The Chained Maiden: Bound by Fate

by Ian Rodgers

  The floor was covered in a thick, red carpet woven with intricate bronze colored magical runes of cleanliness and protection from blood and filth. Two figures kneeled on the carpet, paying their respects to the Demon Lord they’d come to visit.

  At the far end of the Heart Chamber was a not a throne, but a large red velvet couch surrounded by silk sheets and blankets and plump, soft pillows, all in varying shades of red. Atop it lounged a nude gold skinned woman, the only things covering her being a series of red silken veils hiding her face.

  And last, but not least, from the ceiling, suspended by barbed hooks and chains made of a fever red metal, hangs the room’s namesake: a massive, pulsating alien heart. It had too many valves, not enough chambers, and was gold in color, though its shine was dulled, tarnished by age and atrocities. Countless horrific and foul curses lay upon it, the Dark magic contained within it overwhelmingly potent. It beat weakly in time to the undulations of the walls, and Dora could feel intense misery and pain seeping from the abused organ.

  Turning away from the Tower’s heart, Dora focused on the trio of beings already in the Chamber. So far, by some miraculous stroke of luck, they had not yet noticed the three intruders! Perfect chance to get into position for a sneak attack! Quickly, she and her companions slunk over to a pillar of bone, and ducked behind it.

  “…round and round in circles, Lord of Demons! We are here to find her, and we won’t take ‘No’ for an answer! Besides, the deal we’ve offered you is more than fair!” the smaller of the Queen’s guests said, annoyance clear in every word he spoke.

  Said figure was strange, his left hand swollen to impossible proportions, the skin of his arm not the blue hue of the rest of his body but a pallid, unearthly shade of grey. The person was lopsided, bending over to the right with the left hand raised up, palm facing the seated woman on the couch.

  Next to him was a large, obese creature covered in bone spikes. It was humanoid, with skin as pale as that of the left hand, and wearing what amounted to rags. This person was clearly bored, his head bobbing listlessly as he listened to his partner argue with the Demon Lord. Or rather, pretended to listen.

  The Queen Swathed in Vermillion’s form was eye-catching as well, as nudity tends to be. And her golden skin caught the glow of the guttering torches well, leaving her to resemble a finely crafted statue more than a living creature. But Dora knew that no matter how beautiful the Demon Lord tried to make herself, her true appearance was as twisted and abominable as its soul. That was why her face remained covered, lest all see how horrific it truly was.

  “NO!” the Queen screeched, still lying regally on her cushions. “The little brat who foiled my plans is mine to kill, mine to destroy! You don’t have the right!”

  “She’s a Chosen One. By that very definition, she is the Void’s problem, and thus, ours to deal with,” the creature with the abnormally large left hand replied.

  “I can kill her as easily as you can,” the Queen Swathed in Vermillion seethed. “I don’t need your help!”

  “Be reasonable,” big hand tried to say, but was cut off by the Demon Lord.

  “She is mine. End of discussion! Now leave!” the unnaturally lovely woman demanded, sitting upright on her couch and pointing a finger at her visitors. While they were distracted with yelling at each other, Dora, Ain, and Enrai started to move, sneaking around the right-hand side of the Heart Chamber trying to get into a better position. They moved from pillar to pillar, careful not to make a sound. Dora’s Quest Compass spell was pointing at something behind the Queen and her throne.

  ‘The Elemental Tails are being kept near her!’ Dora realized. She looked around carefully. The Demon Lord and her visitors were still arguing, and this was a perfect chance to sneak behind the couch, grab the pets, and run!

  “Hmph! Very well then, we shall…” the entity began, but paused. “Actually, on second thought, there’s no need for us to go anywhere.”

  All of a sudden, the index finger of the abnormally large hand twisted unnaturally, and pointed towards Dora’s hiding spot. The half-orc held in a muffled curse as she saw that on the tip of the finger was an eyeball! The rest of the hand turned, revealing a large, wide mouth on the palm! That wasn’t all, as each finger had its own facial feature attached to it!

  The hand’s middle finger had a nose on it, while the index and ring finger bore eyes, the fingers themselves moving like eyestalks. And then, the pinky and thumb had humanoid ears grafted onto them. In addition, dangling from the wrist, were two vestigial arms and hands of its own, resulting in the hand-shaped creature having its own manipulator appendages.

  The other two figures turned as well in the direction the hand monster was looking, and with a wave of its hand, the Queen Swathed in Vermillion caused the flayed skin tapestries to curl up into the ceiling, and the rusted pillars to sink into the floor, revealing Dora and her friends.

  “Well, Hells,” Dora muttered, staring wide-eyed at the trio of entities that wanted her dead.

  A wordless screech of pure, unadulterated hatred tore from the Queen’s throat, and her perfect, golden figure rippled and surged, growing in size and altering its shape. A horrific beast replaced the beautiful body, a creature with nine slick tentacles for legs, and nine breasts – each one different from the others – set in a ring on its fat, pudgy chest. The skin was a raw, reddish pink, like the flesh of a newborn baby, yet had a greasy, oily quality to it. It had two arms, long and gangly yet able to stretch to impossible lengths. It possessed no neck, just a lumpy head with a lipless, needle-filled mouth and three eyes that were empty pits filled with squirming tendrils and phallic objects.

  Ain and Enrai both puked a little at the sight of the true form the Queen Swathed in Vermillion, the Demon Lord of sadism, masochism, rape, and torture. Dora remained steadfast and unflinching in the unholy face of her enemies, having confronted the Queen’s avatar back in Annod Bol. Even so, the full force of the Demon Lord’s wretched and foul appearance made her shake slightly in disgust fueled fear.

  The other two figures were strangely silent, simply observing the trio of mortals who had invaded one of the most dangerous and infamous locations in the Aether.

  “You… YOU! I WILL RIP YOU TO SHREDS!” the Queen Swathed in Vermillion screamed at Dora, her voice shaking the Wailing Tower.

  “Fine,” the hand monster grunted out after glancing over at the enraged mound of demonic flesh that was the Demon Lord. “You can have her. Kill her quickly, though, don’t let her linger. As for us, well, we’ll take care of the other two for you.”

  “DO WHAT YOU WANT!” the Queen screeched.

  “Very well, then. Greetings, mortals. I am Selquist, Last Act and Hand of Typhon,” the hand creature said, bowing mockingly. With a wet pop, the left arm detached from the body he’d been parasitizing, and hovered three feet off the ground.

  “I am Bolgoros, the Last Meal and Flesh of Typhon,” the obese entity declared, wiping drool from his mouth. “You all look really tasty! Brother, which one may I have?”

  “Take your pick…” Selquist started to reply, but Enrai did not bother waiting and immediately dove forward, slamming a fist into the fat entity. There was a muffled ‘Boom!’ as Bolgoros’ body deformed from the blow, and was sent flying into the far wall.

  Unfortunately for Enrai, his preemptive attack did not kill, maim, or even hurt the offspring of Typhon. In fact, amused giggles seeped out of the entity in response.

  “Brother! I want to eat this one!” the Flesh of Typhon declared with childish glee as he pulled himself out of the ruined wall, his wounds rapidly healing until there was no sign of him ever being struck or injured.

  “I suppose that makes the elf my prey, then,” Selquist mused, looking at Ain who was suddenly shrouded in a crackling purple and yellow lightning. “Should be an interesting battle. Hopefully not a short one.”

  Ain didn’t bother replying with banter, and instead hurled himself at the levitating hand-beast, energy cascading off of
him. Selquist vanished from the spot he’d been hovering over, moving so rapidly he was just a blurry image. A second later, Ain crashed into that spot, charring the carpet underfoot and sending arcs of lightning flying.

  The Spellsword glared over at the Void abomination, who had appeared behind him, and prepared to attack once more.

  Meanwhile, Dora was left alone to stare down the Queen Swathed in Vermillion, who had calmed down slightly after frothing at the mouth for a moment, spewing insults and black spittle everywhere.

  “Look at the poor little girl! Your friends have abandoned you, leaving you to suffer alone at my hands!” the Demon Lord chortled darkly.

  However, Dora simply laughed right in the Queen’s face. “You think they ditched me to go fight those other two? You don’t seem to understand how ‘friendship’ works.”

  Sneering at the Demon Lord’s taken aback expression, Dora lit up with silver and purple light, her crossbow shimmering in blessed energy as she aimed it at the demonic creature in front of her.

  “You’ve got it all wrong! You’re the one who has to fight me all alone, not the other way around!” the Healer declared, and a ripple of Holy energy surged forth from Dora’s soul, blinding the Demon Lord who recoiled in shock and pain with an animalistic screech.

  Dora took advantage of the distraction and fired her crossbow at the bloated mass of the Queen Swathed in Vermillion. To both her and the Demon Lord’s shock, the small, steel tipped bolt tore through the flabby mass of its stomach, leaving a gaping hole wide enough to put a fist through, and deep enough that it went clear through the other side of the demonic entity, the bolt itself burying in the wall behind the Demon Lord. The room shuddered in pain as it felt the bolt dig into it. What’s more, a film of purple divine flames crackled and fizzed around the open wound, preventing the abnormal demonic regeneration from taking place.

  With a wail of confused pain, the Queen began to thrash around, causing the Tower to quake and shake from the force of its actions. Dora staggered a bit, but righted herself quickly, loading a new bolt into her crossbow with practiced ease. She aimed at the Demon Lord and fired again, this time tearing off its left arm from the elbow down.

  More purplish fire sprang forth from the wound, cauterizing it and stopping a new limb from growing. Dora sidestepped a tentacle that lashed out at her, kicking it away with her boot. The Divine Protection From Evil spell was still in effect, and contact with her footwear scorched the appendage, causing more unexpected pain to assail the Demon Lord.

  ‘How long has it been since that thing has actually experienced true, genuine, pain? Since the Queen could not recover instantly from an injury?’ Dora wondered as she watched the so-called Mistress of Pain weep like a child from the agony of its wounds.

  Demons, by nature, could recover from practically anything. Decapitation, exsanguination, starvation, drowning… there was nothing mundane that could end a demon’s life. Only an overwhelming force that could overpower their regeneration, another demon, or the divine and holy grace of a Good Deity could permanently end one of the Abyssal beings. The rest of the time? Pain was something fun and fleeting, to be taken and dished out as one might give a handshake or a kiss.

  ‘So much for the vaunted Demon Lord of Dark Pleasure. Guess it can’t take what it dishes out,’ Dora thought to herself without an ounce of remorse for the abomination in front of her.

  While the Queen howled and flailed about, sending more tremors through the Heart Chamber, Ain and Enrai were busy fending off the two spawn of Typhon, with considerably less ease than Dora. Where the half-orc and her Light magic were tailor made for dealing with Dark aligned entities, the elf and human had to struggle to cause even a little bit of lasting damage.

  “Fall upon my foe! Drench them with their own blood! A century of woe upon them! Hundred Rain!” Enrai shouted, lashing out with a hundred punches in less time than it took to call out his attack. Boosted by Reinforcement and other physical state enhancing spells, this fist technique the Monks taught to their elite fighters could deliver dozens of killing blows in just a few seconds.

  “Hehehehe… that tickles!” Bolgoros laughed as the bald human’s blows struck against his fat belly. The flesh indented with each strike, but the Flesh of Typhon’s body simply reformed a moment later, leaving him as if nothing had happened.

  “Here! See if you can handle a blow of my own!” Bolgoros declared, thrusting a palm at Enrai. The Monk raised his arms to block the incoming strike, fire and wind wrapping around his body to provide layers of protection to him.

  It did no good, sadly, as the palm thrust delivered by one of Typhon’s children tore through his defenses with contemptuous ease, sending shockwaves of pain rippling through his entire body. Enrai coughed out a wad of blood as he was sent flying into the fleshy walls of the chamber, a stark mirror to how he’d slammed his opponent into the walls earlier.

  Nearby, Ain didn’t have the luxury to worry about his friend being pummeled by the fat Void entity, as he was focused entirely on handling his own abominable enemy.

  “Howling through Heaven to hunt down my prey! Slaughter with fangs and claws of celestial wrath! Storm Wolf!” Ain chanted, and the lightning around him condensed and morphed into a giant wolf made of crackling purple energy. It let out a howl of booming thunder and charged at Selquist.

  The strange hand-like entity flickered and vanished, teleporting away from the animated spell. He continued to blink around the Heart Chamber, leading the spell on a merry chase.

  “You’re it!” Selquist said mockingly, slapping Ain upside the head with one of his deformed arms, and then disappearing in a burst of grey motes of light right before the lupine-shaped spell tore through the space he’d previously occupied. The Storm Wolf growled in sync with Ain, who glared at Typhon’s spawn and directed his attack towards it.

  Since the wolf was a spell, and not a summoned creature like an Elemental, Ain had to concentrate hard to keep the Storm Wolf active, as well as feed it with his own mana to continue allowing it to manifest. The game of tag Selquist was forcing the Spellsword to play was draining his magical energy rapidly, and they both knew it.

  “Let slip the dogs of war!” Ain intoned solemnly. Instead of mindlessly lunging at the hand-shaped entity, the Storm Wolf erupted into a wave of formless yet violent electricity, which lashed out and struck Selquist, who had not been expecting the Grand Elf to try such a tactic.

  Even as the lightning coursed over the Hand of Typhon, though, Ain frowned as he saw that the Void-born didn’t even flinch.

  A second later searing pain flooded Ain’s left arm, and he gasped out in shock as lightning burns manifested on his skin.

  “I’m not really a direct fighter, like my brothers Bolgoros or Rath, or my dear sister Philia. I’m more like Enom: a supporter, whose abilities work best from a distance, and with time,” Selquist stated, brushing off specks of ash from his body as he glanced pityingly at Ain’s wounded arm.

  “My powers are unique, even amongst my brethren. I can possess any living thing, so long as it has a left hand! My teleportation ability lets me appear behind someone or something, and I can transfer any and all damage I take to any other person, place, or thing around me, but only if I touch them first. You have no chance of winning, now that I’ve managed to tag you,” Selquist claimed, proudly revealing his abilities to the Spellsword, tauntingly wiggling his various fingers and digits.

  “You’re rather arrogant, aren’t you? Bragging about your powers, and how they work,” Ain scoffed through gritted teeth. He hastily chugged down a mouthful of the Grand Healing Potion Dora had given him earlier, and the burns along his left arm vanished, replaced by freshly healed skin.

  “Pride, much like mercy, is the right of the strong. For even if you know how my Void-blessed abilities work, you have no chance of defeating me, or escaping alive,” Selquist sneered, the lips of his mouth set in his palm twisting grotesquely. “A puny bug like you isn’t worth going all out. Or even worth
a tenth of my full power. Isn’t that right, Bolgoros?”

  “Yeah, brother! These guys are fun, not a challenge at all!” The bone spikes quivered gleefully all over the Flesh of Typhon’s body as he threw punch after punch at Enrai, who blocked some but tried to dodge most.

  “Damn you!” the Monk snarled, wiping away some blood that was dribbling out of his nose and mouth. “You can’t keep this up forever!”

  “The toughest meat always takes the longest to tenderize,” Bolgoros said in a sage tone, before slapping Enrai aside as the bald human tried to deliver a skull crushing kick to his noggin. “And for your information, we can take as long as we please. Because in the end, it doesn’t matter if your little Chosen One friend can beat the Queen Swathed in Vermillion. If she does, she’ll just be killed by us immediately afterwards!”

  “And if she doesn’t win, which honestly speaking, is the most likely outcome, given how strong that pile of tentacles and tits is,” Selquist said, studiously ignoring how easily the half-orc had incapacitated the Demon Lord earlier, and its cries of pained disbelief, “well, Fate and her pet gods are still down a Chosen One. While we’d have preferred to be the ones to kill her, I suppose in the end it doesn’t make all that much difference.”

  “Your plans won’t come to fruition,” Ain spat, raising his saber and pointing it at Selquist. Lightning rolled around his body and blade, which began to flicker as the sheer power he was emitting bent the light around him.

  “The Void will swallow all, mortal. It will consume this wretched, imperfect existence, and from the bowels of Creation itself, a new Reality will rise,” the Child of Typhon uttered, his tone calm, yet cold and sharp as steel. “Can you not imagine it? A new realm without flaws or suffering. A realm that should have been made long ago. Could have been made long ago! But Aun was too cowardly and weak-minded to do what had to be done!”