Pain roared in her backside as she landed. The king snarled and raised the idol again.

Mehrai's hand rose, feeble as the legionaries' shields had been against the icy onslaught of the rebel mages. The idol slashed into her hand, the horns of the stone creature slicing deep. The blood sizzled and turned black as it leaked from the tiny wounds.

With a shrill scream, Mehrai rolled away to avoid the next blow.

Then she felt emptiness beneath her leg and realized she'd rolled right into one of the pits. A wild hand clawed outwards, finding no purchase upon the foul stone. The fury fled Breved's gaze as she slipped backwards, her other leg vanishing into darkness.

The mage cried out and lunged to offer her staff. When Mehrai's bloody hand rose to grasp it, something coiled around her ankle.

Something firm, impossibly warm, and bearing claws.

The creature tugged and the princess's scream did not echo as she tumbled into darkness.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

For a minute? An hour? How could her soul grasp ahold of time when she was tumbling through an impossible void buried in the heart of an infernal shrine?

Though her sense of time had fled, Mehrai's voice had not, so she screamed and screamed all the way down. The claw around her ankle remained tight but somehow proved less painful than her brother's betrayal.

Her fall slowed but her scream persisted. Even when the firm hand slipped away and her muddy boots landed onto something soft, she still shrieked and howled. Foul curses flew from her lips as she deployed the nastiest insults she'd overheard from her brother's soldiers.

Shaky hands braced onto the ground, which felt a bit like coarse moss. A thought struck her and she imagined it as the fur of some foul beast. With a yelp, she flinched up and whirled around.

Darkness beyond darkness.

Even when she glanced upward, she saw no trace of the mage's glowing jade staff or the pulsing red runes of the ziggurat.

"Breved, you stupid fucking cunt!"

The sound did not echo and she heard nothing but her own heavy gasps and sobs.

Which pit had she fallen into? The pit of blood, freedom, or kin? The distinction really didn't matter, for she was doomed one way or another. Doomed to starve and wither in darkness. Doomed to wander blind in a world between worlds. Doomed to become prey for some foul, ancient god.

"No," she murmured, seeking the solace of her own voice to center herself.

I will not give in so meekly. I'll not let Breved's petty wrath damn me. There must be a way.

The Uthkalite tribes of old had bargained with the demons, trading away their blood, souls, and children in exchange for power and protection. They'd raided nearby tribes for captives to sacrifice and fought constant wars amongst themselves to earn demonic favor. Such pacts and covenants had defined the land before the rise of the Fates and the great kingdoms of the present day.

If those ancient tribes had been clever enough to craft such bargains, then Mehrai herself could certainly manage one as well. After all, she'd wanted to resolve the crisis from the very start with negotiation, and had suggested doing so right up until the moment Breved had tossed her into the pit.

"Velsharzaloth!" she called out, doing her best to remember the raspy, guttural syllables the mage had used to name the demon.

Yet when she spoke that foul word, it flowed forth like a bard's song and even left a sweet, honeyed taste upon her tongue.

In response, a single golden light flickered in the distance.

Swallowing, she walked towards the light and called out again.

Two lights flashed that time, close enough together to have been the eyes of some lurking creature.

Upon the third cry of the demon's name, red runes ignited within the void. Her gaze had already adjusted to the darkness, so she winced as crimson embraced her. When the harsh glare faded, she took stock of the chamber. It was smaller than the one housing the ziggurat, with rough walls of white stone, upon which glowed red runes. They pulsed in a strange rhythm, which she soon realized was the same cadence with which she'd spoken the demon's name.

Though of course she did not know the ancient Uthkalite runes, she did remember enough of the mage's translation to recognize a few of the particular swoops and glyphs. If her memory of those runes was correct, she'd fallen into the one for 'gifts of kin.'

Fitting, given that Breved had sent her tumbling down into that particular pit.

At the far end of the chamber was a resplendent doorway, from which dangled strands of fangs. The strands swayed in a wind she could not feel or otherwise detect. Seeing nowhere else to go, Mehrai lifted her muddy skirts and marched towards the strands.

They parted, as if an unseen hand had peeled them away for her. Shivering as the pulsing of the runes intensified, she stepped into a perfectly square white chamber. In grooves along the walls were idols of curvaceous feminine forms, which were displayed in supplicate, lurid poses: legs spread, backs arched, backsides raised and ready.

The worst shiver yet went down her spine. No... she would not become some foul god's concubine down in the depths of a forgotten shrine.

The shivers did not deter her from pressing onward and into a chamber identical to the first, which only contained a single idol resting within the wall. Frowning, Mehrai approached to inspect the feminine carving, which resembled the ones in the other room, though the figurine's hand was raised as if in fright.

Ice grasped her heart as she leaned in for a closer look. The tiny stone hand had jagged fissures upon it. The ice tightened its grip upon her as she looked down at her hand, which still bore the tiny red wounds inflicted by her brother.

"Velsharzaloth!" she called out. "Enough games! I may not be a tribal shaman or an Uthkalite khan, but a bargain can still be struck."

The wall behind the idol rumbled. Red light slashed through as the door exposed a circular chamber, in the middle of which rested a long, white slab covered in red runes.

When she approached, the slit in the stone disappeared behind her, trapping Mehrai within. The minutes dragged on. Fangs of desperation dug into her heart when her shouts for the demon went unanswered.

"Think," she hissed to herself. "This is to be a gift of kin..."

Breved was of course her closest kin, though their mother still lived, having taken the vows of a silent oracle after her husband's death. There were also her cousins and Breved's newborn child, none of whom she would ever dream of offering to a demon.

"If you want a 'gift of kin,' perhaps I can give you one," she continued. "Surely my royal brother would make for a grand prize."

The untimely demise of Breved would of course plunge the realm into chaos. The throne would pass to his infant son and power would shift to the council of regents, who would likely ignite a new civil war as they squabbled like wolves over a deer's corpse.

Could she truly condemn the realm to such a fate? Before she could retract her offer, a singsong voice flowed from above.

"'A gift of kin.'"

It was her voice.

Looking up, she saw nothing but glowing red runes. The voice flowed forth a few more times, repeating every word she'd spoken aloud since falling into the pit. With each new syllable, the pitch dipped deeper and deeper, before finally settling into a rumbling, bestial growl.

"'A gift of kin,'" the final voice said, seeming to relish its newfound form of speech. "You are close. You are an arrow that grazes the ear instead of piercing the eye."

"Enlighten me, then."

"During my years of glory, the warriors of this land would spill rivers of blood for a fragment of my wisdom."

"And where did that get them? The Uthkalites-and you-are but a whisper now."

"Even a whisper can deafen in the darkness, Mehrai."

The sound of her name from those unseen, fiendish lips made her body tremble so fiercely she found herself slumping against the slab, which she now surmised was an altar. The creature savored the sound as if it were dripping meat or honeyed wine... she could practically see a beast flicking a tongue across its jaws.

"You said I was close," she said, redirecting just as she would during a tense negotiation with a lord or royal councilor. "So this pit was not for the 'gift of kin.' The translation was wrong."

If the intent was not to offer the lives of one's kin, then what was the purpose of this place? She recalled the mage's suppositions about the runes translating to 'forge' or 'seed."

"A forge of kin," she mused aloud, then thought back to the lurid idols in the earlier chambers.

A 'forge of kin' was perhaps a crude way to describe a mother... or a womb. More shivers assailed her and a low, thrumming laugh rippled up from beneath her.

"Understanding dawns," said the demon.

"So that is what you take from those condemned to this pit. You befoul their bodies to... create more demons."

"Condemned," the demon repeated. "Not at all. They descended willingly, offering their wombs in exchange for boons. I would grant them my seed, they would birth echoes of my power, and would receive strength for their tribes, rain for their pastures, and doom for their foes."

In a sense, it was a dark and primal echo of Mehrai's own expected role as a princess. The betrothal to Remal had not just been to ensure the loyalty of his family, but also to produce other children of royal blood who could be married off to secure other alliances. Breved's wife would also be expected to produce far more than just the single prince, and of course Mehrai's mother had entered a loveless, cold marriage for the sake of the realm.

That did not mean Mehrai was keen to yield to that foul creature for some vague promise of power, however.

"If one can descend willingly, can I leave willingly?"

The wall rippled, revealing a narrow fissure that led to a dark, dank cavern, which she hoped might loop back around to the sappers' tunnels.

Yet if she strolled through that passage, she would emerge into a kingdom in turmoil and would still have to endure her brother's wrath. The losses to the royal legions would perhaps inspire more cities to rise, or perhaps a counterattack from the rebels in Jotkaar. Though a shadow of their former strength, even the Uthkalite tribes could intensify their raids upon Athkora's borders. Neighboring realms had kept to themselves during the revolt, but a prolonged conflict might draw the hungry gaze of other rulers. Hundreds or thousands more would die. The scourge of war might reach the capital, where Breved's wife and child were still safe. As much as she detested her brother for his petty tyranny, his family did not deserve to suffer... nor did the families of all those caught in the midst of this stupid war.

As she inhaled deeply, taking in the strange iron scent of the chamber, she focused on the simple fact that the demon was still a creature with needs and desires. Like all beings, mortal or otherwise, Velsharzaloth wanted something, and would be willing to make sacrifices in return. Whether she was bargaining with a merchant, a prince, a king, or a forgotten god... certain principles remained.

"Velsharzaloth," she muttered, the words once more emerging as a sweet song. "What boons can a woman demand for the price of her womb? Could you scourge Jotkaar of its defenders, while leaving the city and its citizens intact?"

"As you said, I am but a whisper. Yet whispers can still feast."

Dark blood trickled down the walls.

"Agree to grant me a child and I shall have the power to take three lives."

Mehrai almost snorted at the absurd nature of such a proposition. If she yielded her body to a foul god and risked the horrors of a demonic pregnancy, she could demand only three deaths in return?

Before she could rebuke the offer, she pondered it for a bit longer. Of course she'd not dream of unleashing a demon upon her brother, for doing so would only imperil Athkora further. Killing off the three most powerful mages in the enemy garrison certainly seemed promising, but further assaults would still be costly. Targeting the rebel legate and his two leading commanders would leave Jotkaar leaderless for a time, but there were surely other seasoned leaders who would rise to fill the void. Some might be even more bloodthirsty and defiant than their predecessors.

"What about two lives and a lie?"

More blood dripped down the walls and the fissure slowly closed.

"Go on."

"Take two lives, but leave hints and evidence that the legate himself was responsible, acting out of fear that they would supplant him after their glorious victory. The comrades of the fallen will mourn and seek vengeance. Turn the serpent of sedition upon himself."

The trickle of blood on the walls turned to a deluge, but somehow the liquid did not pool as it hit the ground, instead writhing back up to disappear back into the ceiling.

"Devious. Are you certain the blood of demons does not run in your veins?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"No, perhaps not. I'd have sensed it."

She'd been so proud of her little gambit that she'd scarcely reckoned with the cost... or the complications.

"Velsharzaloth," she began, before shivering at the way it flowed so beautifully. "Surely there is something else I can call you."

"Call me whatever you wish. The name you have been using is but an echo, a reflection, a broken whisper of the truth."

"Velshar, then," she said, shortening it and finding some relief in the fact that the name didn't seem to warp her tongue as she spoke it.

After a deep breath, she continued.

"How can I trust that you'll even know whom to kill? You've been lurking down here for so long: are you even certain of what transpires above?"

"The same as always. Wrath and ruin. Schemes and bloodletting. But yes, I bear witness. There are those who still cling to the fragments of my glory. Thus when they pray to me, whisper my name in the shadows, use my power to curse their foes, when they share stories of me to frighten their children... I am there. The memory of me is strongest within the walls of that city, in fact."

The blood upon the wall shimmered and took on a mirror sheen. Faces blurred within the blood before solidifying to display a short, stooped-over man in a dark gray robe leaning upon a cane.

Mehrai recognized Legate Trellic, whose defiance at Jotkaar had inspired a general revolt across Athkora. The bloody visions rippled to show other faces: men and women in the blue robes of mages or the red cloaks of Jotkaar's militia. She recognized most of them from failed parleys, though most bore new scars or had lost weight in the months of deprivation.

The strands of a dark, bloody conspiracy unfolded before her. If she chose the wrong victim or had them killed in the wrong way, they might become martyrs or become a beacon around which the survivors would rally.

"This mage," she said, pointing to a narrow-faced woman in a tattered blue robe, whose name she did not recall but she was certain was the city's most potent sorcerer. "When you kill her, do so in a way which hints at some sort of sacrifice. Symbols, regalia, or trinkets of yourself or that of another demon."

Though her skin prickled at staring at those she condemned, Mehrai remembered the hundreds or thousands who would be spared if the scheme succeeded.

"And this one: Lord-Captain Tiberk. Kill him as well but leave evidence that implicates him as a demon-worshiper. Let the questions fester. Let them wonder if the legate's other officers worship the old gods. Let their faith and rebellious zeal turn them against one another. Sprinkle other evidence of demonic worship throughout the city and the palace. Scatter implications that Trellic himself still bows to your kind. Can this be done?"

"It can be done. For a price."

The mere talk of a 'price' reassured her, for she was used to bargains. Every courtier, vassal, and noble wanted something from her or the throne: mostly power, wealth, or perhaps even her body. The more clearly she understood a man's needs, the more deftly she could outmaneuver him.

And Velshar simply wanted a child.

Yet it was surely not that simple. Such a child would be a bastard, born to an unwed princess, with a father not of this world. Would such a child even be human? Would it bear the dark taint of their father and grow to become a monster in their own right?

Other grim thoughts rose alongside those. If Jotkaar did not fall soon, the rebellion would reignite in the provinces which had already yielded. Generals would mutiny, soldiers would desert and turn to banditry. Uthkalite raiders would scourge the villages along the border. Other realms would hungrily eye the crumbling kingdom. Chaos would take the crown and death would sit upon the throne.

"I need to know more. This... child. Will it be taken from me?"

"No."

Mehrai wasn't sure if that made the prospect harder or easier to bear. Would she even be able to love a child born of such a union? And by the Fates, the scandal that would ensue...

And yet what did scandal matter if the realm was turned to ash?

"And will it be like you?"

"I am many things, princess. You must be more specific."

"A monster. A spirit of darkness. An echo of ancient cruelty."

"It has been some time since I have sired a child. So long that I can scarcely remember the last one. But it will be human. Stronger. Faster. Better. It will carry a fragment of my power and will serve as a means of drawing power. The lust, fear, and hate inspired by such a child will flow back to me."

In birthing such a child, Mehrai could help save the realm, but she just might damn it as well. A child with royal and demonic blood would be a dangerous force indeed.

Yet she had to take the risk. If she fled that grim cavern, the bloody siege would drag on or unfurl into a renewed rebellion across the kingdom.

And as a princess, it had been her expected duty to one day produce children for the sake of a realm or an alliance. Was this not what was expected of her? Was this not the most sacred and solemn duty for a woman of royal blood?

An unnatural warmth flared within her loins. The last time she'd felt such a sensation, Remal had been kissing her neck after a feast. A tightening of her fists did nothing to dispel the sensation.

"But we have not reached the end of our bargaining, princess," the voice hissed. "Taking two lives is a trivial matter. But to sow discord and dissent... that would require more of my power. This is not an even trade."

Mehrai almost would have been disappointed had the negotiation been that easy. Knowing better than to blunder forward into negotiating against herself, she allowed the demon to continue.

"Two deaths and a lie will require... two lives."

She blinked. The prospect of bearing one half-demon child was galling enough. Managing the scandal or finding a cooperative husband would be an epic task to rival the crushing of the revolt. The presence of two illegitimate half-demon children was another matter entirely. And yet after a moment of furrowing her brow, Mehrai seized open another opening, as deftly as she would when negotiating with a legate or a guild-master.

"Is your power potent enough to guarantee twins from a single act of..."She paused, ensure of the best way to describe being ravished by an otherworldly creature. "Act of union?"

"That can be arranged, yes."

While that would still be dire, it would be easier to somehow explain twins than two children born some time apart... and she would only have to endure a single coupling with the strange echo of an ancient god.

The tension roiling in her heart reminded Mehrai of the time she'd gone cliff-diving with Breved and their cousins. Shivering, she'd stood near the edge and stared down at the churning sea below, where the cousins had already leapt. Their laughter rose up to taunt her.

"I'm terrified too," Breved had mumbled. "But the best way to defeat fear is to push right into it. Then you have no choice but to fall."

With a wild whoop, he'd leapt over the edge. Instinct had dragged her after him and she'd screamed with fear and animalistic glee as she fell.

The only way through this terror was to push through.

"I accept," she murmured. "If you kill those two rebels and sow the seeds of deception in the manner I suggested, I will bear your twins."

The glowing runes within the chamber vanished, once more plunging her into darkness. Her resolve faltered despite her acceptance of the offer. Abject terror and regret consumed her and a shaky hand flailed out in search of the fissure along the wall that had opened.

Instead she grasped something else: something firm, incredibly warm and...

Were those scales? Uncertainty and fear drew forth a squeak as she yanked her hand back, suddenly quite grateful for the lack of light. Mehrai was certain the little idol she'd seen of the demon had been a mere echo of the creature's true appearance. Yet her eyes drifted through the void all the same until she spotted two burning golden eyes looming above her.

She stepped back until her legs thudded into the stone slab at the center of the room.

The eyes vanished, then reappeared a moment later, a mere foot before her. She had to tilt her head up to meet that inhuman gaze and she shivered anew with the realization that the demon was nearly two feet taller than her. A giant. A beast. An otherworldly brute... and the father of her future children.

"The Fates weave," she murmured in a feeble invocation.

Over and over she repeated the mantra as the demon stared down at her. The moments turned to minutes and her voice grew faint and weak.

As the last prayer died, something firm grazed along her muddy, sweaty dress. The glow of the demon's eyes allowed her to faintly make out the line of a claw raking along the fabric. The claw was so dark that it nearly disappeared within the darkness, and she let out a low whimper as the sharp tip sliced just barely into fabric and the corset beneath.

With the practiced care of a tailor trimming a garment, the claw tugged into the fabric and slashed down. The corset peeled apart to expose the silken chemise beneath.

Down and down the claw grazed until it had neatly bisected the two outer layers of her dress. The fabric peeled apart to leave her shivering and half-naked, clad in the tatters of the dress and the silken shift.

For the realm. For the people. For the future.

It was the same sentiment she'd used to steady herself when she'd met Remal for the first time during the betrothal negotiations. She'd been ready to endure a marriage to a stranger... so surely she could endure this.

The clawed hand lifted the chemise and grazed along her soft belly, though did not break the skin.

A whimper burst from her lips and echoed quite loudly within the chamber as the claw moved in a strange pattern upon her pale skin. A red rune pulsed in the claw's wake, just over her womb. Warmth flowed deep within. Thighs trembling, Mehrai nearly collapsed back against the altar as the warmth consumed her from within.

Her jaw dropped and she felt her nipples strain against the silk. Moisture welled between her legs as the rune glowed so bright that it overcame the golden glow of his eyes. Fearful of actually seeing the demon's dark glory, she clenched her eyes shut and whimpered anew.

"There," Velshar murmured. "Your womb now bears my mark."

Mehrai carefully and slowly opened one eye, mindful to not look directly at the demon. The rune upon her skin had dulled, leaving behind only a faint red glow. Velshar's eyes still burned like golden infernos before her, though the rest of the room remained shrouded in darkness.

As another tremor shot through her, Mehrai reached down to caress her fingers over the faintly warm sigil.

The only way to face the fear was to push right through.

"I am ready."

"No," he said, his words thrumming like thunder. "You are not. No mortal woman is truly ready for the gifts I can offer. But you do seem stronger than most."

The fierce hand settled upon her hip and turned her around so she faced the altar. Though the strength nearly fled her, Mehrai managed to brace her hands upon the stone.

Simpler that way... at least she'd not have to risk the prospect of glimpsing his face, which was certainly a feral, bestial sight.

Impossibly warm breath puffed against her twitching rear. His rough hands caressed along the back of her calves, the claws taking care not to cut her, though occasionally she felt a flicker of their cold strength upon her pale skin.

Wet warmth lashed against the back of her thigh, followed by a rough, insistent lick all the way down each calf. The creature's tongue was impossibly long and narrow, covered in soft little bumps unlike anything she'd felt upon from her prior lovers.

Of course, her experience was quite limited. On a drunken dare, she'd fondled a visiting duchess during a religious festival, and her furtive trysts with Remal had been awkward and clumsy encounters. Her only other lover had been a mercenary commander she'd sought solace with after Remal's betrayal. The man had been a rough and callous brute, carrying little for her pleasure. She'd been expecting such barbarity from the demon, not those curious, exploratory licks.

The tongue grazed along the back of her other leg before it swirled around the soft cheeks of her backside.

"What... what are..."

Hungry laughter puffed against her quaking thighs.

"I am preparing the way, princess."

The tongue descended to flick against her folds, already left quite moist by the strange power unleashed when he'd marked her womb. Her jaw dropped at the uncanny warmth of his exploration, then squeaked as the tip traced each of her folds in turn, with a precision no other lover could have possibly matched.

Scarcely able to comprehend the true nature and scale of Velshar, she clawed against the stone altar as his devious tongue circled around her sex, cruelly avoiding her most sensitive spots. Had he grazed just a bit higher or a bit more firmly...

Unbidden, her hips tilted backwards in an urgent, wordless plea. She yelped at the sensation of his warm laughter puffing against her sodden warmth.

A fierce grasp tugged at her ankles, forcing them apart and leaving her even more vulnerable. The tongue continued its lazy caresses and cruel neglect, until she began to wriggle and buck back against him. Deep, primal lusts took hold and destroyed all semblance of reason and decorum. The haze of need grew so fierce she nearly forgot the purpose of their coupling and the dark stakes of her offering.

With the last of her pride gone, Mehrai opened her mouth to beg properly, but the demon obliged before she could voice the shameful words. The dripping tongue lashed against her sex with greater force. It worked in a fervent rhythm and undulated to meet her every need, to caress every fold and send sparks along every nerve.

The warmth of the womb-rune pulsed in time with his tongue. The sensations together created an agonizing pressure deep in her core, like an itch she could not scratch. The uncanny feeling rippled outwards to consume every one of her meager, shaking muscles. She only had the strength to claw at the altar and curl her toes as the waves enveloped her entire body.

The fierce grip tightened around her ankles, leaving her feet almost numb. Velshar growled and hummed against her sex, as one might have hummed with delight after savoring a fine course at a royal feast.

"Yes!" she cried, the joyous need assailing the walls of the dark chamber. "Right there, oh by the Fates, please, please, please..."

The powerful tongue slipped away and she unleashed a sobbing, trembling shriek of impotent rage. Her hand reached out blindly to try to force him back between her legs, only to squeak with fear as her hand bumped against his sharp, angular face.

"Fates, why did you stop?" she said, tears forming in her eyes after the sharpness of that denial.

His hands rose from her ankles and she no longer felt his claws, as if he'd retracted them into his fingers. The cruel grip found the cheeks of her shuddering ass and tugged them apart, further exposing the princess to the demon's hunger.

A hungry growl fled Velshar's lips and his tongue darted forth again, spearing into her sex and plunging deep. The combination of strength and precision set her mind ablaze as he filled her. Too desperate for release to truly fathom the anatomy of her lover, Mehrai could only whimper and thrash as his tongue conquered her completely, preparing the way for the seed that would claim her womb.

The long tongue pulsed and wriggled inside her, seeking those hidden delightful spots just as he'd done with her folds. It began to thrust back and forth with the strength of a cock. Dripping, squelching sounds filled the air as the demon's tongue plundered her with a domineering power that no human lover could have possibly matched.

It was no wonder the Uthkalite tribes had worshiped such beings...

A red glow filled the room as the womb-rune brightened. She still dared not look back over her shoulder for a proper view of her conquerer, and instead stared down at the altar. Her vision swam, turning blurry and red. Now freed from the cruel grasp of his hands, Mehrai's legs flailed backwards, bumping against his hard, powerful frame. For a moment, she thought she felt her calf brush against what might have been his cock. Soon new and altogether more powerful sensations took hold.

The princess' body and soul collapsed beneath the onslaught. Rendered limp by the pressure searing her from within, Mehrai whimpered and sobbed. Tears and spittle rained onto the stone slab, while the dew of her sex joined with demonic saliva to drip lewdly down her thighs. Whimpers grew into husky moans before cresting into a single sharp, short scream that assailed the ancient walls of the shrine.

Her legs went numb and it was if she were floating, as if the altar itself had vanished, leaving Velshar's tongue as the only source of sensation left in the world. A lurid image flashed into her mind of a scantily clad, tattooed priestess writhing beneath the attentions of that same tongue, of the countless Uthkalite women who had ceded their wombs and souls to Velshar's hunger.

The demon was as relentless as the dark legends of his kind suggested. He continued to feast, his tongue plunging deep, then withdrawing to lash against the sodden folds before diving back in. The incessant tide of bliss overwhelmed her fraying nerves and drew forth hoarse cries of protest from the broken princess.

"Please," she rasped. "It's too much. I can barely breathe, I-"

The feeble words fractured into a pathetic whimper as his tongue continued to plunder her depths. When she made a feeble attempt to rise, a fierce hand clamped against her cheek to force her back to the altar. As she struggled, Mehrai received her clearest glimpse of other otherworldly lover: his skin was silvery and slightly scaled, with fingers thicker and longer than any human's. For the moment, he kept his claws sheathed, but his cruel strength kept her pinned to the altar while his conquest continued.

Torn between a need for further pleasure and a reprieve, her weak leg flailed backwards: perhaps to kick, perhaps to caress his mysterious cock. She managed to bump against his powerful thigh but the feeble attack did nothing to deter him. If anything, the struggle only inspired him. Velshar's growls deepened and his tongue quickened, starting to thrum and pulse with greater intensity.

Her left eye began to twitch. The cords of her neck tightened and fire coursed through her lungs. Once more her legs went limp and the tension in her back slackened, rendering her even more helpless before him. Velshar exploited her weakness with ruthless hunger.

The other eye began to twitch as well, until both eyes rolled back back into her head, denying her the faint glow of the womb-rune and his golden eyes. Agony surged within and without. The fire in her chest and neck grew so fierce that she took one last breath...

And slipped into shadow.

Consciousness returned and she found herself upon her back on the altar. The demon's tongue was still deep inside her, having apparently not slackened its efforts at all despite her fainting spell. Had a mortal lover dared to commit such a transgression, Mehrai would have demanded his head or had him tossed into the deepest dungeons beneath the palace. Yet for Velshar, she could only whimper, sob, and buck her hips to meet the writhing of his tongue.

The glow of his golden eyes and the womb-rune granted Mehrai her long-feared first glimpse of his face. The darkness meant she could only see a vague outline of his sharp, angular features and the nest of obsidian-black horns stretching back from above his ears. Velshar was a dark echo of a mortal man, but with features uncanny enough to send a wicked thrill down her spine.

Terrifyingly beautiful and beautifully terrifying. A living avatar of lust, depravity, and cruelty.

After the pulses of his tongue left her shuddering once again, Velshar withdrew and rose. Spittle and dew dripped from his dark grey lips and onto the shimmering silver of his impossibly chiseled torso. A crooked smile displayed wolfish fangs as he leered down at her.

Making the sight all the more unnerving was the knowledge that it was but a lesser incarnation of the demon, that his actual form was beyond mortal comprehension.

Swallowing and whimpering, Mehrai's gaze drifted down, down, down...

At the sight of his cock, she let out a hoarse cry. It was longer and thicker than any she'd ever seen, lined by long, symmetrical ridges formed to conquer a woman with a tide of pleasure. Sinful, glowing silver droplets leaked from the tip. When the first hit her trembling belly, she yelped at the wondrous warmth it unleashed. The womb-rune glowed as if beckoning for more.

"I cannot possibly endure that," she muttered, her voice simmering with awe, fear, and need.

"I have prepared you thoroughly," Velshar rumbled back as his claw gently tapped on the womb-rune. "But it is not the size you should truly fear, princess. It is the pleasure itself, for no mortal man can match what I shall inflict upon you. You could take a hundred lovers and never find one like me. An army of warriors could service you ever night and it would mean nothing. No soul can every truly fill you like I can. No conquest will ever be as complete."

The warning sounded like a challenge to surmount, not something to shy away from. Barely able to summon the strength, Mehrai reached down and caressed the tip of the long, silvery cock. Her delicate fingers collected the next drop that leaked forth, which drew an approving laugh from the demon.

"Drink deep, princess. Enjoy the taste of what shall soon conquer you."

Mehrai obeyed, staring into his burning eyes as she brought the droplet of his seed to her heaving lips. A sweet, honeyed taste erupted on her tongue. The womb-rune pulsed brightly and a sudden spasm seized her quaking form. Yelping, Mehrai lurched upwards off the altar as the embers of her last climax erupted into a great inferno at the mere taste of him.

As her cries and whimpers flooded the room once more, Velshar laughed darkly and stroked his cock. More of his droplets leaked forth to smear his palm. When he lifted his hand to grant her another taste, she lunged forward with a thirst she'd never before experienced. Her fervent, worshipful tongue caressed the offering, each new taste prolonging the climax. The potent sorcery of his seed and the womb-rune combined to send her soul soaring, leaving her a writhing, breathless wreck upon the altar yet again.

The demon shifted his grip to pin her wrists to the altar and rumbled with dark joy at her feeble attempt to wriggle free. His powerful hips tilted forward and his inhuman, perfect cock grazed along her swollen folds. Each drip of his seed onto her sex made the skin all the more sensitive. By the Fates, how had the ancient Uthkalite priestesses and witches not grown addicted to the seed of their demonic gods?

Perhaps they had... and perhaps Mehrai would herself become a slave to the taste.

Velshar slowly rocked his cock along her folds, allowing the ridges to tease the spots he'd thoroughly soaked with his tongue. The firmness of the movements sent throbbing jolts through the princess. Resistance fled her weak arms and she yielded fully to him, her legs spreading wide to welcome the slow, powerful grinding of his cock along her sex. With each added droplet, she grew needier and more desperate for the true, final conquest.

The womb-rune begged for it too, in its own way. The pulses of the sigil grew brighter and more urgent, casting crimson radiance along Velshar's silvery skin.

Fearful she might pass out again from the agony of such denial, Mehrai stared up at him with abject, painful need.

"No more games, Velsharzaloth," she said, employing his full name in the hopes that it might prove more potent. "Take what I have yielded to you. Seal the covenant."

"A beautiful thing, for the power of royalty to be reduced to such abject desperation."

Cruel as ever, the demon continued to rock and grind, maintaining the same slow pace. It was certainly enough to send her body reeling towards a soft, shivering climax, but she and the womb-rune craved far more. Her soul had shifted towards its newfound purpose; her entire being drooled at the thought of being thoroughly claimed, conquered, and bred.

It was the ultimate burden of a princess, after all.

Only when she'd climaxed twice more beneath his domineering movements did Velshar finally shift his hips again. The uncanny, ridged girth slipped down to grace the throbbing, aching entrance to her sex. Weak hips wriggled in a vain attempt to draw him within.

Rather than tilt himself forward to fully claim her, Velshar simply stepped back into the darkness. His golden eyes burned within the void but they grew distant, as if he'd retreated a hundred paces to some hidden corner of the cavern.

Mehrai's cry of sorrow and fury chased after him. Desperate fingers lunged for her sex and she hooked two inside... but she barely felt them. With a fierce snarl, she forced herself from the altar, slipped, then righted herself after half a minute of desperate gasps.

"We had a pact," she spat into the darkness.

"Indeed. But did our pact specify when I would conquer your womb?"

By the Fates... she should have been more careful and precise. Mehrai's frenzied mind tried in vain to recall the specific wording of their arrangement, wondering what other loopholes he might exploit.

"I have drawn enough power from your bliss to manifest in the world above and hold up my end of the bargain, princess. I shall depart to do so now... and then I shall claim my prize when I see fit."

The golden eyes vanished and the red runes upon the walls began to glow anew. Mehrai screamed in fury at the empty chamber, then fell into a panting, sobbing heap beside the altar.

Slow, steady breaths and invocations to the Fates steadied her after a few minutes. Only when her prayers had finished did she realize how absurd it was to invoke the Fates to console herself for the demon's absence. She looked down, noting the sweat, drying demon-seed, and the faint red marks left upon her wrists. With every moment that passed, each lurid detail seemed more and more like something from a dream.

Shivering, Mehrai reached down and gently traced the faintly-glowing rune upon her belly, then slipped down a bit further to caress her sensitive, aching sex. The warmth pulsed but in the absence of Velshar's cock and tongue, it took considerable effort for Mehrai to guide herself to a sputtering, weak climax.

Only then did she finally rise to collect the ruins of her clothing, managing to wrap enough around herself for a semblance of decency. On the far side of the chamber, the fissure slid open and opened into another rune-lined passageway.

Hoping this was not another another trick, she limped down the tunnel. Before long, she heard the rushing of water and came to a wall of shimmering, dark mist. Through it she could barely make out the outline of the ziggurat and the faint glow of its runes.

Depending on how much time had passed, her brother still might be out there.

And what might happen when she revealed herself? The king might try to finish what he'd started... or perhaps guilt had taken over after she'd vanished into darkness. Trusting that Velshar himself would protect her in order to protect his claim upon her body, Mehrai took a deep breath and stepped through the mist.

She cried out as she found herself flailing within the underground river coursing past the ziggurat. Desperate screams rose into the air as she struggled towards shore, her body rendered weak by Velshar's attention.

Others shouted and soon a mage's staff reached out for her. She grabbed hold and others came forth to help tug her to the stone. A heartbeat later she was on her hands and knees, coughing and moaning with exertion.

The baffled, horrified faces of black-armored knights looked between her and the top of the ziggurat. Mehrai followed their gaze to see Breved still standing atop the temple, wielding the same idol he'd used to strike her. The king stared down into the pit, eyes wide and jaw agape.

By the Fates... barely a heartbeat had passed since he'd pushed her into the pit.

"My king!" shouted one of the soldiers.

Breved turned to regard his sister. A cry of shock filled the cavern and he sprinted down the ziggurat. He stumbled at the last step, went sprawling, and tore a small gash in his forehead upon the stone. Sputtering out prayers and curses, he rose and rushed towards her.

"By the Fates, Mehrai, what..."

Wild eyes danced around the room.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to-"

"Leave us," Mehrai snapped at the knights and mages around them. "I must speak with our king."

For perhaps the first time, they obeyed without requiring confirmation from their liege. Never before would she have dared to order his men about in such a way, but she had survived Velshar's lusts and could easily endure a petty king's wrath. Perhaps there was more to it than pride, for she felt a wellspring of warmth from that runic mark, as if Velshar was lending her strength for the confrontation.

"It was the wine," Breved blurted as his underlings retreated towards the cavern's exit. "And... and the rage. Fear, too. By the Fates, I scarcely know what I would have done had I lost you. Forgive me, please..."

The last time she'd seen him this shaken it had been after their father's death, when the burden of rule had fallen upon his inept shoulders. As tears threatened to creep into his eyes, she wondered if he'd been of sound mind atop the ziggurat, if perhaps the demon's power had somehow spurred him to violence, to force Mehrai down into the pit's below...

Wasting time with such thoughts would not lift the siege, however.

"Earn my forgiveness by heeding my counsel. We shall allow rumors to spread of demonic influence under the city. Summon the nearest chapter of inquisitors to conduct a thorough investigation of the army... hint that the failed assaults may have been the result of sabotage by heretical cults."

The plan burst from her lips with a fervency she'd never displayed before the king.

"In the coming days, events shall unfold within Jotkaar that will create new opportunities. When the time comes, we must be ready to seize the moment."

Breved glanced up at the ziggurat, then her torn clothing, and the red abrasions left upon her wrists by Velshar's grip.

"What... what happened down there?"

"Something you cannot and should not comprehend. But I did what was necessary. And now you must do what is necessary and listen to me. Do you understand?"

The tone was quite like the one their stern father would have used whenever Breved had disappointed him after some new failure or scandal.

The king gave a slow, shaky nod.

**

Three weeks later, Jotkaar submitted to Breved's legions. Though reports had been scarce at first, fissures had erupted within the hierarchy of the rebel movement. Even as the walls stood firm against the royal host, knives flashed in the dark. Accusations of heresy and treachery abounded. Old feuds erupted into open bloodletting.

Out of fear that someone in the rebel government was actually consorting with demons, one of the gate-captains sent a messenger bird offering terms. With that gate secure, Breved's troops managed to turn the tide and Legate Trellic surrendered rather than risk a sack of the city.

Neither the king nor his sister did much to deliberately stoke the rumors, and such tales soon took on a life of their own. Trellic's captains and mages had only endured for long thanks to demonic assistance, some claimed. Others whispered that the revolt had been righteous at first, only to run afoul of the Fates when its leaders turned to darker powers to enrich themselves at the expense of their followers.

And in time, new rumors and whispers began to take a new shape, which painted Breved as a flawed king who had made mistakes, but who had stood against heresy and darkness.

Yet during that time, not once did Velshar reveal himself to Mehrai. The ache in her loins persisted; only after vigorously pleasuring herself each night to memories of him was she even able to sleep. During council meetings to discuss surrender terms, she nearly found herself licking her lips, still tasting the dark honey of his seed. When she rode at Breved's side through the gates of the conquered city, she felt the iron grip of Velshar's hands around her wrists.

And when she sank onto the fine sheets of a bed in the defeated legate's palace, she found herself on the verge of whimpering with need for Velshar's inhuman, wondrous tongue.

"Where are you?" she whispered into the night, staring through the open window upon the moonlit city, where prisoners, slaves, and soldiers toiled to repair the damage.

When no answer came, Mehrai slipped her fingers between her legs. Only when she was left trembling and grumbling in the wake of a long and tense orgasm did she give voice to his true name.

"Velsharzaloth," Mehrai whimpered out, the dark name flowing forth smoothly and sweetly.

The only sound was the heaving of her urgent breath. Even when she caressed the glowing rune and whispered his name again, her demonic paramour did not answer.

Could he have somehow fallen to the rebel mages after the assassinations? None had spoken of any beast or monster stalking the city before its fall, however. Or had the increased attention of the inquisitors somehow forced him into the shadows?

Torn between relief and strange sorrow at the prospect of never seeing him again, Mehrai drifted off to sleep, but could only dream of his burning, golden eyes.

As she traveled the realm, using threats and her wiles to douse the simmering embers of the revolt, memories of Velshar pursued her like wolves hunting a wounded elk. Night after night, she would slip her fingers between her legs to seek a feeble imitation of the bliss he'd inflicted. Again and again, she would caress the glowing rune and murmur his name.

Only silence answered.

As the months passed, she almost allowed herself to look back on the encounter as a twisted dream or a hallucination conjured by the foul, lingering magic of the place. Were it not for the womb-rune, she might have allowed herself to fully embrace that delusion.

**

The muffled cheers of the adoring crowd rumbled against the heavy iron doors of the temple. Veiled attendants wandered the holy space, stretching sacred threads through the air in an imitation of the Fates' cosmic looms. No other worshipers were in attendance, for most of the capital's residents had taken to the streets to celebrate the official declaration of victory. While Mehrai stood within the shrine and stared at the gossamer strands, Breved was waving, beaming, and enduring a hail of flower petals from his exultant subjects.

The acolytes paid her no mind as she moved to the center of the great chamber. Carvings of blindfolded women adorned the walls of dark stone, which stared down at her as if judging the sins of the past year.

Mehrai had lied, of course, spinning webs of deception to help end the revolt and spare the realm from further suffering. No doubt innocents had been caught amidst the accusations of heresy and demon worship, and of course there was the dark covenant she'd made with Velshar. Even if the demon had not come to claim his due, she had violated the oldest precepts of the faith.

Yet the Fates themselves did not truly judge. They watched, they weaved, and spun new paths based upon one's failures and sins. Mehrai stared at the long strands woven by the acolytes and wondered where her path might take her.

Time and again, the royal council had proposed various marriage alliances for Mehrai but she'd managed to wriggle her way out of each one. Cowed and regretful after the incident in the shrine, Breved had not been keen to press the matter. But she could not delay for much longer; she was a few years past twenty, and the lack of a betrothal or marriage was raising eyebrows. Yet the prospect of marriage was made all the more galling by Velshar's unclaimed prize. What if Velshar arrived to impregnate her before the wedding, leaving Mehrai with unexplained, illegitimate children and thus sullying her prospects? If he arrived after the marriage, perhaps she might be able to pass the twins off as her husband's, but the uncertain nature of such children made that prospect dubious at best.

She reached out and caressed one of the long strands. A low, thrumming horn sounded from the alcove up above. In silence, the veiled acolytes released the strands and vanished through the door to tend to their next round of devotions.

Alone and silent, Mehrai continued to wander and ponder her fate.

The door slowly opened and in strode a soldier clad in a black gambeson and a green cloak. Though he wore the uniform and jade badge of one of her brother's bodyguards, she did not recognize the man, as he had not been among her escort to the temple. No doubt Breved had sent him to fetch her, perhaps to summon her back to the palace to deal with some new crisis that he couldn't bother resolving himself.

That was for the best; he could enjoy the parades, feasts, and arena contests, while she did the actual work of keeping the realm intact.

There was something wrong about this man, however. A trained knight would have known better than to maintain eye contact with one of his betters for that long. There was also something slightly arhythmic about his steps, as if he was nursing a limp that she couldn't quite detect.

Only then did she realize the most unsettling feature of the man...

He had no shadow.

Mehrai took a step back, fearful one of the hunted cults had sent an assassin due to her actions at Jotkaar. Before she could cry out for the attendants or her other guardians, something golden flickered in the strange soldier's gaze.

"Velsharzaloth," she murmured.

The sacred strands within the temple shuddered beneath the whisper. A few unraveled and tumbled to the ground.

"Princess," the soldier said in the same low, ominous rumble that had haunted her lustful dreams for months.

"Why did it take you so long to find me?"

"You reframed the revolt as a heretical uprising and turned your inept brother into a holy warrior. This created... complications."

No doubt resolving those complications had involved a great deal of terror and bloodshed. She shivered with fear and a wellspring of lust, mouth watering at the reminder of his power, fury, and hunger.

The golden spark in his eyes turned to a raging flame. Velshar flicked his gloved hand towards the doors. Red runes rippled through the air and coalesced around the doors to seal them shut. The golden flames of his eyes turned to regard the blindfolded Fates. To her surprise, the disguised demon actually smiled.

"I am shocked you can even manage the power to enter a holy place like this."

"'Holy.' A strange concept. And all a matter of perspective."

He reached down and brushed a finger through one of the strands, which shimmered into crimson ash beneath his touch.

"There is much you still do not know about your Fates or my kind."

"And so you came all this way, risked discovery, endured those 'complications' just to give me a theological lecture?"

The womb-rune practically burned in his presence. Sweat clung to her neck and she found herself fighting the urge to yank off her clothes, if only to relieve the oppressive heat.

"I should do more than lecture you, princess. I should punish you."

The burning eyes swung back to her. The heat of the glare forced her back a step and she nearly tripped over one of the sacred strands.

"This newfound zeal for rooting out heresy risks eating away at what little remains of my power. My few remaining worshipers were already scattered across the shadows of the realm, but now they scurry deeper into darkness or abandon their faith altogether."

Spite and pride forced her to raise her chin.

"Then you should have been more precise with your terms of the covenant."

A low laugh rumbled through the temple.

"Indeed I should have... I should have demanded more than just your womb. I should have demanded all of you."

He took another slow step towards her and ran a gloved hand along her cheek. The current visage was handsome and lean, but her mind could only focus on the memories of his angular, uncanny face, the silvery skin, the gnarled horns, the sharp teeth, the long tail, the ebony claws and that wondrous, impossible cock...

The hand fell away and he laughed again. Mehrai's eyes swept up and down the unfamiliar form, wondering if he'd somehow possessed one of her brother's elite knights. The answer came a moment later when the golden glare of his eyes brightened. The clothing flitted away in puffs of ash. Light pulsed and reality fractured as the illusion shifted. The glowing figure grew several feet; shoulders broadened and skin turning silver. The limbs lengthened and claws emerged from long, cruel fingers.

The clothing turned to ash as well, revealing Velshar in all his naked, sinful glory. Behind him, his long tail swayed like that of a playful cat, but Mehrai had eyes for only one thing...

His long, ridged cock stood proudly before her, seed already leaking from the tip. The taste of his essence had haunted her more than anything else since their parting. The dark memories had rendered fine wine and food almost tasteless as a result.

Guided by the growing warmth of the womb-rune, the princess sank to her knees. Trusting in the power of his sorcery to keep them safe and hidden, Mehrai could only think of one thing...

To claim him and to be claimed in return.

A clawed hand descended to gently rest on the back of her head. A flick of his claw defeated the pins holding up the tight bun of her hair. Dark, silky tresses descended to frame her flushed face.

With a soft and needy sigh, Mehrai regarded the object of her fiery need. There was no possible way she'd be able to fit his entire cock into her mouth, though his dark magic might make that a possibility. A shaky hand rose to caress the underside of the long, ridged shaft. Her pale fingers circled around it and she gasped with the realization that her single hand could not fully encompass its girth.

While her grip may have been insufficient, Mehrai still found other ways to worship. Eager eyes stared up at the demon as she flicked her tongue along the tip. A single drop of his fiendishly-sweet seed leaked forth as her reward. It was even more potent than the first time she'd tasted it... the sensation flowed past her lips and down her throat, combining with the warmth of the rune upon her midriff.

"Drink deep, princess," the demon rasped, before tightening the grip on her head and tugging to force the first few inches of his shaft past her lips.

Though she obeyed and slurped down the droplets of nectar, Mehrai still had enough presence of mind to reach down and unlace her dress. His long tail swished and slipped forward to work with surprising dexterity to help pry apart the last few laces.

Keeping her lips sealed around the warm tip of his shaft, she slipped off her dress until all that remained were her corset and the silken shift beneath. Mehrai's eyes bulged and she cried out against the crown of his cock as his tail slipped between her legs. The appendage wriggled and rocked against her, just as his tongue had during their first encounter. Before long she was mewling and grinding against him, her own dew soaking his tail as she took another inch of his cock past her lips.

As Mehrai worked, the womb-rune glowed brightly through the silken chemise, filling the temple with unholy radiance.

Hips bucking and chest heaving, she rose to the challenge and leaned forward. As spittle and his nectar slid along his shaft, both hands rose to fully entwine around his length. Urgent, feverish strokes worked the lower half while her mouth tended to the rest. Mehrai's movements grew more frantic as his tail sped up and sent lewd, wet sloshing sounds through the air.

The power of the womb-rune combined with the taste of his seed and the skill of his tail. Velshar growled and tugged on her silken locks, forcing her lips from his cock. She cried out in anguish at being denied the taste but her hands managed to continue their urgent strokes.

"I want to hear it," he snarled down at her.

The demon soon got his wish. Undone by his skill and cruelty, Mehrai's eyes fluttered and the womb-rune's glow became almost blinding. Hoping that his magic would keep her bliss quiet, she unleashed a frantic cry.

Velshar's cruelty soon cut it short as he took hold of her hair and forced her mouth back onto his shaft. His hips tilted forward and sent his tool deep past her lips. The intrusion should have hurt, or at least should have made her choke or gag, but the power of his seed and the womb-rune had made her a perfect receptacle for his gift.

Her eyes watered and fluttered at the glorious sensation of surrender, as her entire world shrank down to the pressure unleashed by his body and the cruel grip of his hands. Through it all, his tail still worked along with the womb-rune's power to send her into another sputtering climax. Her drool anointed his shaft and her dew graced his tail.

And then he gave her the sweetest gift yet. The first burst of his seed triggered another orgasm and the beautiful, rhythmic pulses of his cock aligned with the twitching of her body. He hummed in delight rather than unleashing a bestial roar, and murmured approvingly as she gulped down what she could. Some of his offering leaked forth and she mewled in dismay at losing such a sweet prize.

"Fear not, princess," he rumbled. "There shall be plenty more gifts to come."

Despite the reassurances, Mehrai swallowed down everything she could and it went down like the cider she so enjoyed on warm summer evenings. With great regret, she pulled her lips from him and took a deep breath. A lazy, delighted smile spread across her face and she gave the throbbing tip a devious little lick.

"Now it is time to seal our covenant."

His claws tightened in her hair and tugged Mehrai to her feet, somehow not tearing any hair out in the process. As she trembled and leaned against his muscular frame, he reached down and took hold of her waist. The hand was so massive it was nearly able to close entirely around her. Unholy strength lifted her into the air and she squeaked as her feet left the ground. As Mehrai flailed, her fine sandals slipped free and landed with a clatter.

Higher and higher she went until her sex hovered near his mouth. The long, rough tongue slipped forth for a single throbbing lick to her folds.

"Just as delicious as I remember."

Though she did long to feel that tongue penetrate her depths once more, Mehrai yearned for a deeper, darker desecration. The demon was just as keen for it and lowered her body so her sex rested an inch above his shaft. His claw slashed through the silken chemise to reveal the throbbing, gleaming womb-rune.

"Fertile. Perfect. Worthy."

Velshar slipped her just a bit further down until she felt the faint pressure of his fiendish cock against her slit. Her shaky hands clawed at his shoulders as he tugged her down just a bit more. Trusting in the power of the womb-rune, she winced but did not protest.

An inch breached inside her, the girth of that inch seeming to fill her more completely than any of her prior lovers. The hand around her waist tightened and she felt him throb inside her.

Another inch. She whimpered and bit her lip so fiercely that it pierced the skin. A droplet of blood leaked forth but Velshar's tongue lashed out to collect it. The demon's body shuddered at the taste then he dragged her down another inch.

Her bare feet flailed and her hands continued to claw at the iron muscles of his shoulders.

"You are taking it so well. Better than most."

The words reminded her that Velshar had taken countless lovers, perhaps including a few since they'd met. After all, he might have made other lurid covenants with his worshipers while she'd been helping to staunch the rebellion. A strange jealousy gripped her heart and her fingers tightened against his shoulders.

With a grunt of effort, she pushed and forced herself further down, sending his tool even deeper. The ridges rubbed against all the soft, sensitive spots within her sex. She twitched around him and sputtered for air. With a cruel, fanged smile, Velshar gave her one last tug downwards.

The deep penetration should have ruined her, should have left her screaming with agony, but the power of the womb-rune kept her safe. The magic sigil's energy entwined with the warmth of his cock to unleash pulsating throbs deep within her core.

And when he tugged her slowly upwards, those ridges and the sparks of the womb-rune sent her surging towards another climax. The tip had nearly slipped free when the orgasm started to subside, and then it roared anew as he slid her back down again.

Over and over, Velshar lifted her up and guided her back down, working with slow, methodical cruelty, like a warlord besieging a hostile fortress. Every plunge either sent her spiraling up the joyous peaks or helped prolong the wild bliss.

Pride still burned amidst the inferno of pleasure.

"More," she whined, drool leaking from her lips as tears streaked her sweaty cheeks. "Faster. Harder. More."

His laughter drowned out her pleading whimpers and he persisted with those slow, cruel thrusts for another minute or so. Mehrai's whimpers crested into a needy sob as he lifted her fully from his cock. The sheer absence of him nearly brought her to tears, even though the movement of the tip along her inner walls had ignited further shudders through her body.

The powerful tail rose to help grip her waist, then he turned her around so she faced the blindfolded carvings of the Fates. She let out a sharp laugh at the sinful depravity of it all, having nearly forgotten they were defiling a sacred place. The princess cared not for the sacrilege, for the Fates had done nothing during the course of the revolt and it was only her dark pact with Velshar that had secured victory. The demon was far more worthy of worship than those blind and silent spirits.

Her sacrilegious laughter died as his cock found her sex again. The tail and his hand tightened around her waist. After a half minute of those slow and careful thrusts, Velshar let out a thrumming growl against the back of her neck.

Only then did the conquest truly begin.

Her mind and body reeled beneath the onslaught of his deep, fervent strokes. Soft skin rippled and twitched as he worked. Her nipples strained against the silk of her sweaty shift and her dew dripped to the floor, joining with the seed she'd failed to swallow after his first climax. The rhythmic slapping of their hips formed a sweet, sinful music that defiled the temple and set her heart ablaze.

Even more beautiful were Velshar's low, thrumming grunts... sounds that were almost human.

Mehrai's heart burned as she reached down to grasp at his powerful, rippling forearm. The other hand lifted up her silken chemise so she could lovingly caress the glowing womb-rune. The power swelled with each powerful thrust and each increasingly loud grunt or growl from her inhuman lover.

He was close... so close to surrendering to his own needs, so close to filling her with his ancient power.

So close to making a mother of her, of forever altering her path. Fear sparked for just a moment, followed by a surge of pride at the notion that she was worthy of bearing the children of that powerful being. A painful yearning soon rose, harkening back to a primal urge to procreate, an animalistic instinct that lurked within her heart.

Yet Mehrai soon found herself yearning for something else.

"Wait," she whimpered as her fingers clawed into his wrist.

The demon's thrusts did not abate, though he did snarl and lift a hand to grasp her throat.

"We made a covenant, princess. You are mine. There is no stopping this."

"Your eyes," she said with a broken sob. "I want to stare into your eyes as you claim me. They're so... beautiful."

The fierce grip remained but his thrusts slowed. Velshar's tongue caressed the back of her neck before he went still. Mehrai almost regretted it, for she'd been on the verge of another ascent into maddening bliss, and she let out a regretful sob as he lifted her from his shaft.

His tail and powerful arms gently lowered her, where she barely felt the cool stone of the temple floor. For a moment, Velshar loomed over her like a conquering tyrant. His seed and her dew dripped from his manhood and a few drops spattered onto her sweaty face. An eager tongue darted forth to collect the offering and the taste made her hips rise eagerly.

Velshar descended to obey her desperate plea. Firm hands took hold of her ankles and pushed her legs back, rendering her even more helpless than before, turning the princess into something that existed solely to be bred and broken by his powerful body.

In an echo of his past cruelty, Velshar did not plunge into her at first. Instead his cock descended to gently grind and slide along her sodden folds, just as he'd done during their first encounter. Though the warm ridges did leave her shuddering and mewling, the painful emptiness in her sex persisted.

"Please, Velsharzaloth," she uttered, knowing the power of the longer name.

Yet the eldritch potency of his name took on a different form as she spoke it. The sound sent heat through her body which combined with the power of the womb-rune and she found herself arching beneath him. The sinful energy around them and the potency of his dark name had been enough to undo her yet again.

Twice more she begged and invoked his name. Twice more his teasing cock, the power of the rune and the sorcerous nature of his name caused her to cry out. Only then, in the throes of another shuddering storm, did the dark god assent.

His ridged cock slipped effortlessly inside her dripping sex. The womb-rune ignited like the light of a dawning sun and she mewled beneath the hungry glow of his golden eyes. Those powerful hands tightened around her ankles and kept her bent back against herself. She felt no strain or pain beneath his power, only the heat of his eyes, the rune, and his domineering shaft.

Deep, slow strokes broke the princess again and again. His heavy, potent balls thumped against her backside with each powerful plunge. Each impact served as a reminder of what he was about to unleash; she even felt those balls throb and twitch amidst the tumult of her own sensations.

Mehrai's jaw dropped as he tilted his hips forward to brace himself fully against her. The ridges at the base of his shaft thrummed and seemed to grow, as if sealing himself within her for what was to come. Though utterly motionless, the sheer pressure of his cock and the demon's aura caused Mehrai to thrash and sputter beneath him. Her dew soaked his cock and further defiled the sacred stone beneath her, but she was long past caring.

One of his hands released her ankle so it could rest above the womb-rune.

Low, guttural, and uncanny words flowed from his fanged mouth, in some sort of demonic invocation. The words shifted to something like wordless music in her ears, so sonorous it was enough to make her weep. Through the haze of tears, Mehrai nonetheless discerned the increasingly bright glow of his golden eyes.

"Now it is time to seal our pact," he murmured with surprising gentleness.

His climax began with one last throb, then a sudden surge of warmth deep inside her. The pulses of his cock quickened and the warmth only intensified, until she was unable to discern one burst from the next. The pressure swelled and her hand flailed down to rest atop his, adding her own meager power to whatever blessing he'd placed upon her.

More tears swelled. Tears of joy, surrender, and abject pleasure. Tears of acceptance and ascension.

"Every drop," she somehow managed to mumble. "Give me all of it, Velsharzaloth."

The demon's harsh, sharp face shuddered and his eyes rolled back into his head. Mehrai's heart swelled even further at the way she'd rendered him weak, even if just for a moment. Her hand tightened around his and the glow of the rune brightened beneath their hands, casting crimson light across their bodies and within the temple.

Fear trickled in through the joy... fear of the scandals that would ensue, fear of what the twins might become. Yet the fear vanished as his other hand released her ankle and gently cradled her cheek. The claws sank back beneath his fingers and he caressed her shivering lips.

"Tell me that this is not the end."

No mortal lover could have possibly compared to Velshar and she would still have need of his other dark talents in the months and years to come. Though the revolt had been quashed, Athkora's neighbors would perhaps try to exploit the kingdom's weaknesses and there was of course the matter of managing the childbirth itself. Even with Velshar looming above her and his cock still sheathed inside her, Mehrai dreaded the difficulty of what was to come.

"Are you asking for another covenant?"

Her sex and heart fluttered at that question.

"If that is what it takes..."

Velshar cocked his head.

"Be precise about your desires, princess."

"More of this," she said as she brushed her fingers along his silvery, muscular torso. "The pleasure. The joy. The beautiful agony. But there are also political matters that will be quite delicate. Finding a way to explain the pregnancy, or finding a husband who is foolish enough to think the children are his, or cooperative enough to comply with the ruse."

Could she even trust any man with such a thing? It might be possible to blackmail or coerce a lord into a semblance of cooperation but that would carry other dangers.

One of his claws idly toyed with her dark strands of hair.

"There are powerful men who still acknowledge the true gods within your realm," he rasped. "Lords, generals, prominent merchants... even in the wake of your attempts to stamp out such fires."

Her eyes widened. She'd always known of the existence of hidden cults or individual heretics who clung to the old ways, but he spoke of worshipers with much greater power and influence. Such a prospect was terrifying... but also alluring. If she could find a husband willing to share her with a demon while maintaining the ruse, it would make her future much more bearable.

"Who?"

He laughed and wriggled his hips a little, as if to punish her for the impudent question.

"I would not reveal such a thing without another covenant, princess. But there may be some prominent men who could be convinced to agree to an arrangement. Men with their own... otherworldly attachments and desires. Men who could use a royal marriage as a shield for their own dark faith."

A demon serving as a matchmaker was an absurd notion, but hardly more absurd than anything else she'd endured.

"And what price would you demand?"

His hand settled over the glowing rune upon her belly.

"I would need you to... redirect the attention of your inquisitors and priests."

When she raised an eyebrow, Velshar gave a dark chuckle and continued.

"Just as kings feud with other kings, so do my kind. An eternal war of shadows and whispers rages beneath the surface of your reality. So I would need your holy hunters to focus their efforts on other certain demons."

She shivered at the talk of becoming a pawn in some grand, diabolical game. Yet if she cooperated, she could ensure the safety of her children and the kingdom as a whole. What did she care about the feuds between dark deities that would surely never trouble the realm?

"But I'll want you again. More... visits from you."

To emphasize the point, she clenched around him, which inspired a thrumming growl of approval from the demon.

"So be it. My whispers and shadows shall seek a suitable and cooperative husband for you, and my power will protect you and our children. In exchange, you redirect the inquisitors against my rivals, as I see fit. Are we agreed?"

Mehrai knew she should have been careful, should have pored over the words with the discerning attention of a scholar, but her body was too eager for his touch, and her soul was too eager for the safety he could provide.

She reached up and grabbed him by the back of the neck and tugged him down for a slow kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth and she wriggled, her legs tightening around his waist. As she kissed him, her fingers slipped between her legs to caress her glowing rune, then her folds. The persistent pressure of his cock had kept her simmering right near the edge, so it did not take much effort to undo herself yet again.

And as she ascended for what felt like the hundredth time that day, her other hand dug its nails into his neck.

"Agreed," she cried, sealing their second covenant with yet another climax.

Though he had not moved another inch, Velshar's cock pulsed once more and sent another sinful deluge into her swollen, twitching sex. The womb-rune glowed in rapturous acceptance of the offering as the princess squealed beneath him.

He withdrew slowly, the gentle movement nearly guiding her to another orgasm in the process. The golden eyes glowed and shimmering mist consumed his form.

A heartbeat later and he was gone.

Panting, shivering, and suddenly quite bereft, Mehrai winced and collected her clothing. Her mind reeled to search for some sort of explanation for why she'd be leaving the shrine in such a state. Trembling hands managed to redo most of the laces and buttons, then she turned her furtive glance to the carvings of the Fates upon the walls.

Mehrai flashed the blindfolded figures a defiant smile and settled a loving hand over her belly. Never could she have imagined undertaking such an act of desecration, but the events of the past year had proven that the demons were far more powerful... and worthy. The Fates had answered no prayers during the revolt and their priesthood had been powerless against the rebels. Only Velsharzaloth's power had turned the tide...

And she could only imagine what other feats she might accomplish with his dark power at her beck and call.