by J F Cain
Sedoum withdrew the sword from the defeated Demon’s neck and gave him a friendly pat on the back.
“Well done, friend, you’re a great fighter,” he praised him just in case anyone had the brains to realize that the value of the defeated Demon bestowed glory on the victor. “We have many battles together ahead of us.” He turned to his comrades. “So, who would like to try his strength against me?” he asked with a gloating smile.
One or two Demons seemed to be thinking about it. His smugness was annoying them and they wanted to rub his face into the filthy floor. The rest, who used their brawn to impress and intimidate those weaker than them, suddenly remembered that they had something extremely important to discuss with the Demons next to them and dove into an analysis of the fight. They were smart enough to avoid going against the determined Demon. Their leader’s humiliation was more than enough; they didn’t need to add their own to it.
“Come on, guys, our master is waiting for us to entertain him,” Sedoum insisted sycophantically.
His comrades were evidently uninterested in entertaining their master and continued to talk among themselves, this time with renewed vigor. The two Demons who had been thinking about accepting the challenge decided not to risk it. Better to be a coward, than be defeated.
Sedoum turned his back to them.
“I’m sorry, Master, no one wants to fight me.” He inclined his head. “Would our second-in-command perhaps like to do me the honor?”
An uneasy silence that presaged a storm fell on the hall for the second time. Some looked at him as if he were crazy and some as if he were about to commit suicide. Even those few that supported him thought that openly challenging the second-in-command and lover of the Archdemon who some considered to be the second most powerful entity in Eregkal was taking it too far. What was more, she was a former Celestial from the high order of Angels called the Thrones. The fallen Angels that had been created from the Source’s primordial energy, especially the high-ranking ones, were far superior in power than the Demons; and anyone with any brains in their head and a good sense of self-preservation would avoid clashing with her.
Estaria’s lips tipped up in a sweet, innocent smile that alluded to her original nature. She turned and looked at Asmodeus.
“Master, may I?” she asked courteously.
They shared a look of understanding, in complete solidarity.
“Of course,” he replied, the look on his face telling her he couldn’t wait to see the insolent idiot’s head rolling at his feet.
Calm and composed, Estaria walked down the dais steps. The challenge had given her the opportunity to put the treacherous Demon in his place and protect herself. She had heard that Sedoum, in an effort to gain supporters, had been slandering her, among other things saying that good blowjobs weren’t proof of leadership and combat skills. Estaria had been waiting for him to slip up and give her an excuse to wipe him out and make an example of him in front of all the higher-ranking warriors in Asmodeus’s forces, without giving anyone the right to accuse her of acting out of spite and abusing her power.
As she approached the gathered Demons, they moved aside, leaving a big empty space in the middle of the hall. Everyone was looking forward to the battle. The male Demons had no respect for the combat and leadership skills of female entities. However, Estaria’s intelligence had saved them from tough situations many a time. This was why they thought her a more worthy leader than Asmodeus, whose greed often got them in hot water and, more importantly, put their existence at risk. The female Demons whose stout bodies and savage looks made it hard for anyone to tell if they were male or female envied Estaria’s beauty, but they supported her because she represented their hope they would be recognized and, why not, rule. They would prefer her to sit on the throne of bones, even if later on they would try to overthrow her.
Sedoum covered his body in his symbiotic armor and waited for his superior with a smile on his face and a sword in his hand.
Estaria stopped in front of him and conjured her dark sword in her hand.
“Alright, Sedoum, let’s entertain our master,” she said, her expression full of innuendo.
“Aren’t you going to put on your armor?” he asked, speaking the question everyone had out loud.
“I don’t need it. Do you need yours?” Estaria challenged him.
Sedoum was forced to vanish his armor so that he wouldn’t appear cowardly. The lack of protection made him vulnerable to injury, but then again so was she.
The two opponents began to circle each other, their gazes unwavering. Sedoum twirled his sword ostentatiously, eager to engage. He often observed how Estaria fought and he believed he could predict her moves and counter them. However, the treacherous Demon’s interest in how she fought hadn’t escaped the fallen Angel, so she was working out a different plan of attack. Three well-aimed strikes would be enough to put him out of action and would show her warriors how strong she was. But they would also show Asmodeus and he would definitely feel threatened. Until now she had kept her special capabilities secret so as not to arouse his envy and his sick obsession with dominating her; it would be better if she kept on doing it.
She lowered her sword, the tip aiming toward the ground, purposely leaving her upper body vulnerable—a misleading on guard position used by clever duelists that allowed her great freedom of movement and gave the opponent the impression she was an easy target. Sedoum fell into the trap and attacked sideways to the left, where his opponent had left herself more open. But Estaria’s sword swung upward and flung his own back.
The force of their colliding swords shook the Demon’s arm to the shoulder and he looked at her with some bewilderment. He wondered where the fallen had found so much power. She seemed weaker in their battles. Had his challenge enraged her or was she hiding what she was truly capable of? Whatever the case, he had to be careful. Maybe it would be wrong to underestimate her.
He tried to penetrate her defense from the right, but didn’t succeed. He tried again from the left, failing again. Estaria moved to attack and, as Sedoum was deflecting her strike, she lifted her left leg and aimed a side kick high up on his thigh. He stumbled and growled at her through his rotted teeth. Estaria could have finished him off right then, but avoided it and carried on fighting. Whether attacking or defending, she retained control of the confrontation.
In one of her opponent’s high strikes, she leaned forward to evade his sword, but the tip of his blade lopped off a lock of her long hair as it swayed forward with her movement. When she lifted her head, she saw her lock floating down. She stopped fighting and glared at him, feigning annoyance.
Sedoum grabbed the falling blond lock and sneered as he brought it to his nose and breathed in deeply.
“It smells of Angel,” he said, his tone a blend of disapproval and provocation, and tossed the lock onto the ground.
Again, everyone in the hall froze. Avid gazes swiveled between Estaria and their master, waiting to see how they would react. Asmodeus gripped the bones on the arms of his throne so tightly that they crumbled in his palms.
Fucking bastard! How dare you! he cursed inwardly. He wanted to leap in front of him and twist his head off, but after what had happened, acting out of jealousy wouldn’t be good for his image. He swallowed the insult and remained seated. Seething inside but outwardly indifferent, he waited for the moment when he would see Sedoum’s head roll at his feet. Even so, the insolent Demon’s insinuation had gotten stuck in his brain, just like the look the Archivist had given his lover.
Estaria aimed a murderous look at her opponent. The insinuation about her original nature, which had been intended to target her as an enemy, annoyed her for different reasons than everyone who saw her face harden thought.
This show has gone on long enough, she decided. She had to put an end to it before anything more like that was uttered. Dark entities were fickle and were easily swayed by comments or rumors, even if they sounded unbelievable.
She thrust her swo
rd forward so that her opponent would deflect it and, as she withdrew her sword, she immediately swung it downward, slashing both his thighs. The pain and the move’s suddenness startled Sedoum, who lost his focus. Like sudden lightning, Estaria’s sword changed direction, this time cutting of his sword arm. The severed limb fell onto the stone slabs with a thud and the sword it held vanished. Dark viscous liquid oozed out of Sedoum’s wounds and he knelt on the ground, moaning in pain. The victor wasted no time. She gripped his hair and with a stroke of her blade slashed his neck, cutting off his head. She then shoved the rest of his body back with her foot and levitated off the ground so that everyone there could see her. Gripping the head with its bulging eyes in one hand and her dark sword dripping the loser’s pitch-black life energy onto the ground in the other, she hovered in the air and let her gaze travel around the hall.
“Is there anyone else who doubts my nature?” she shouted, her voice harsh and menacing.
The Demons burst into cheers. It was a response that gave the fallen their vote of confidence and removed any doubt about her real nature. Estaria landed on the ground, absorbed her sword into her fist, and picked up her severed lock of hair. Under her leader’s approving gaze, she walked to the rock, climbed the steps to the throne and threw the lock down at his feet. She then impaled the head on one of the bones protruding on a corner of the throne’s backrest and stood next to him with a cold determined expression on her face.
The Archdemon got up with a smile. He felt deeply satisfied by her move, which showed she submitted to his authority, and by the fact that she had beheaded the Demon who had dared to touch something that belonged only to him, even if that something was just a lock of his lover’s hair.
“Alright, my warriors, the party is over,” he called out affably. “Rest before the next battle because it will be soon. We may have secured our position of authority in Eregkal, but a bit more power never hurt anyone.”
The Demons burst into fake laughter and triumphant cries that matched the mood and words of their leader, who had tried to erase his humiliation from their memories with promises. The shouts died down quickly. Their master had politely told them to get lost and no one wanted to rile him up any more. They bowed and disappeared. The shadows on the walls turned their heads toward the Archdemon, eager for another kind of violent spectacle.
Asmodeus approached Estaria, gripped her waist and jerked her forward.
“And now the two of us,” he said in a tone of voice that augured nothing good.
Estaria felt a shiver go down her spine. But she had learned how to hide her feelings well and didn’t let her anxiety at the impending torture show.
“At last,” she replied, lowering her hands to the front of his pelvis, while inside she cursed the moment she had met the sick sadist.
“Not here,” he spat. He wanted them to go to the physical dimension so that he could take her with a corporeal body, because that would make the sensations more intense—and the pain from what he would do to her unbearable.
Estaria smiled slyly and lowered her gaze to his chest so that he wouldn’t see her indignation at what she was forced to suffer.
“As you wish, my master,” she said docilely, attempting to soften his rage.
Above her head, Asmodeus grinned fiendishly and crushed her against his body as if wanting to turn her to dust. When the two ethereal entities had disappeared from the hall, the shadows withdrew into the walls, disappointed at having been deprived of a spectacle.
A moment later, Asmodeus and Estaria were in the tangible world, inside the dark crater of an extinct volcano. On the crater’s walls, between vertical fissures, ribbons of magma—following the course of the last eruption—wound their way up to the opening of the cone-shaped crater, through which the night sky could be seen. The sadistic Archdemon loved this spot for the way screams echoed inside the volcanic dome.
Asmodeus let go of Estaria and took one step back.
“Materialize,” he barked.
With her lips tipped up in a lustful smile that hid her fear, she obeyed his command. Once they were both in their physical forms, Asmodeus undid the belt that hung loosely around her hips and made a show of wrapping it around his hand, leaving a short length with the iron buckle hanging free. He then lifted his other hand and dragged a finger down her torso, dematerializing whatever she was wearing except for the leather guards on her upper arms and her high boots. He then dematerialized his own clothes, tossed his long black hair back proudly and stood there smugly, showing off his tall muscled body.
Estaria hid her disgust and approached him with feigned admiration. Looking him in the eye, she dragged her hand down and took his big member—which unfortunately for her he could enlarge whenever he wished, but never for her pleasure—in her hand.
“What does my master desire?” she asked in the submissive way he liked, hoping to save herself even a little pain. The belt hanging menacingly from his fist was a bad omen. Their sexual encounters were never tender, but this time it would be even worse.
“Get down on your knees,” Asmodeus ordered. “First I’m going to fuck your mouth.”
Estaria knelt down in front of him on the hard ground and took his member in her mouth. But her services didn’t satisfy her master. What he saw and felt as her lips dragged up and down him wasn’t enough for his hardcore tastes, nor did it sate his need to humiliate the former Angel.
“Tighten your lips around me and relax your throat. I want to go deep,” he commanded and, without waiting, gripped her hair with his free hand and shoved himself down her throat.
Estaria was choking, gagging, but she bore her brutal lover’s manhandling. At moments like these, it crossed her mind to accept Gaap’s proposal. But when the humiliation and torture was over, she reconsidered and lost her nerve. She had paid very dearly for her first attempt to throw off the shackles of her master’s dominion and she didn’t want to live through that again.
Asmodeus thrust in and out of her mouth, watching her with sadistic pleasure. He disgusted her, he had no doubt about it, which was why he got back at her this way. He wanted to hurt her, belittle her. It was how he satisfied his sick ego and his desire for control. It was also why she was so essential to him. He needed her to affirm his power. Whenever he took her, it brought to mind the fact that no other Demon dominated such a high-ranking former Celestial. Even Beleth, before the Fall, had been lower down in the angel hierarchy and no one was banging her. He banged Estaria any way he wanted and the pleasure he got out of it was indescribable. However, she would never find out.
Holding her head down so that she wouldn’t see the satisfaction on his face, he enjoyed her mouth a bit longer and then hardened his expression. He then jerked her hair back and withdrew his member from her throat.
“You’re totally useless,” he said deprecatingly.
Estaria kept her head lowered.
Then leave me be, you vile pig.
Asmodeus grabbed her chin and lifted her face.
“Did you say something?” he demanded. He searched her eyes, looking for the fear in them, but she had never done him that favor. The fallen regarded him impassively.
“What can I do to please you, master?” she replied, speaking with difficulty since her jaw was clenched in his grip.
He let her go with a contemptuous shove and slid the part of the belt that was hanging from his hand through his other fist.
“Turn around,” he ordered, glaring at her.
At the thought of what was to follow, Estaria felt a shiver run down her spine. She turned and went on all fours, holding back the tremor that threatened to seize her.
The Archdemon knelt behind her and swept his fingertips over the wide scars on her back—eight diagonal lines that met at right angles at her spine. That had been only part of her punishment for her one and only attempt to leave him.
His touch wasn’t a tender gesture; its point was to remind her of the ghastly torture she had suffered as a consequence of her
disobedience and to warn her that it would happen again, if she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. The Archivist’s look and her reaction to Sedoum’s insinuation had become stuck in his mind. Of course, it was only natural that a Demon would get riled if accused of being an Angel, but she could also have reacted this way because a hidden secret had been revealed. The suspicion that she might be a spy for the Celestials drove him mad. It was unlikely, but he would clarify the matter. If it was true, everything he had done to her before would seem like caresses. She would never escape him; he would keep her under his thumb forever and torture her in the vilest ways he could devise.
“What did the Archivist want to tell you?” he asked, dragging his thumb along a scar.
“He didn’t want to tell me anything. He just looked at me,” Estaria answered as calmly as she could.
The belt suddenly struck her back with force and the metal buckle hit her shoulder blade, making her scream. She jerked back and her hair fell on his face. Asmodeus grabbed a lock and smelled it. He realized Sedoum wasn’t entirely wrong. Estaria didn’t smell like a Demon, but neither did she smell like an Angel.
He shoved her forward again and slid his hand between her thighs.
“Do I have to ask again?”
“I don’t know what he wanted. I’m telling you the truth,” she replied, despair threading through her voice.
Asmodeus pinched her clitoris hard and struck her back again, sending two different waves of pain through her. Estaria’s cry bounced off the crate’s walls, echoing the pain flooding her physical body with hair-raising force.
“If I thought you enjoyed the pain, I would say you’re doing it on purpose,” he said coldly, letting her clitoris go.
Estaria had thought of an explanation that might convince him.
