This story continues to be incredibly heartwarming. I love the slow reveals of the domain of Ruin, and all the little details in the descriptions.
I am *very* curious about how souls being damned to hell works, if that's how mortals there arrive or if they're born native? (This may have been explained previously, if so my bad.)
I am *very* curious about how souls being damned to hell works, if that's how mortals there arrive or if they're born native? (This may have been explained previously, if so my bad.)
Basically if a soul dies "in corruption" or "in grace", they go to hell or heaven and live as spirits in the afterlife. Through an as of yet unexplained process, they can then eventually become angels or demons! If a soul dies in neither state, then they reincarnate in the mortal realms!
Standing on a bluff made of an ancient skull, looking down into a vast miasmatic bog, and wearing nothing but her shift and her leggings with her sword tucked into a scabbard that hung at her hip, Caelel Silverhawk considered the nature of honesty and the difficult nature of truth telling in the face of diresome threats. Before her eyes, a series of watchtowers were congealing from nothingness, raw mana flowing through the focused efforts of Ruti, the Baron of Rot, his palms spreading as he touched his part of the Realm of Ruin and shaped it to his whim, powered by the souls of the dead that dwelt within his purview. Cae quashed a moment of concern, a feeling of worry, knowing that despite his expression, she had done the mathematics equations: They had enough motes to construct the watchtowers.
It was just a matter of effort and dedication.
Ruti lowered his dark palms and opened his eyes, smiling shyly as he looked upon his handiwork. Each watchtower looked somewhat liked a petrified, hollowed out mushroom, their tall caps reaching wide above the canopy of the swamps and marshes. They had fences around the edges, tarps laid out to keep the merciless sun off the back of the souls manning them, and at their heart, glittering crystals that could be used to send a signal to the center of the Realm – warning of attack, spies, or other trouble.
"That makes this boarder secure against any raiding forces that Pillage might send," Cae said, rapping her knuckles against her sword for good luck. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Will the souls here be willing to...man them?"
"They will," Ruti said, his voice firm. Then, sighing, he thumped back onto the ground. Grass crinkled under his backside and he rolled his head back, peering up at the sky, letting it shine upon his features. He was, as usual, dressed in the most miserly of dregs – rags and rotting scraps of leather. Cae looked up at the sky, rather than risk looking down at him. "I never imagined I'd be able to build so much, I always assumed I'd run out of energy and never tried."
"That's why surveying is so important," Cae said, her cheeks flushing as her finger traced the edge of her sword's pommel. "I fucked Citri."
The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them – the guilt, gnawing at her belly, left her unable to do anything but. She realized, immediately, that they were the most terrible error. It was like feeling a mortal slipping between her arms as she flew high above the clouds, reaching for them...and knowing it was too late. They would fall, and fall, and fall, and hit the ground and come to red ruin, just like her and Ruti's relationship. She already began to reach, time seeming as if it was slowing to a crawl, her hand moving to cup over her mouth, as if she could cram the words back into her traitorous throat before they reached Ruti's ears. But...no. It was impossible.
It had already been said.
"Um, yeah?" Ruti asked, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side. "Of course you did?"
"I'm sorry, it was in the throws of passion, after a battle, and and I...I…" Cae blinked slowly, her glowing wings mantling in shock. "Of course I did?"
"I mean, I knew you did," Ruti said, smiling. "He's my fellow Baron."
Cae felt her entire face grow hot, and buzzing, like she had bees under her skin. "He...t-told...you?" she whispered, slowly. The idea, of two males discussing her lasciviousness, her wantonness, her sin! It was almost too horrible for her to even consider. And worse, that gentle Ruti was the one who-
"No?" Ruti asked. "Why would he need to tell me?"
Cae blinked, her wings mantling again.
"Anyway," Ruti said, pushing himself to his feet and smiling at her. "I'm glad you had such a good time with him – did you want to talk about it?"
Cae shook her head, mute in shock.
"Well, then, I need to rest," Ruti said, stretching his arms behind his back, cocking his head to the side until his neck popped. "Channeling that much magic was more tiresome than I expected." He reached down and smacked her rump with a single broad palm, making Cae squeak and jerk upright. Her eyes widened – and he froze, then stammered. "S-Sorry, just...uh...a flash...you know, sparks. Heh. Since. Um. Citri, and all. Bye!" He turned and hurried off, walking down the hill, rather than transforming into a butterfly or whatever else he might have done – considering the lack of magic he currently had, having spent so much, it was not surprising.
Cae blinked again.
"...I believe I need to study more," she whispered.
With the Rot boarder secured and with her scouts – including Shale – out to make sure that Pestilence hadn't marched, Cae practically flew through her remaining tasks as fast as she could, scribbling notes, sending missives, checking on supplies, working out battleplans, and finally, providing a report to Lord Arral, who took it all with a serious nod and a grunted 'very good, General.' This left her a chance to slip into her room, move to the drawer where she had concealed Lady Ruin's journal, and to take the book out. Cae set it down on the bed beside her, her brow furrowing.
The blank pages sat there, taunting her – now with whatever they might hold, rather than their emptiness.
Cae crossed her arms over her chest, her wings folding as well as she considered. Speaking a word searches for it – but what could possibly explain this? She bit her lip. Then...despite herself, she found herself thinking on the first thing the journal had shown her: The argument between the woman who would later become Lady Ruin and her future husband...what was it she had said?
"Soul architecture," Cae said aloud.
The pages flipped as if an invisible wind blew them, and then settled. The two words soul architecture burned into existence, on the upper left edge of one of the pages. More text began to swirl into existence on the page, but Cae didn't even bother to read it: She lifted her head as the room around her bled away like smoke, and the past took its place. She found herself...not where she expected. Some ancient sepulcher, some strange and occultic room, something unfamiliar, something...not…
Not the training halls of Heaven.
They were empty and dim at first. Then, skidding backwards, Alia fi-Fiar, the future Lady Ruin, came into view. She was dressed in simple traveling robes which billowed around her slender form as if caught in a hurricane force wind. She skimmed along the ground on a skein of crackling lightning, her arms spread wide, and a quarterstaff jacketed in brilliant white light hovered between her palms. She twitched her fingers, and each twitching movement caused the staff to twirl, plunge, thrust, shift back before her face – interposing itself again and again against a flaming sword as a heavily armored war-angel that Cae recognized as her Proctor - though a younger, less scarred version of him – sought to cleave her body in twain.
"I see you're not much," Alia said, her fingers twitching to bring her staff twirling up to cover her head as the Proctor's flaming sword swept down. "...interested…" Twitch. This time, the staff thrust forward – and it struck against the Proctor's close faced helmet with a sound not unlike the ringing of a vast, golden bell. The war-angel stumbled backwards with the resounding force of it, a ripple of distorted air blooming around the impact. "...in academic curiosity!"
"Corrupted wench! Hells take you!" The Proctor roared, stumbling backwards, his hand going to his dented helmet. "You tore an angel's soul apart!"
"I did put her back together again – and got permission," Alia said, her hands lowering so their palms faced the floor. This brought the glowing quarterstaff down low to the ground as well – less threatening.
"You committed a cardinal sin – you broke the design of Heaven itself!" the Proctor growled. "When you put her back together, as you so callously call it, you left the angel in question altered! Changed! Fundamentally!"
"I did?" Alia sounded honestly somewhat taken aback. She frowned and then lifted one hand, snapping her fingers. A familiar book came into being with a flare of black magic. It dropped into her palms and she held it in her left hand while a quill shimmered into existence in her right. "How so?"
The Proctor growled. "You make mock of the Creator herself with your vile blasphemes. Each angel is born of a mortal soul – a soul hewn to perfection by cycles of reincarnation! When a soul is born in Grace, born of Heaven, it ascends to us, and is given wings and angelic might – for it needs no shaping, no tests, it simply is what it is. And you altered such a creation...you marred an artwork ten generations in creation, leaving-"
"Yes, yes, but how are they different? Is it subtle? Gross?" Alia asked.
The Proctor roared in fury and rushed towards Alia. She clapped her book shut and then thrust her quill out as if it were a weapon – and weapon it was. The feather shot from her palm, shrouded in a red flare, and plunged into the Proctor's face plate and into his cheek, puncturing it and creating a scar that Cae knew quite well from her time in the Academy. The Proctor kept plunging forward, ignoring the pain and the fire and the blood. His flaming sword swept out and when Alia's staff interposed itself betwixt him and her, it was shorn in half with a spray of splinters and a crack of splitting stone. Alia's eyes widened and she skimmed backwards on her glowing lightning.
The Proctor didn't swing wildly – instead, he held his sword in both hands, waiting for his moment.
Alia didn't give it him.
She spoke a single word that echoed in the room and distorted space. The walls of the Academy shivered, threatening to crack and break, while one of the pillars trembled in its moorings and then cracked in half. The sword clattered to the floor as the Proctor transformed, in a single flash. When the light faded, Cae saw that he had been reduced to a mouse: Small, white furred, with a bright pinkish-red nose that twitched in what could only be the mouse version of pure wroth. He squeaked and scrabbled wildly atop the armor that had clattered around him. To Cae's surprise, the same shocking transfiguration had struck the mortal sorceress as well...and that made the knowledge click in Cae's mind. The most powerful mortal arcanists could, with great training and effort, speak the same language as the vast Choir that perpetually sang the Creator's glories in Heaven.
The danger of speaking the language of Creation itself, though, was the word had to be in your mind as you spoke it – and thus, it worked its way upon you as well. Alia had turned herself and the Proctor into a rodent, by speaking that word into being. Cae shook her head slowly – wondering how Alia would…
And Alia vanished in a crackling sparking pop. This caused a horrible sense of dislocation as the illusion shifted with a blurry, smeary suddenness into what was clearly an arcanist's occult workspace. Mouse-Alia appeared on a summoning circle, and a glowing crystal came to life. Alia's voice came from it, tinny and echoing, and spoke a single word that, like the prior word of Creation, caused the room to groan and creak. Two alembics cracked, a cauldron spilled, some books flew from the walls, and the window that looked out onto an ancient, desiccated city, shattered outwards in a bloom of glittering particles.
However, it did mean that Alia was once more human. She sighed as she stood in the mess, naked as the day she had been born – and Cae was suddenly, painfully aware that this entry must have been before Alia had been burned, her face showing no sign of the scars that her future self would have. But more...Alia was truly beautiful, in a way no angel could ever be. Tiny imperfections rooted her in the world, made her a part of it, and just looking at her made Cae feel that squeezing jealousy in her chest that she could never...be...that again. She looked away, biting her lip hard as Alia's voice, dry and clinical, continued to speak.
"All in all? A fairly successful trip – I've determined that angelic beings, in terms of their soul architecture, are remarkably similar to humans...save for one important, telling difference. While the human soul is made of their Pa and Lo souls – to use the Cerantian term for it – an angel appears to have their Pa and Lo souls fused into one, a kind of...single uber-soul, threaded into their body at several interesting connection points worked into their nervous and skeletal system. The wings, I believe, serve not merely as locomotion, but as a way for the Pa soul to shunt energy normally lost in interspiritual communications into a simple visual effect, as a way of losing the excess motonic energy." She sighed, and Cae heard a shuffling of robes. When Cae glanced back, she saw that thankfully, Alia had dressed. "There remains the question, then, of how exactly angels dream – for all do, and yet, it is the separation between souls that creates the dream in mortalkind." She frowned. "Unless the Sages of Cerentius are...mistaken. But Ming Ha's architectural theory of the soul has been backed by empirical proofs. There must be something I am missing."
She sighed, then smiled.
"Well, now, I believe it is time to begin investigations on demonic entities. But for now, I am going to go to the bathhouse. Journal, end."
The past bled to smoke, and fog, and Cae found herself sitting in her room again, blinking.
She…
Felt…
Dissected.
And annoyed.
"Demon soul architecture!" she snapped, glowering at the book.
Pages flipped and demon soul architecture appeared in the book. The world melted away and when Cae lifted her gaze...her eyes almost popped out of her head. She was looking upon a vast, comfortable looking bed of red gauze and silk. Sprawled upon it was Alia, her face half covered with a silver mask, concealing any scars she wore. She was completely nude, her modest, dusky brown breasts squishing ever so slightly as they pressed against the bright blue shoulder of a tall, curvaceous blue skinned woman, with two arms to each side, the limbs bifurcating such that one draped over Alia's shoulder, one cradled her ass, a third held aloft a small glittering wine class, and the fourth held a book crooked between her fingers, thumb popped in to keep the pages from folding shut.
"Mmm," Alia sighed. "I am beginning to think that you have a very different definition of the word riddle, Kala."
Kalasta, the Baron of Secrets, chortled. "The answer was spaghetti, mortal."
"...oh," Alia said, frowning.
Cae slammed the book shut in reflexive shock, her cheeks burning so brightly that she was shocked she had not burst into flames. She sat there for several long moments, then closed her eyes and whispered an oath under her breath. "Fuck." She had to learn what a demonic soul architecture was – to understand this strange and dangerous world she had found herself within. Besides. It wasn't as if she was watching for prurient reasons. She was here on an intelligence gathering operation. That was all. She opened the book again, unsure if she would need to ask for the same place...but no, the world around her bled away and she found herself watching as Alia snuggled up against the four armed former Baron of this Realm of Ruin. She watched as Alia's dark fingers caressed along Kalasta's muscular belly, sliding the tip of each between the runnels and lines of her muscles.
"How does a scholar like you get so yoked," Alia asked.
"You have no idea what strange things demons write their lore upon – you have to shift enough infinite tesseracts of lore up and down shelves, you realize the benefits of working upon your musculature." Kalasta grinned and sat up. This motion caused her deliciously full breasts to swing fetchingly from side to side, before settling as she shelved them with one of her muscular blue arms. "Now, Alia, I believe that I succeeded in that particular riddling contest." She smirked. "That means I get to ask of you a boon or a bounty, eh?"
"Mmm, true." Alia leaned forward. Despite the mask covering half her face, she was more than able to...Cae couldn't bring herself to look away...to fasten her lips around the dark blue-purple nipple that jutted from Kalasta's breast. She sucked upon her and Kalasta let out a slow, eager sigh, her eyes half closing. The hand that held a book set it aside, so she could caress the top of Alia's head, fingers brushing through that long, wavy black hair. Alia moaned, licked, sucked, nuzzled at Kalasta's breast with the eagerness of a...well, Cae supposed the closest thing she had felt or seen was...Citri. Her cheeks burned, watching the lewd display – but she tore her eyes upwards to see that Kalasta had a wicked smirk upon her lips, her eyes flickering.
"You do know this won't distract me from asking of a- ah!" She gasped as Alia drew back and a spark of electricity popped from her tongue to Kalasta's nipple, forcing the Baron of Secrets to arch her back. "W-What was- oh Hells!" Kalasta moaned as Alia grinned and wiggled her tongue. A rime of frost glittered along the edges of that soft, flexible thing – and Alia ran that edge of frost against Kalasta's achingly sensitive skin with a vicious, vindictive slowness. Alia wrung from Kalasta a moan that was only muffled when her upper left hand cupped over her mouth, covering it. Kalasta bit her own hand as Alia's other hand reached up, fondling, squeezing, tugging upon her other breast. She used more force than Cae thought would be pleasurable – and when her fingers slipped away from Kalasta, candle wax glistened upon the demoness' nipple, bright and recent, as if dripped from a burning wick.
"Oh you don't play f-fair!" Kalasta gasped as more spots of wax bloomed into existence – all Alia had to do was flick her fingers and they'd seem to splatter, bright reds and pinks against Kalasta's bright blue skin.
"Mortals are not given a fair lot, we have to cheat," Alia said, drawing her mouth back. Cool fog blew from her lips, caressing along Kalasta's tortured nipple – and she waved with her other hand. More hands appeared, shimmering and purple, crafted from raw magical energy. Two plunged down, caressing between Kalasta's thighs, while another cupped her tit, squeezing her so roughly that the cooling wax cracked off her skin. Another thrust two fingers into Kalasta's mouth, forcing her tongue down and pinning her head into the pillows. Alia shifted and moved to straddle one of the Baroness of Secret's thighs. She pressed her tight, hairless brown cunt against the sleekness of Kalasta's muscle and began to grind herself against her.
Cae dared not even breathe, despite knowing this was mere illusion projected to her from the diary.
"Now, my dear Baroness, was that boon or bountry?" Alia purred.
"Mmph!" Kalasta moaned, unable to get a word out between those fingers teasing her tongue, forcing her lips open. She squirmed and tried to buck her hips, as if she was trying to get Alia off her. But Alia's magical hands and her flesh hands were both equally merciless. She twisted and tugged on Kalasta's nipples. She dripped blazing hot wax in a slow, tracing pattern, splatters striking belly muscle, belly button, traveling down and down until they splashed onto the pubic hair that dusted the skin above Kalasta's sopping wet cunt. Slick, bright lines of blue frost gathered and vanished along Kalasta's skin as she writhed, moaning desperately.
Alia flicked her finger. Two magical fingers popped from the Baroness' mouth and she moaned. "Alia!"
"Mmm, not exactly a bounty. Or a boon." Alia smirked. "Are you forfeiting?"
"No, I-" Alia's fingers, flesh and magical both, thrust into Kalasta's cunt. The demoness' back arched and she wailed in pleasure. "Yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!" She quivered and a warm gush of her demonic girlcum soaked Alia's palm as Alia smirked, most wickedly.
"Well, since you are forfeiting," she purred. "I suppose this means I now get to ask my questions, yes?"
"You bitch!" Kalasta laughed, around eager, panting gasps. "You mortal upstart wench." She closed her eyes, then smiled. "Ask of me any secret you wish to know, whore, and I might grace your ears with their truths."
Alia chuckled. She rolled away from the Baroness and laid upon her back. Her mask, despite the jostling, remained firmly fixed to her face. The eye that was visible, twinkled as she crooned softly. "Tell me...there is a link between the Barons and the Lords of Hell. Tell me what it is."
The Baroness frowned. "Hurm." She cocked her head. "You're never going to Heaven, not after that stunt you pulled in the year 7 of Alkezar's Reign, but…" She settled back into her bed. "Mortals sometimes launch their own little crusades on Hell, to 'save' a soul here or there, to try and destroy what lurks in their own hearts. Are you going to bring these secrets to some Sultan or Satrap above? To a magistrate, who will think he at last can kill evil?"
Alia laughed. "Heavens above, you much think me a bigger fool than Degi."
Kalasta grinned. "Dee does not think you a fool. He merely finds you incredibly annoying. He admits your genius quite candidly." She sighed, then looked off, to the side. Her smirk was playful, and her eyes knowing. "However, this secret is not for you, sweeting."
"Hmm?" Alia sounded confused.
"Oh, nothing," Kalasta said...and Cae realized, with a cold lurch, that the demoness was peering at her, directly. Fiercely. Cae jerked her head back, opening her mouth – but before she could speak, Kalasta thrust her fingers forward, and Cae felt a strange cold piercing sensation thrusting through her skull. Her vision went gray, then black – and Kalasta chortled. "If you ever wish to review this in that journal of yours, you will see it quite clearly. Your acolytes may have a harder time of it."
"How cruel!" Alia sounded amused. "You can see the future?"
"One never needs too, if one's as intelligent as I. Now, the diagram."
"...oh my goodness…" Alia's voice, once so haughty, so amused, had become awed. Cae reached up with one hand, the other bracing the book open in her palm. She rubbed at her eyes, but that cold spike remained, and she was still unable to see. She scowled so fiercely that she was sure she would rend time and space itself apart, to get at the Baroness of Secrets – but then Alia's soft voice reached her ears. "Oh that is fascinating. And-"
"Ah, ah, stick to the diagrams, no need to be too vocal."
Cae slammed the journal shut. "That bitch," She whispered, her voice hot and fierce. "Secrets! Gah!"
She sat, fuming on her bed, then tossed the journal aside and stood. She stretched her arms, then reached down, tugging her shift straight on her shoulders. Her wings mantled and she lifted her chin. "Enough of this," she grumbled under her breath, frustration and curiosity both pricking into her flanks, spurs that felt so real and so fierce that she was shocked she did not bleed along her hips. She emerged from her room and stalked down the corridors of the house, seeking...which room? She considered, for a fleeting moment, going to Citri...and her knees and her will grew equally weak, thinking of what she might learn there.
New positions.
New sensations.
How it might feel to have candle wax...
He might also actually tell you what you want to know, oh General, her own mind sneered, venomously sarcastic. After he's made you a slattern once more. Then he can go and boast to Ruti again.
She shook her head and headed to the rear of the house. There, Lord Arral slept – and as rain continued to patter down onto the roof, she came to the large doors leading to his chambers. Two infantrydemons stood at guard there, both nodding to her. "General," one said.
"Is Lord Arral awake or sleeping?" she asked.
"He's in conference with Baron Dee," the other guard demon said, inclining her head, wisps of grayish fog trickling from beneath the mouth guard. "Do you wish to speak to them?"
"Yes," Cae said, shortly. "Inform them I am here."
The two guards bowed once more and, through some invisible signal, one ducked into the chambers. A few moments later, the door opened again and there stood Baron Degi, the Baron of Despair. He eyed her with a flinty frown, his glittering, compound eyes pitiless, cold. "What do you require, General Silverhawk?" he asked, sounding clipped and tired. "The Lord and I are in important discussions."
"I need to understand something – it is vital to the war effort," Cae said, frowning as she did so. "I have tried to discover the truth circumspectly, but it seems the only way to get a straight answer from you demons is to wring it from you with my bare hands. And so, I am done fumbling in the darkness. Lord Arral will answer these questions, or I will wring it from you with my bare hands, do you understand?" She stepped forward, and Degi took a step back. His palms lifted.
"Can it wait until the morning?" he muttered.
"No," Cae said, fiercely, not sure what obstructions might crop up between her head hitting the pillow and now. "Let me through."
"Lord Arral needs a moment to-"
Cae's ears, sharpened to the subtleties of battlefields, heard the faint click of metal on metal. She frowned. "There's something in there," she said, then grabbed onto Degi's shoulders and strode past him. The Baron of Despair reached for her, his voice a strangled cry of alarm, but Cae was sure of it – that had been chain links clicking together. She saw that there was a reading room, a private library, a roaring and banked fire, then open doors leading back to the bedroom. She was drawn forward by her heedless momentum, and knew already, she was making a mistake...but by the Creator's name, she was sick of being forced to step back, to wait, to hesitate, to hold herself in tension waiting for answers or dangers both. And so, she came to the doorway and froze, her eyes widening and wings snapping wide.
In what be the most important sex scene of all time, Cae discovers that, firstly, Degi and Arral enjoy some consentual bondage (specifically, Degi ties up.) This shocking realization drives Cae to forthrightness, and she demands that Arral explain the true relationship between himself and his Barons. And so, Arral explains.
Humans are beings of divided souls, as Cae knows. Angels and demons are created when a human's soul comes into alignment with one of two extremes: Angels are extremely unified. Demons, though, are extremely disparate - when a human's soul is large enough to contain multitudes, a demon is created. Arral is the 'prime' soul, while Citri, Degi and Ruti are each parts of his spirit, containing and representing parts of his personality, and their demonic followers are each tinier fragments of the whole, formed into one vast being, Ruin.
Cae, shocked, finds this beautiful and inspiring in equal measures. In this moment of revelation...she becomes divided. Literally! The two Cae's are quickly determined to be her and another her who didn't hesitate to kiss Arral: A minute difference, but large enough to split an angelic soul. The two are pleasured by Arral and Degi until they come into unification again, transforming Cae into something entirely new and unknown to the world - much to Arral and Degi's shock. Cae's last words before falling asleep in a well-fucked stupor are that they must talk to Ruti, for he knows and understands transformations and may be able to answer this mystery...
Lord Arral was the only one in the room – the metal had not come from some other demon creeping in through the large, stained glass windows depicting crumbling ruins and ancient towers. The light that shone from candles flickered along him and along the chains that bound his arms above and behind his head. He was nude and bound, his massive form forced to his knees, giving her a look upon the Lord of Ruin unlike any that Cae would have ever imagined possible. His form was...superficially, humanoid. Yes, his skin was the inky black of darkest night, but he lacked the eerie insectoid nature of Dee or the greyhound proportions of Rue, or the flaming sparks of Citri. The only inhuman thing, other than his sheer scale, was the antlers that thrust from either side of his brows.
But then, looking closer, she saw the seams and the lines cut into his skin. There were breaks all through the Lord of Ruin's body, spots where his skin wished to come apart – and from between those lines, flickering and glimmering, was a light. It seemed to flow through his body irregularly, as if there was a sun contained in his chest, bounding here and there, trying desperately to find a place to escape. His broad chest had a large crack in it, right where his breastbone met the curve of his upper left rib. That crack shone and flickered intermittently as his inner light slipped and shifted. His belly muscles were a cliff-wall of masculine power, heavy slabs that perfectly counterpointed the broad weight of his shoulders, and his thighs were thick enough as well – battering ram legs that ended in powerful hooves, another inhumanity that contrasted beautiful with the rest of his...his...sheer perfection.
His cock, titanic as befitted the rest of his body, was contained within a rusted cage of steel, trying to harden and remaining trapped. His lips were bound and gagged. His head was bowed, but had jerked up when Cae entered into the room. His eyes widened and he remained very still as Dee stepped up behind her.
"W...What is…"
"You need to leave," Dee's voice was a low, sharp growl. "This is not for you."
"You're...torturing him!?" Cae snarled. She turned, then grabbed onto the frock of the slender Baron. She lifted him with one hand, pinning him to the wall. "You torment your own master, you worm!"
Dee gasped, then actually laughed. "Angels! Angels!" He cried out. "Heaven save me from Angels!"
"I am no more tormented than I am restrained," Lord Arral's voice came, rumbling and amused. Cae turned and saw that, despite the manacles and the chains, he had wrenched his hands free. He stood, and his antlers almost brushed the ceiling.
Cae's mind flashed upon her Proctor whipping her. Of the strange thoughts burning inside of her. Cae prided herself on her quicksilver mind and her adaptability – but right now, she rather wished she could cling to uncomprehending stupidity, anything would be better than knowing, realizing what she had done, what she had interrupted, the place she had put herself in. Bile rose up in her throat – not the bile of disgust, but the burning hot words of pure shame. "O...Oh my Creator, I am...I am so-" She set Degi down, brushing golden palms along his frock, trying to pat it into proper shape. "I am so sorry!"
Lord Arral, to her vast shame, laughed. Still nude, he clutched at his belly and threw his head back. He boomed out a deep, deep laugh that originated deep within his soul, pealed off the walls, rang in Cae's ear, a gonging shame. She put her hands over her face as Degi adjusted his collar with one hand and muttered, just close enough that she had no choice but to overhear it. "Angels."
"I am quite glad you were so eager and attentive in my defense. But...ahem…" Lord Arral coughed and took his robe in one hand – it had been tossed over a nearby chair. "If we are to be interrupted so, I hope it is for a good reason?"
"I…" Cae flushed, then turned back to face him. Her hands clenched into fists and she pinned them at her hips. She glared up into his eyes – not risking a glance down, not at that entrapped python he had swinging between his muscular legs. "I need to know the precise connection between you, your Barons, the Barons and one another. Now."
"And why is that?" Lord Arral asked, curiously. He had his robe half on, paused, with one edge draped over his shoulder. "To take it to Heaven?"
"I…" Cae hesitated. Then she looked down at her feet. "Yes." She couldn't lie. She knew it was a battlefield, a battlefield of words, against someone who had captured her, imprisoned her. And yet, she couldn't force her heart to believe it. She cursed her weakness, and also...felt a strange lightening on her shoulders. A vast, heavy weight was leaving her and she felt as if her heart, too, was being unbound. She had not realized how burdensome her duty to Heaven and her armies had felt, until she had...not cast it aside, even, but simply brought it into the open, for all to see. She lifted her head. "But, also, I need it if I am...to defend you. Barons have been ripped from you – how, and why, and what the effect they are...how I can prevent it from happening again. All that matters, does it not?"
Degi frowned at her from the side. "You as much admit that you want to clap us in the golden chains of Heaven, you-"
"I will tell you the truth," Lord Arral said, his voice a deep rumble.
"My lord, Arral!" Degi turned to face him. Arral, his robes still half forgotten, shook his head.
"I am the Lord of Ruin. It is in my nature," he said. "This may be the crack in the foundation – that one day leaves this place as nothing but stone, rotting under the vast, unending sands. So be it. It...all things come to ruin in the end, General Silverhawk. If I could not accept that, I would be a poor Lord of Ruin." He smirked, slightly. "Though, because I am demon also, I will fight against it with my every last breath. For if I couldn't defy the natural order of things, I could never be a demon, now could I?"
Cae smiled back, shyly.
Her eyes, traitor orbs, flicked down.
Good lord, even soft and contained in a cage of steel, his cock was titanic. Half as large as Citri's, and he was soft. She felt so dizzy she feared she had caught rotlung.
"Now, the truth…" Lord Arral said, jerking her eyes back up.
Cae nodded.
"Angels have one soul, fused together, interchanging, shared. A tight connection. A piece of clockwork." He smiled, slightly. "They are the far end of the possibilities that mortals exist upon – when a mortal's two souls are in alignment, they become angels. But when a mortal's souls grow far enough apart...they become a demon. And when there is room in a soul, when that soul grows vast enough to hold concepts like, say, Pestilence, that soul has more than a Pa and Lo, more than a Han and Lee, more than a Kemshet and Shalin – to use the various words."
He gestured to himself. "Arral. Lord of Ruin. My soul, though, contains within it...Citri. My passion, my flame. My love. Degi, my despair, my sorrow, my...artistry. Ruti. My rot. My transformation." He spread his hands. "Their souls, too, have souls within them – Laeushale is as much a part of Citri as he is a part of me. And the same is true, likewise, General Silverheart. So, you seek to find separation, distinction, holes – but you will find only one whole."
Cae stepped backwards, her mouth opening slowly. She closed it again.
"You...you're...all…" She whispered, wings spreading in slow shock.
Lord Arral inclined his head. "And when we lose a part of ourselves, when a Baron is rent from our side by force of arms, I am as changed as you would be if you were...struck in the head, or had a spike jammed through your eye socket." He sighed, quietly. "Some parts of myself were...easier to lose. But losing them still altered me. Still altered Citri, and Ruti, and Degi. And they themselves changed, when they were threaded into other souls.
Cae's knees trembled. "T-Then...then…" She blinked. "How many actual demons are in hell?"
Lord Arral chuckled, a low, grinding boulder crashing against another. "How many people are in a man? One? Or a billion?"
Cae's head swam. "S-So...so...so...you...you...all of you have...have...are...I…" She was grappling with the idea – but the idea was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. The idea of being more than just an angel. Of being more than just a general. Of being more than just Cae. The idea echoed in her mind and she heard Arral's words, warm and crooning within her body, within her mind. Souls the size of oceans. Mortals that could be many people. Vast tapestries of relationships and love and life, all in a single heart. Throbbing, beating. She had once felt jealous, of how Belai the Mongoose could be general and farmer, all at once.
"N-No wonder Alia asked to marry you," she whispered.
"How do you know of her?" Arral asked, his voice fierce. He strode towards her, grabbing her arm, tugging her forward, the heat of him blazing and terrible. She jerked her head up, gaping at him, her wings spreading wide.
"How could you not know?" She whispered. "Laeushale-"
"Do you track every errant thought, every passing fancy?" Arral growled, quietly. His eyes bored into hers. "Laeushale, Citri, the whole House of Fire, they all don't feel the pain as much as I and Degi do, they are creatures of passion. They remember the heat of Alia's loins. Not the cold of her body, lowering into the damn crypt! They remember the warmth of her laugh, not the...the...the choking as she breathed her last, and I could do nothing. And you think she asked to marry me? You think...you think so highly of me? Of my pathetic self?"
Cae blinked up at him. "You asked her?"
"Of course…" Arral whispered, huskily. "I could do nothing else, when a star falls into my mansion."
Cae's hands reached up. She gently cupped his cheeks. Her fingers traced the smooth, elegant cut of his jaw. She breathed, quietly. "How could she say no, when she knew what you are?" She whispered, her eyes wide. "I...how could anyone ever think you are a defect in the great plan?"
"What?" Arral's brow furrowed.
"The Creator made oceans, and she made souls," Cae whispered. "How could she not make one, reflected in the other?" She shivered from head to toes. "I wish that I could be a world, like you."
"That's...a dangerous thing...for an angel to say," Arral rumbled. His hand cupped her cheek. His palm was vast enough that she could lay her head, her hair, part of her neck into him, to feel his fingers cupping around the back of her scalp. He was as hot as Citri – as comforting as Ruti...as dark, and mysterious Degi. She trembled in his grasp, and the quiet of the moment made her heart thumping in her ears sound like the beating drum of an errant war party, driving her forward, forward, forward. She could hear a dozen whispering voices at the edges of her mind, the sound of herself, the words all warnings – all calling upon what she had been taught, what she had been trained...but she ignored all. Instead, she turned her head. Her lisp pressed against Arral's palm. Her tongue darted out, and she tasted his sweat.
He tasted like…
Possibilities.
"We cannot," Arral rumbled, drawing his hand away. Cae almost fell, her wings spreading.
"You fear Heaven will chase me?" She asked, her voice hot.
"Fear? I know," Arral said.
"It's true," Degi said, startling her. His hands were clasped behind him, his lips pursed, his somber insectoid eyes glittering. "They search, they hound. If they realize where you are, precisely, they may risk it."
Cae, her heart lumping faster, harder, frowned. "I…"
"Go," Arral said, lifting his hand. "Citri made the mistake – he saw in you another Alia, another...star. But I know the truth. You and I are but a passing moment. An instant. A flickering candle, in the eternities of our lives. We both will live eternal – lest our lives be rent apart by sword or arrow or mace. And in that...in that long twilight eternity, I will fade in your mind. I will...draw away. I will become nothing but that few short months, or years, where you fought Hell with Hell. And that will be all. That must be all."
My memory must be a ruin, Cae thought. That was what he meant.
Heh.
So much for defiance. But of course. He had defied the order of the world once – he had taken a mortal wife. And he had watched her die, turn to dust, become nothingness in his hands. After such chastisement, who couldn't resist obeying. And maybe that, more than anything else, was why Arral enjoyed being bound, chained, collared, gagged. Held by despair and made to hurt, he could maybe feel whole again once he was freed and moved once more – keep away the blackness of true horror for a moment more. Cae's hands clenched and closed her eyes.
Within her breast, there was a war.
She wished to throw herself upon Arral. She wished to know him – not merely carnally, but spiritually. She wished to see a soul so vast it could hold Ruti, gentle Ruti, and Citri, and even Degi. She wanted to see what fractal, manifold possibilities lurked within Degi's breast. She realized, with a start...she wanted to be bound by Degi. To feel his scour upon his back, and unlike the Proctor and Heaven's chains, she wished to be released and tremble in his arms, to whisper joy in his ear, to thank him for opening her eyes.
And…
And she wished to flee from the terror that demons were right.
What if the Creator had not meant for souls to do this?
What if their defiance was right.
What if…
What if Cae was wrong?
She closed her eyes, feeling her heart wrenching, and she turned and she stood – she remained in place...and she strode after Arral. She took his hand. Her fingers gripped his and she whispered.
"I defy you," she whispered. "I will not leave. I do not know if I will stay. But...neither...will I go." She squeezed him and Arral turned, his eyes widening as her wings spread, then she yanked him down and their lips met. The sizzle-heat of the contact burned through her body and her wings swept around his shoulders, drawing him close. Arral could no more keep his hands off her than he could keep his body from smoldering from within. Those vast palms of his cupped, cradled her ass, squeezing and gripping her. His tongue and hers met and danced together as her head cocked to the side, taking his tongue into her mouth. Her free hand skimmed along his muscles...but other hands were already tugging at his cage of enforced chastity. Cae's fingers and the stranger's brushed together, and when she pulled back, she saw gold touching gold.
Another Cae.
Another her.
She was kneeling beside her, cheek pressed to Cae's thigh, her wings rustling, as she tugged the last strap and Arral's vastness sprang free. His cock got caught under the hem of Cae's shift, blazing hot against her belly, swelling, making her shift bulge as if she was already penetrated. Her mouth opened in shock as she and the other Cae looked up, down, at one another. Their wings touched and ebony black feathers touched, one and another. Degi let out a quiet oath – reverent: "Fuck."
"What…" Arral blinked, looking between the Cae's. Then he whispered. "What did you do?"
"I…" Cae whispered.
The other Cae stood. Her fingers brushed along Cae's feathers – teasing them. "You fell!" she whispered.
"No, you did!" Cae exclaimed, pointing at the other's wings. Cae, that is, the other Cae, looked at herself. Their wings beat, the same nervous frisson sliding through both.
"Angels don't fall!" Degi said, his voice full of shock. "Not in the ten thousand years since the Realms were birthed."
"Yes they do!" Cae and the other Cae exclaimed at the same time.
"No, they do not – it was one of the many secrets Kalasta left with us, before she...left…" Degi shook his head. "The idea that angels can fall is a tale that angels use to keep the Hosts of Heaven in line – one of their many reinforcing myths."
Cae and Cae both looked at one another – and their mouths parted in the same shock.
"What I don't understand is...why are they so...alike?" Lord Arral rumbled, shifting subtly to extricate himself from the two angels. "You...you should be more different, to sunder like this."
"I mean, if I were to venture a guess," Degi said, his voice utterly dry. "An angel is so straight laced, so tightly bound, that even a minor divergence, at the right moment, might...splinter them as if they were a demon. I suppose that angels truly must be single minded, for this to be the first to have ever been discovered by us."
"We are," the two Cae's said, at the same time. "I…" She shook her head. "I hesitated."
"I did not," the other Cae said, blushing.
"But both of you kissed him!" Degi sounded furious.
"But I hesitated," Cae admitted, her cheeks burning.
"Hells save us," Degi said, clapping his hands above his head. "Heavens too! Mortalkind can pitch in, Caelel Silverhawk, you veritable absurdity, you...you...you featherbrained angelic nincompoop! Only a gold bound, stiff backed angelic fool could turn such a historic event into a Destroyer amusing farce."
Cae flushed and her other self scowled and put her hands upon her hips. "Listen here, Degi," She said. "I...I have been through quite a lot in a very short time!"
"Degi sometimes grows sharp tongued when he is confounded," Arral said, gently. His vast cock swayed as he stepped back, hooves scraping along the ground. "But...this...is quite...interesting." He said, slowly. "Angels were always more powerful in their unity than their division – does this splitting lessen your powers? Or…" He chuckled. "Or...damn...I am torn myself." He licked his lips. "Fortunately, we can always split our efforts, can we not?"
"We can?" Cae asked, while the other Cae blinked – then let forth a shocked gasp. Behind her, Degi – despite his fierce words – had stepped up. His hands swept beneath her arms and cupped her breasts, squeezing, fondling her. He tugged her nipples through the shift, and Cae gasped as she felt the same sensation tingling through her. The separation felt caul thin, right then and there. She quivered and almost fell to her knees – but Arral's vast hand cupped her between her thighs. His finger, nearly as big as some men's cocks, ground against her cunt as he held her up with ease, lifting her up and pressing her back to his chest. He crooned into her ear.
"We can learn quite a lot, I think, Degi and I," Arral purred.
"Oh Creator…" Cae moaned – both of her, their voices intertwining.
"This is going to get quite confusing," Degi said – even as his fingers sank into Cae's shift and ripped. Cloth and fabric tore and her large, heavy golden breasts sprang free, her bright silvery nipples glittering, begging to be sucked, tugged, licked.
"Since when have we demons had any worry about...chaos," Arral said, his voice amused. His thick, thick finger was thrusting up into Cae, whose hips bucked in time with the crooking of his knuckle. Her eyes fluttered shut and her black on black wings bear against his chest. She groaned hungrily, her mouth parting as she panted hungrily.
"Oh yes…" She gasped. "Finger-fuck my fallen pussy…" She moaned, the wanton words flowing through her mouth – but not her mouth. The other her was moaning, and such lewd, wanton words she was using! Cae opened her eyes, watching as the other her arched her back and gasped. "I'm an angel whore now, a demon fucker in truth! I want your cock so badly, Degi, as much as you infuriate me!"
Degi smirked, his eyes glittering. "Well, she was right. She doesn't hesitate."
Cae bit her lip, shaking her head – while bucking her hips against the finger fucking her. Arral grinned, his antlers glittering. She reached up, grabbing onto one, holding onto his antler for dear life – her hips roiling in time with his fingering...and yet, he was so aroused that his massive cock nearly bumped against his belly, arcing smoothly, elegantly upwards. Degi, wickedly, pushed the other Cae forward, and Cae tasted upon her lips the salty-sweetness of Arral's cock. Good Creator, if he tasted this good, she was shocked that-
"How in the Realms did Alia ever leave your bed?" she moaned, her voice husky, less wanton than the other her – for it was impossible to be more wanton than moaning and licking the tip of a titanic demonic cock, bending forward and grinding one's bright golden ass against Degi's impressive bulge. By comparison, merely nearly cumming one's brains out while being finger fucked was downright restrained.
"She spent a year there, first time," Arral purred. "But Ruin was not as dangerous a place there…" He gasped, then, as Cae pushed herself forward – both of her moving to take more cock, though the one that was held in Arral's hands...Creator, even she was growing confused as to which her's skin was which. Her body tingled as she grabbed onto her own tits, squeezing, and opened her mouth...and she breathed in, breathed in for her own self, for the other her glugged and gurgled as more and more cock forced its way down her throat. Cae felt both as if she could never breathe again – and also, felt the warm rush of her own breath, filling her mind with focus, allowing herself to think, to feel…
To feel every inch of Arral's impossibly huge demonic cock utterly destroying her own throat.
"Ohhhh Creatooorrrrrrr!" Cae wailed, her back arching.
She came. She came a flood upon Arral's finger and palm, her glowing juices splashing down his somber black wrist, and she felt her flood pattering upon her own face as the other her was impaled down to...maybe a third of his cock. Her body quivered and Degi grunted – then smirked.
"Should have removed the hose…" he whispered – and Cae, gasping and quivering, eyes blazing with white and black spots, could see the other her had spurted all over him. She panted quietly, while Arral smirked.
"I believe I cannot wait a moment more, do you, my Baron?"
"I cannot either," Degi said, then sighed softly. "This is going to end in fire, tears and blood, you know that?"
"Absolute shambles," Arral agreed. He set the trembling Cae upon the bed, his finger slipping from her. The other Cae squeaked as she was pushed atop Cae – and the two gaped at one another, Cae's wings, and Cae's wings spreading. Four midnight black wings, shimmering and glossy in their perfection. Cae blinked...and the Cae that hesitated whispered, softly.
"I think…" She said, her hands caressing along her own self's hips. "I think we can be...we can…"
"Be what?" the Cae that did not whispered.
"We can be," Cae breathed. "Whatever we wish...and...and if we are, then the Creator must have wished it – no? She made oceans…"
"..and she made souls…" She whispered back. Breath on lips. Warmth on warmth. Silver lips pressed together as Cae and her own self kissed. Their breasts pressed together and their nipples ground, one against the other. Sensation fed back to self – circling around and growing brighter and brighter, a scream of sheerest bliss. Cae felt another change, furious and bring rushing through her. She grabbed onto the Cae that did not's ass, while the Cae who hesitated spread her thighs. Their cunts pressed together, grinding and slippery. Their tongues played together as demon baron and demon lord watched.
Cae felt the change.
She did not hesitate.
She did not.
The blazing heat faded, and she opened her eyes, smiling dazedly, her four wings fanning around her – one above, one below, iridescent black. Her eyes glowed brighter than even before, and her skin seemed to blaze with an inner heat. Light escaped her cunt, teasing that more heat and more energy blazed within her. Her voice reverberated with the resonance of the universe itself as she spoke to a gaping Arral.
"Be not afraid, my love," she spread her thighs, her fingers reaching down. She spread her cunt and Arral walked towards her. His hand caressed her, and jerked back.
"You blaze like a star...what...what are you?" He whispered.
"I am what I am," Cae whispered, feeling the delight of the moment. She laughed. "And now, right now? I am yours, my Lord Ruin." She cradled his head with her hand, fingers drawing hissing lines of steam along his skin, flashing sweat into clouds. The burn felt so good, Arral moaned huskily. He leaned forward, pressing mouth to hers. His cock slotted against her cunt and he was eased into her not merely by her own hips lifting and spreading, but by Degi's eager hand, taking a hold of his master, guiding him into her center with a firm push. The power of his thrust quaked the bed, shook the house, and caused Cae's back to arch. Her four wings beat and she cried out in bliss.
"Oh Cae!" Arral moaned, huskily, his heavy balls clapping her bright golden ass. Her hands reached up. She took hold of his antlers, pulling him down, pressing her mouth to her nipple. His tongue rolled it. He crooked himself almost in half, to try and fit his bulk to her. His hips couldn't stop themselves, not if he had a thousand aurochs yoked to him, pulling him away. Degi watched, his insectoid eyes glittering – and he wept silently, for the moment was too perfect, too beautiful to ever last. To ever be more than a fleeting glimpse of Heaven.
Cae moaned in bliss, her reverberating voice ringing off the walls. She grabbed onto Arral's shoulders, fingers sinking into his skin, dimpling it as she bucked her hips back just as eagerly. The bed shook and every slapping impact of his balls against her ass made her cry out again. "Arral! Oh Arral! Arral! Yes! Yes! Yes!" She cried out again and again – and needed no words more complex than that as he plunged into her again and again and again.
There was no end to it. His titanic cock stretched her cunt impossibly wide – if she had been mortal, there would have been pain and blood...but she was not mortal, not angel, not demon. She was Cae, and she took every single one of his woman-breaking vastness with a pleasure and a croon that echoed like a chasm. Her glowing eyes met his and she managed to gasp out a soft: "Is this all a Lord of Hell can give?"
Arral growled. He drew from her, his massive shaft blazing with the golden light of her juices. He grabbed onto her upper right wing, using the join between shoulder and back as a lever to twist and bend her onto her belly. With her rump in the air, wiggling fetchingly, Arral pounced upon her. His hooves settled onto the bed and he grabbed her hips into hands that could crush boulders. When he unleashed his ferocious, desperate eagerness upon her, his cock slammed into her and the bed did rock hard enough to snap two of the legs into powder. Cae gripped onto the sheets and cried out again and again and again, all four of her wings beating as she arched her spine.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Obliterate my angelic cunt! Fuck me!" She moaned without hesitation, without shame. Her massive tits slapped against her own chin as she cried out again and again and again, her eyes closed to slits. Her wings beat in time with her fucking, and she tightened around the cock filling her. Juices splashed along his balls and Arral cried out, husky.
"Cae...I…"
"Fill me, oh Lord of Ruin!" She moaned, tilting her head back, her voice desperate. "Drown me in your spunk."
Arral groaned low and desperately. His eyes screwed shut and his face had almost a mask of pain upon it as he quivered and he started to cum...and cum...and cum. The warmth of him filled her, swelled her belly, then burst out around his cock, soaking her thighs, the bed, splashing his belly. Degi, kneeling down,licked at the droplets that fell towards the floor, moaning as he tasted the cum and her juices, as if they were the finest wines. Cae panted heavily, her body trembling. In the clarity of the moment, shining clear like crystal, she spoke.
"Tomorrow...Ruti…" she whispered. "He knows how butterflies...come...to…"
Dragon, that was an incredible sequence that I'm going to try to reread tomorrow because my ADHD is acting up, but the emotional complexity and depth here is incredible.
Dragon, that was an incrediblt sequence that I'm going to try to reread tomorrow because my ADHD is acting up, but the emotional complexity and depth here is incredible.
Caelel woke to find herself once more herself – and, like a fleeting dream, the transcendental oneness, the knowledge that she was and could be more than ever dreamed, remained in her mind for just long enough to impress upon her the shape, the taste, the vanishing color, and not a single iota of the actual heft of the matter. It was, in short, the most infuriating, frustrating, taxing thing to awaken too, and managed to sour her mood, despite the fact she currently sprawled in the Realm's most comfortable bed, her body entangled and held against a cliff-face of masculine perfection. Lord Arral's arms were locked under her belly, and his bulk covered her entire back – a blazing heat that throbbed into her wings like the healing light of Heaven itself. She scowled at the wall despite this all, and clenched her fists, and tried to hold onto that feeling…
But it was gone.
She squirmed in Arral's grasp. The Lord of Ruin lifted one arm to allow the angelic general to sit up, her hair tumbling along her shoulders. Her wings fluttered and she blinked at them, jerking her head so hard to the right she nearly hurt herself.
Her wings were once more blue-white, shimmering and pure.
"That's just confounding," she hissed.
"Ruti," Lord Arral murmured.
Cae looked down at him – and saw that he was awake, his antlers dimpling the pillows around his head as he rolled onto his back.
"That was the last thing you said, before you fell to sleep – Ruti would understand transformations. Remarkably cogent for a woman who had made history and, also, was...so…" He paused, playing words around on his tongue and in his mind before finally settling on: "Distracted."
Cae snorted, loudly. She would have expected having graduated from Citri to his lord Arral would have shook her – but the opposite was true. It wasn't simply that she was growing more inured to breaking her angelic vows. It was also everything she had learned about the true nature of the Realm of Ruin. The very idea remained...heady. She wondered if she could get any angel to actually believe it...and what did it mean? What did it truly mean for the war between Heaven and Hell.
She frowned. She didn't know if she was ready, or even able, to answer that. There remained questions she couldn't possibly-
The door to the bedchamber burst open. An infantrydemon with the faint sheen and rubbery skin of a member of Ruti's domain entered into the chamber, spear clattering as he swung his arms in an ungainly jog. "My lord Arral! We must-" He stopped dead, his eyes bulging as he saw Cae, her bare body tucked next to the massive bulk of Arral. He turned on his heel, giving her his back and Cae felt a momentary, fluttering flash of shame. She took hold of the sheet, sweeping it up and over her chest, holding it there – and then felt her shame grow even brighter, as having her body only thinly covered by a nearly translucent caul of white fabric only accentuated her curves. The demon continued his report, though she could hear the strangled note in his tone. "Pestilence has marshaled an army – but he advances past the villages, ignoring them!"
Cae slid from the bed, modestly only partially forgotten. With one arm still holding sheet to her chest, she barked out: "How many forces can we call upon and how quickly?"
"The message stations you had built, uh, m'am...Lady...My...my Lady?" The demon sounded unsure, confused.
"I fucked him, I haven't married him!" Cae snapped, startling a snort of laughter from Arral. "General will do fine – what do we have?"
"Three platoons of infantry, two of archers, and a company of horse from Ruti's domain, scant fliers," the demon barked out.
Cae chewed her lower lip, modestly only entirely forgotten – with her arm not shifting to keep her makeshift covering about herself, it swept into a narrow column that exposed her hips and some of the sweep of her belly. She tucked her arm in tighter, frowning intently. "Who leads Pestilence's armies…" She murmured, half to herself.
"Puzak," Arral said, his voice growing grim. "The Baron of Panic."
"Panic, Lies, Denial, it's a strange purview considering they don't have Rot…" Cae muttered.
"When plague spreads, those spread just as quickly. You're fortunate that the Lord of Greed ripped Avarice from Pestilence's fingers three years back," Arral said, his voice grim. "Though, getting Avarice to equip even an allied Baron's troops is nearly impossible, so they say."
"But they're all one in the same!" Cae turned to face him, scowling.
"Ah, and you've yet to meet a thought you could not order, an emotion you could not bridle, nor break?" Arral asked, grinning most wickedly as he sprawled back into the bed – his body a massive black shadow, rippling with muscle and promise. Cae's cheeks flushed bright silver and her wings fluttered behind her back as she turned to face him. "For demons, a lot of what goes betwixt the ears in mortals and angels takes entire homes, bedrooms, and battlefields. It keeps Hell so interesting."
"Interesting!" Cae scoffed. "Yes, I sure do enjoy launching a major land campaign to get my left foot to step after my right!" She turned back to the infantrydemon, who had risked turning back around and gotten a full view of her heavenly sculpted ass. This had reduced the poor creature to a trembling, blushing pile of armor, scales and two quite stiff spears. The one that Cae could actually see was all that supported him, considering his other spear had robbed his knees of their solidity. "Send word to Laeushale to get my armor and gather her fellow fire spirits. I want them to carry Citri and Degi away from here. Send for Ruti himself, we'll be meeting the enemy on his territory."
"Yes my lady, uh, General!" The demon snapped up a salute, then turned and scampered off.
Cae took a moment to think through the angles, spinning in her head like war-angels. She pursed her lips.
Arral, still reclining in bed, watched her intently.
"You look just like her," he murmured, quietly. "When you're thinking?"
"Hmm?" Cae looked at him, blinking as the final battle plan came into focus in her mind. "...Alia?"
"You have been reading her journal," Arral said, quietly. "I've yet to open it. Too...painful." He paused. "Is there…" His hesitation held the needle thin thread of purest hope, whose note was utter agony to hear. Cae felt that war in herself, that battlefield that demons made so awfully literal. But in the end, honesty won out. Whatever she could do for this mighty, strange Lord of Ruin, it could not be built on lies. She looked away.
"I am not the reincarnation of your Lady, my Lord," she said, quietly. "She did not become an angel – she may be mortal, still, up there…" She lifted her gaze upwards – even if modern theoastrography had firmly determined that the shape of the Realms bore no relation to suns and skies, deep caves and cthonic trenches. The mortal realms were no more above the Hells than Heaven was. Still, she looked at the ceiling, at the rococo splendor that had been left to decay and peel, gold glinting among the dust and the cobwebs. She sighed, quietly. Last night, she had had a perfect view of it – but in that haze of lust and passion, her eyes had been focused too much on Arral's face. His chiseled jaw. The cut-scars that glowed with the inner light of his vast, vast soul. She shook her head, focusing once more. "I'm sorry."
Arral sighed. "You're still very alike. I must have a terrible taste in women." His lips quirked up. "Both of you shine far brighter than I."
"Isn't that the nature of a Ruin?" Cae asked, her voice coy.
The door to the room opened and shambling mass of golden armor and magical runes came stomping in – Shale, carrying her panoply in her flame red arms. "Congratulations, Cae!" she exclaimed around the pile. "Can I get the juicy details now, or-" she peeked around the pile. "...he's still here."
"That I am," Arral said, showing no sign of leaving.
"I will simply, ahem, entomb myself in the lower catacombs…" Shale muttered as she shifted the armor in her grasp, hiding her face behind it. "Brick myself up. Yes. Should do that."
***
Clad in gold and silver, bearing a flaming sword, Cae took to the air with an escort of flame spirits and sought the enemy. The Baron of Panic did not seek to make it difficult. His army marched under the fluttering banners of the House of Pestilence – an Ouroboros snake of green on a black field, a wurm that managed to glower at the world as it engaged in the ancient act of eternal self cannibalism. They had no fliers to ward off scouts, but made up for it with their ranging cavalry: Demons astride beasts with flaming hooves and horse-skull heads that flickered and flashed.
"Nightmares," Shale said, her wings beating in counterpoint to Cae as they both hovered. "Those are Panic's specialty. But see those?"
She pointed with one finger and Cae followed it. The infantry companies at the head of the march were all green scaled, yellow bellied snake women. Their tails slithered along the grounds as their chests were protected by hammered iron cuirasses, and they carried swords and shields sheathed on their backs. They had wide cobra hoods around their triangular heads, and their eyes glowed bright enough to be visible even from a distance.
"Those aren't demons," Shale said, her voice grim. "Pestilence has hired ssviath mercenaries."
Cae felt the awful realization hit her like a bucket of cold water. It was the worst feeling in the realms. The feeling of realizing the bloody obvious. As a war-angel of Heaven, she had never needed to worry about or concern herself with mercenaries...but she had still studied them. She had learned about them. She had put all that information into the context of her old profession as a General of Heaven. And then she had not thought to extrapolate it out to this strange new place she held in the depths of Hell itself: Angels might disdain mercenaries and the Hosts of Heaven might not see the distinction between them and the mortal auxiliaries they could call to service or compel through sheer power...but she was fighting the Barons of Panic, Denial and Lies. The last two could weave a pretty tale and even without Avarice within their purview, Pestilance had wealth enough to pull in mortal sellswords from across the Realms.
She forced the sense of recrimination and self-blame to the back of her mind. Most Angels wouldn't have been able to tell mortal humans from mortal ssviath, despite their obvious differences. She, though, had done enough reading to know that the ssviath were a people that preferred deserts, could fight in anything but heavy snow, and served as some of the finest heavy infantry in the world. They had a trick of slithering forward or backwards while not changing the facing of their bodies, and in the press of close combat, she had heard legends that any ssviath that couldn't cut a man down could crush them in their snake tails.
"At least the stories of the petrification gaze is nothing but lies," Cae muttered.
"Petrification!?" Shale exclaimed.
"It's a myth," Cae hissed, leaning in close, a double sense of idiocy hitting her. "If none of the troops have heard of it, please do not enlighten them. The last thing we need is a panic."
She went back to counting hoods. "Two companies of mercenaries, four companies of infantrydemons, four companies of archers…no fliers...but they're dragging wagons." She shook her head. "That means war machines."
"Why not simply summon them with mana?" Shale asked. Then she snapped her fingers. "The villages!"
"Exactly," Cae said, turning and winging back towards her mustering forces. "If we let them get into range of the Manor, they'll reduce it and...well, I doubt Arral would enjoy that." Her wings cupped behind her back and she dropped down, landing with a crunch before the companies she had called together. The halberdiers from Ruti's forces, and the archers from Degi, were familiar. But Ruti had brought forth his cavalry…
Cae blinked.
She blinked a third time.
"Shale…" She said, slowly. "I was told that Ruti had cavalry demons at his disposal. Armed with lances."
"They do. And are." Shale said, nodding.
"Shale, those are butterflies," Cae said, her voice soft.
The cavalry demons were, in fact, astride large butterflies. Their beautifully patterned and deeply somber orange and black wings were wide enough to cover the length of a horse, making them wider than any cavalry that Cae had seen on the field of battle. Their wings did not beat, but rather slowly undulated, and so, kept the butterfly aloft off the ground, neither rising nor falling above or below the height of an average horse. The demons themselves were clad in armor that looked like charred glass, wrenched and shaped through the crudest means, from lightning struck desert. It clung to their spindly bodies in the same way the armor of an ant or beetle clung to their spindly limbs, and their lances were long stalks of reed-like plants, woven together into a spindly, drooping tip – drooping, like a wilting flower. Only Cae's attentive eyes, able to take in every detail despite her shock, took note that the butterflies did wear barding of leather harness and curious, metal blades that attached to the edges of their wings, adding a sinister aspect to their somber fur and sleek wings.
"They're death monarchs," Shale said, her voice amused. "Bearing leechlances from the depths of the Poison Swamp." She slapped Cae's armored shoulder, pauldron clacking under the impact. "They'll do!"
Cae grunted, quietly. She turned back and regarded the territory she would be working with. The army had mustered as swiftly as it could and marched to a point where they'd have time enough to prepare the ground somewhat. This had somewhat constricted her choices – she would have preferred most to force the enemy army to have to choose between withdrawing or engaging with a swamp at their backs...but that was not to be. Instead, they were in a fairly clear area between two low hills made of the skulls of vast, cyclopean entities that were half buried and half covered in moss. The far end of the field slowly broke apart into the scattered floating islands that sometimes wrenched themselves from the ground in the Hellish realms, while a broad road wound between them, carved of hardened stone. That road was where the enemies would cross from…
"Those islands, they can be corralled, yes?" Cae asked.
"Yes, sadly, or we'd have an excellent choke point there," Shale murmured.
Cae nodded, then turned to her. She smiled. "One more question, Shale."
Shale arched an eyebrow.
Cae asked her question.
Shale's smile was gentle. "No, I do not believe they do."
Cae nodded and turned back to the landscape. "Give the order."
When Panic's army arrived, it arrived in full and impressive order. With their magicians and their willworkers threaded throughout the two wings of their infantry companies, they were able to force the floating islands down, to grind and crunch their ways back into the vast crevasse they had been wrenched from. The result was uneven but usable ground flanking the obsidian road. That road held the wagons and the mercenaries – the snake-women glittered like emeralds and gold coins in the distance, and the odd sound of their scaled bellies writhing along the ground was a strange undercurrent to the stamping hoof-beats of hundreds of demons on the march. Glittering spear points flickered with a yellowish flame, wrapped around their jagged tips and giving them an unsettling air. Cae fought down the impression, her wings mantling up as she watched the infantry come off the suppressed islands.
The nightmare cavalry of the Baron of Panic had taken up the place of honor behind and around the mercenaries. The Baron, Puzak, was among them. His nightmare was larger than the others, befitting his stature. Puzak looked like fine metal armor, articulate and well crafted, with a yellowish flame rather than flesh, filling in between each leather strap and steel plate. His helmet, hovering in a ball of flickering light, was a fourfold face, each one a different dramatic face from some masque theater: horror, despair, joy, and fury, each one carved in waxy white metal and silver metal. The face that thrust forward was one of fury, snarl lipped, narrow eyed. He bore a lance in one arm, resting its length upon his shoulder.
The ssviath mercenaries remained in a tight clump. Their shields interlocked, their hoods spreading as they hissed in unison – a sibilant war cry that sent shivers and prickles up along Cae's arms underneath her armor.
Cae called out. "Baron of Panic. You seem to be enjoying your constitutional – I hope you didn't have too much trouble in the Swamp of Rot."
Her army, arrayed with halberds and shimmering glass, let out a quiet chuckle as some of the tension diffused. The nightmare bearing Puzak cantered around and then before his heavily armored snake-women. His drama-mask shifted around, and showed the one with a joyous, rapturous expression. "Ahhh, you're Lord Arral's pet angel. How are you liking Hell? Not too disordered for you?"
"It could stand for some improvement in infrastructure," Cae called out, her voice dry.
Puzak's helmet spun around – and horror dominated. "What do you know?" His head swirled around again, joy once more taking its place. "Ah, yes, the watchtowers we marched past." Swirl. Fury. "You thought to slow us down with supplicants? With pathetic mewling worms, grubbing for that putrescent rotting husk you call a Baron!" Swirl. Joy. "We will make a much better home for him, ha ha!"
Cae shook her head. Shale muttered. "Panic never knows his mind one day to the next, they say. It seems it was closer to one second to the next…"
Cae snorted.
"If you, if we, wish to make this easier-" Flames swirled and fury showed once more, replacing joy. "We will rip your wings off, one by one! Fear! Fear and damnation has come to your lands, Heaven-bitch!"
"Creator above, do you people never have a new insult," Cae called out, keeping her voice even. She could feel it, deep in her muscles, in her bone: That voice, that erratic, jangling voice. It was at once nasly and distinctly male – and, yet, also, every thought she had ever heard in the back of her mind during battle, watching cavalry form up, watching winged beasts swirl in vast, coruscating swarms. She knew it was the voice every mortal heard, in the moment when things required them to be at their steadiest, when their hearts screamed to run...to run! To run! It was the voice of Panic, and the only reason that Baron Puzak wasn't having his forces charge was that he thought every single syllable he uttered from his flaming lips would fill her forces with more and more of that urge. To break. To run. But Cae knew the same, simple mortal trick that every leader that had ever faced down an army in battle knew.
If you acted like you were not afraid, your men would believe it.
If they believed it, they would feel it.
And if they felt it, then they could do the impossible.
"It's always heaven's bitch this, angel-cunt that, can you at the very least find some measure of critique for my generalship? My sword-skills? In Her name, you could at the very least find something snide to say about my heraldics – I always thought Heaven smiths were a tad gaudy, I mean…" She lifted one arm, grinning as sunlight glittered off her armor. "Gold pauldrons, silver runes, with iconography in bass relief along every armor plate? Do you think that might be a little much?"
Puzak's faces had begun to spin once more – but Fury was the one that shrieked out. "You insult me at your peril!" He turned, then thrust out his hand. "Implosion balistrey! Pepper them!"
"Shields," Cae said, her voice pitched just so – loud, not panicking.
The wagons, hidden by the bulk of Puzak's army, had finished their unpacking and their preparations. Though Cae could not see them, she could hear the humming whirr, the crackle, and the twhung-crack! of the massive torsion bows being loosed, the implosion balistrey loosing their charged lightning shards into the air. Crackling blue sparks arced up, deceptively slow, lazily creeping towards the exact midpoint on a parabolic arc. By the time they reached it, Cae's army had thrown up their shields. The heavy wooden frames were reinforced with some fire runes, courtesy of Baron Citri.
The blue sparks stopped in the air, then transformed from sparks into bolts of lightning, which strobed and pulsed, shooting down, each one going in a perfectly straight line. The balistray didn't quite have precision accuracy – instead, the beads it fired were simply let to pepper a circle roughly a mile wide. The only problem was that they did not simply pierce through when they struck! Each lightning bolt punched a hole in the world which swelled with blackness and then collapsed back in on itself, sucking up everything in a several yard radius, exploding upwards into swirling, toadstool clouds that quickly choked the air of the battlefield with pals of dust.
Each lightning bolt that struck the enchanted shields, though, did not pierce through. They instead rebounded off, skittering and striking the ground yards and yards away as their energy gave out, ripping holes there rather than in the ranks of the army. Some lightning bolts slipped past shields and demons screamed as they were ripped from their formations. The lucky ones at the edge of the interface point between hole and the rest of the world were merely yanked off their feet by the vacuum collapse. Those who were less lucky, who stood closer to the hole, simply ceased to be.
Cae evaluated the bombardment.
Ineffective. Her lines remained steady and the majority of the damage was in gouging craters out of the ground ahead of her forces. But then she saw that the mercenaries were advancing – and before her eyes, a knot of them dropped into one such crater...and it turned out? A slithering snake-woman could simply go down then up again while maintaining their formation, their muscular snake-trunks easily pushing through dirt and debris as if it was barely there. She saw, immediately, why Puzak had paid so much for them, they paired well with his indiscriminate and vicious weapon.
She called out. "Archers! Glass them!" She thrust out with her hand and the archers, their veils fluttering in the whip-crack wind that blew through the formation with every implosion, ducked their heads forward. The hovering glass orbs they used rather than arrows whined as they arced up into the air.
The ssviath women raised their shields. Glass orbs shattered against them, whining as their fragments, guided by the will of the archers, tried to find weak points in the snake's armor. But while their tails were unarmored by artificial means, they remained clad in the thickest scaling of the ssviath's bodies. The glass found no purchase, save for when it managed to slice and cut into their hoods. The women remained steadfast and Cae frowned.
"Heavy infantry advancing into archer fire wins every time," she grumbled. Creator above, what she wouldn't give for just ten Centurions from Heaven. She ignored it. The snakes were getting within range for a charge, and a second bombardment had just been weathered by her troops. She forced her gaze away from the mercs and towards the cavalry. The nightmares had moved almost entirely to the right flank, swinging wide. She could see the plan: They would thunder down the gentle slope of one of those skulls…
The archers were in position and arrows, almost unnoticed in the din, had begun to fall.
Cae nodded quietly. "Any second now."
She had, unfortunately, no way to signal to the cavalry when precisely they needed to act. She just had to hope their commander had a good head on his shoulders.
It transpired…
That he did.
The floating islands behind the Baron of Panic's lines lifted up with a grinding creak, earth shifting against earth. From the darkness came the cavalry: death monarchs, their wings glittering with steel shod edges, swept up and out of their hiding spot. While they could not fly, they could hover, maintaining their distance between earth and sky. And yet, fly they did, fly across the battlefield, as cavalry had since man first rode upon the back of horse, scorpion or chariot. Their lancers let out the war cry of their realm: "By rot! By ruin!" And their lances plunged into the backs of the demons serving the implosion balistrays. Cries of fear, of pain, of...panic filled the army of Puzak. His nightmare reared, flaming hooves kicking the air, sending up sparks as his multi-masked head spun in the swirling flames that served as his neck.
Horns blew. Infantry wheeled. Archers fired. But it was too late, the death monarchs were in the backline of the enemy. From her vantage point, Cae could see that those shod wings were not for show. A lancer would aim straight for a mass of infantry, spur their butterfly mount into motion, and glide across the battlefield, like ice dropped onto a pan that was scalding hot. Skittering forward, their edged wings would slice, gouting up black blood as they carved into the lightly armored infantrydemons they flew down. And while the wings worked, the leechlances would do their own merry business: Tips dragged into pools of blood, soaking into the organic lattices of the lances, making them engorged with dark red promise. Thus stiffened, the lances were thrust again and again, plunging through armor, and sending more demons sprawling to the earth.
The enemy wavered in this hammer blow.
"Archers! Far aft!"
Cae's bellow redirected their fire. Glass globes whistled up and above the mercenaries that had nearly reached her lines, and began to shatter into the light infantry and the cavalry that Puzak had planned to use as the hammer to his bought anvil. Without the balistray providing fire, her archers were able to loose globe after globe in whistling, screaming volleys.
Convulsing, the enemy army broke, and the death monarchs drank deeply of their blood and their panic. The only fragment of the army that remained intact was Puzak's nightmare cavalry, who formed up around the Baron of Panic, shields held aloft. Glass glittered around them as the archers directed fire upon their fleeing formation – but their armor was heavy enough, and their steeds swift enough, that only a scant few actually fell under bombardment. This left the heavily armored mercenaries in a small circle. They had fallen back, locked shields, pressed tail tip to tail tip, and glowered around themselves.
Shale and Cae both walked towards them and stopped a firm distance off, regarding the snakes curiously.
"So, do...we hire them?" Shale murmured quietly.
Cae clicked her tongue. "Not a bad idea," she said, her voice quiet. "Not a bad idea at all."
She stepped forward a few more feet, wings flaring wide. Her hand took hold of her helmet, tugging it off, so the snake-women could see her face. She called to them. "Fair warriors, you have fought as well as your coin and spirits might be asked – do you now seek to lay down your arms and...perhaps...take new commission? The Realm of Ruin is in sore need of noble and brave warriors such as yourself – and we have resources to offer that might make what Pestilence seem a paltry offering indeed. What say you?"
There was a short pause, then a hissing voice called out.
"Sssssuck my eggssssss!"
"I do not believe they're inclined to the offer," Shale said, while Cae snorted.
"It seems a pity to spill the blood of mortal women whose only crime was to take the coin of the Baron of Panic," she called out.
The snakes shifted and one of them emerged. She was the largest of the women, taller and broader, her snake-tail scarred by many a battlefield. Her green scales had been buffed and polished before the battle, but were now streaked with rust-red dust and dirt, blood scoring several thin gashes along her sides. Her hood was pocked with several impacts, and a bleeding cut dripped along the edge of her left curve. Her armor was ornately made, with broad pauldrons and lamellar plates that interlocked over her bust, terminating at where a normal woman's legs would begin. She had the traditional blade of her people in one hand – a curved kopesh sword – and her other held a shield that had been struck several times by incoming glass globes, leaving it scratched, pitted, but not dented. Her eyes were the same warm orange-gold of the desert during sunset.
"We are the Shields of the Sun. We never break a contract – if a mercenary company gets known for breaking a contract, well…" She flicked out her tongue, tasting the air. "They stop being a mercenary company faster than you can imagine."
"Seems that if you are cut down to the last woman, you'd stop being a company even faster," Cae said.
"True," the commander of the Shields of the Sun said. "We offer, instead, surrender. We will be your prisoners, under parole, to be ransomed back to the city of Sevethketh once they are made aware of our survival. We are contracted to them before any other. They will pay for us."
Cae lifted her chin, frowning. "And if we're attacked again?"
The snake woman shrugged. "We can dig. We make entrenchments. Or, if you prefer, we can remain in the stockade."
Shale frowned, stepping to Cae's side. Her voice was soft. "We don't have a stockade."
Cae regarded the mercenaries, frowning. Rather than answering the problem of heavy infantry and their need for it, the snake-women had instead tossed into her lap half a dozen more problems. She let out a slow sigh, shaking her head.
"...then we'll have to make one," she said.
The snake women relaxed, subtly. Their shields lowered.
The bloodletting was done for the day.
But Cae was terribly aware that the headaches had only just started.
TO BE CONTINUED
"Hey, Dragon Cobolt, why is this chapter half as long as normal?"
This week was very busy! I got as much done as I could manage, I'm sorry!
So, thoughts after taking for longer than a day to forget about everything I remember reading scattered spoilers on your twitter (curse my brain's spicyness): This story has a ton of neat details and investigation. Combat exists, but ultimately as a puzzle, and a tertiary one to interpersonal relationships and exploring the structures of this universe/collection of them (I refuse to use the m word), which seriously juxtiposes what Diablo & Darkstalkers are regularly 'about' (even though I've liked Diablo 1, 2, and 4's stories).
Each discovery Caelel makes has its own unique rewards, both in understanding herself and figuring out what she actually wants to do to better the everyone's lot in their respective worlds (and also better her own lot by exploring who she truly is). Anyway, can't wait to see where this goes.
So, thoughts after taking for longer than a day to forget about everything I remember reading scattered spoilers on your twitter (curse my brain's spicyness): This story has a ton of neat details and investigation. Combat exists, but ultimately as a puzzle, and a tertiary one to interpersonal relationships and exploring the structures of this universe/collection of them (I refuse to use the m word), which seriously juxtiposes what Diablo & Darkstalkers are regularly 'about' (even though I've liked Diablo 1, 2, and 4's stories).
Each discovery Caelel makes has its own unique rewards, both in understanding herself and figuring out what she actually wants to do to better the everyone's lot in their respective worlds (and also better her own lot by exploring who she truly is). Anyway, can't wait to see where this goes.
Thank you! I did worry a little if I was getting the 'balance' between romance and the generalship that is the ostensible hook and plot of the story...right, but also, it's a romance novel called BY RUIN REDEEMED, I figured there's slightly more kissy/feelings than swords and sieges, that's forgivable.
An exemplary chapter as always!! I love the infantrydemon's conundrum at the start, and the butterfly cav in the middle, and the ssviath mercenaries at the end!! I adore a good snake lady!!!!
