Erwarth’s PoV - Elemental Plane of Earth
The lord only has five guards left when they retreat to grab their wealth and run. Clouds of alchemical poison blend into their bodies as they reform from the gaseous forms they’d used to flee. Teleport having already placed me behind an ornate statue, I’ve got a front-row seat when the realisation of his error crosses the lord’s face, and he hardens into stone.
One by one, I crush their forms before a strike from my war hammer punts the lord’s head into the back wall, getting me another rush of experience. I head towards his office when I’ve looted their remains, and the treasures previously left untouched. We’ve days of work ahead to collect and scour the memory crystals this town favours for their records to find more locations.
The sounds of battle have died away by the time I exit the bolthole beneath the central tower. Through the crystal windows, I can see queues of collared individuals already trudging through the town’s centre, where Fainil stands with one of Dao’s superior command staves. Her appearance was like the others, that of an Elven warrior with dark grey armour and apparel to blend into the rock. The resigned expression they all possess at their complete lack of control vanished when the first that passed the checks had their collar unlocked. Most break down weeping, though teams stand by for those that turn violent instead. Those that don’t pass the mental examinations are sent onwards where a team waits to deal with them away from those we’ll save.
The necessity of taking their will away from them has Fainil looking as if she’d prefer to be back breeding for the Dao prince again. But it’s the only way we can ensure no latent orders would force them to injure themselves or other slaves. Or, like those we condemn to death, more likely to slaughter everything about them.
When the first notes ring out behind me, I turn and stop with my blade half-drawn. A memory crystal I’d just picked up dropped from my hand at the sound of the Song that greets me from the Gate. Crystal spires shine in the sunlight vibrating with the wind rushing along their curves, the collection together forming music that speaks of the Outlands’ wild balance. The light gleams off Ebusuku’s golden armour, and white wings almost wholly block the Gate before she transforms to match my height in a wingless but still armoured form.
“Ebusuku. What’s brings you by to such a lovely place?” I ask and catch Ebusuku’s lips twitch at my sarcasm.
“I need to pass some items along to one of you. Sírdhem asked me to give them to you, said you’d need a break from gathering records.”
“What have you picked up?”
Ebusuku’s mouth twists like a foul taste was on her tongue, before she spits out the words. “Torment Lodestone. We’ve been recovering them from Cemna. I keep putting off dealing with them, but Amdirlain would prefer them not to have gone to waste. In her words, the Souls have already suffered, and we can’t change that, but we can make it mean something good instead. There isn’t any place we could sell them other than the Abyss.”
“Dealing in those will attract attention,” I can already tell she doesn’t need the reminder when an idea comes to mind. “We’ll make the trail lead back to the Sisterhood.”
“I’ll leave their disposal up to you, but don’t risk any of your teams,” Ebusuku replies and moves to stand by the closest window. The tacky gold frames, with all their inset gemstones, looked shallow compared to the beauty of her armour. “Amdirlain wants materials able to be purified of Abyssal energy to make equipment. I didn’t let her know how much attention even one of those will attract, yet now we have hundreds to sell.”
“Has Isa changed her mind yet about travelling to a grotto?”
The eye roll I get is a simple enough answer. “I’m not sure you could drag her into the Abyss; she knows what it’s like. Her Infernal superiors often sent the pair of them into the Abyss to scout out the preparations of Demon Lords or the movements of reinforcements. Now they’re both Planetars they want to—admittedly wisely—stay far away from it. They’ve been levelling again with all their work gathering the materials with O’Nai. So far, they’ve almost got everything needed for the crafting.”
“Well, that’s one thing, but I’d hope she’d change her mind,” I reply, and a quick Spell, cast in frustration, melts leering golden lips from a nearby gaudy bust.
“You’ve taken down a large town. That must have been a stretch for your teams,” Ebusuku says, gesturing outside to change the subject.
I almost return to discussing Isa, but it’s neither Ebusuku''s fault nor responsibility and truthfully, it’s not Isa’s either. We put them in their prison. “We did it short-handed; only those currently replacing classes took part.”
“Anyone ready to Prestige yet?”
“Not yet. I take it you talked to Sidero about helping?”
The quick snort of amusement has me ready to ask for details, but she continues before I prompt her. “Yeah, she’ll purge classes whenever you’re ready, and she’ll keep her fee reasonable.”
“It’s not quite what I’d expected of one of Amdirlain’s friends, but what does she want?”
“I think she was kidding. When I asked, Klipyl said everyone needed to pick a safe word for their playdate, after which Sidero remarked about keeping her fee reasonable.”
Shaking my head, I make my view clear. “Both of them are more than a little strange.”
“You’re hardly able to point fingers in that regard. Amdirlain seems to have a talent for finding the strangest individuals.” Ebusuku says before she gives me a grin and gestures to herself, the admission cutting off my retort.
“How is her Mind Palace looking now?” I ask instead, wondering at how many of the Sisterhood’s plots going subtly sideways Ebusuku had been responsible for over the centuries.
“She’s got a dozen completely freed now, though wounds are still closing. She still can’t control what memories she retrieves and none of them have come from the same lifetime—so far as she can tell. I’ll be glad when she’s back, but hopefully she takes the time she needs,” Ebusuku answers, and then gives me a sudden smirk. “Are you sure none of you want to visit Letveri?”
Her innocent tone prompts me to glare at her, seeing connections I hadn’t considered before. “We all remember how to block a Mantle. You’d not set us up the way you did Sidero. We’ve debts to repay.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ebusuku says smoothly, and though I catch a faint hint of amusement, its reason is unclear.
“She had minimal personal interaction with the Erakk?, and then after one company attends a battle with her, they worship her. Do you think I can’t tell a setup? Did you prepare the Erakk? or just pick those to go along that she’d impress?”
She just smiles and waves me off. “I didn’t; Torm did.”
That news almost tempts me to want to meet the persistent Celestial. “Why?”
“All he’d say was that he was following instructions from his boss,” says Ebusuku.
“Right, and you had nothing to do with it at all. Did you perhaps suggest it to his boss?” I ask, and a thought has my shoulder tightening so quickly my bone-wings rattle. “You’ve not taken that course of action with Isa?”
“You still want to get her to help in the Abyss? If she gains a Mantle it’s unlikely she’d even get into the Abyss at that point,” Ebusuku points out and unhooks a storage bag from her belt. “Plus, Torm is still not happy with her. Fancy a Celestial holding a grudge this long.”
The dry humour in the last statement causes me to snort; the eternal patience of some Celestials, and their willingness to never forget, isn’t an uncommon thing. Though she has a point with the concerns about the Mantle, I still prod for more. “Plus, you’re still angry with her, so perhaps you don’t want to give her that chance at power.”
Ebusuku doesn’t meet my gaze but scatters stones from the storage bag across the elaborate marble desk and the feel of them sends a pulse across my skin. They’re so rich with the energy of Soul shrieking torment that it stirs my demonic lust to heights I’d prefer to avoid. “I hope your teams don’t find too many more of these, Ebusuku.”
“We’re going to move to a different region again. Something will come looking for who''s cutting into their profits in those canyons. Fortunately, Ilya gave us directions to a Wizard Academy on the northern edge. They had engraved maps of large world sections on their library ceiling, so we know where to head to find more ruins.”
“No, I meant I don’t want to deal with how they feel to-”
A spike of sensations has me sweeping all the crystals into the storage bag that I snatched from her hand.
“I don’t get those sorts of responses anymore, and the progenitor’s lineage mostly didn’t. Though my mother seems to have come off the rails even further now,“ admits Ebusuku, and I’m not sure I want to know what she means by the last.
“We’ll see what materials we can pick up for these and bring them back so Mirage or you can purify the metals. It seems I’ll have to get one of the unpurged to deal with the sale though—so many together got through my control.”
“Do you still expect to need Sidero to purge classes for more shortly?”
I give a sharp nod, gesturing out the window at the ex-slaves queuing up to get their collars removed. “Not straight away, but this settlement likely gave us all a considerable boost of experience. I hadn’t expected it to fall. We were simply here to massacre as many Dao as we could. Instead, we ended up with thousands of them dead in a night, and I’ve already been told all wounded team members have recovered. Do you have more symbols? There are a few species down there I don’t recognise freeing previously.”
“You could have been lucky,” cautions Ebusuku.
The knowing look I give her draws a smile of acknowledgement. “You’ve gotten too used to dealing with all your younglings. I know we were, but we’re also levelling faster than any group of Demons has a right to do. We’re going to shove our fist down this Empire’s throat soon and start squeezing the life from it.”
“Just don’t get too confident. Amdirlain wouldn’t be happy with herself if any of you got pinned back in the Abyss, and vulnerable to the Sisterhood hunting you.”
“We’ve each reset our Home Plane thanks to that Grimoire you passed along. We won’t end up anywhere the Sisterhood has influence,” I reply, and flex a wing to forestall her objections. “But we plan to switch back to smaller settlements after we’ve completed the clean up here. We’ve got eight modest mining operations that depend on this place for backup. We’ll hit them, then take our attacks to another region of the Empire.”
“Something I should tell you: let those interested in Amdirlain know to be careful. We had a rash of Petitioners from more worlds you’ve freed people to, where the established interests weren’t happy with Amdirlain’s presence among them.”
“Do you have a list of the worlds?” I ask blandly and met Ebusuku’s gaze with an innocent smile.
“What do you plan to do with it?” asks Ebusuku, eyeing me suspiciously. “I’ve hired some additional Dwarven mercenaries, and they’ve secured compounds for the survivors to give them time to get established.”
“Oh, just in case we find any more individuals native to them, we’ll let them know to take care.”
My glib answer doesn’t lessen Ebusuku’s justified suspicion, but she quickly hands me over a list and another storage bag. “The latest lot of equipment that’s ready for you, including symbols, some better weapons, and a few crates of potions. Dozens of the Hound Archons have taken to Alchemy in a big way.”
“Not liking their choices?” I ask, taking a poke at the note of frustration in her voice. “I’m shocked.”
“That’s not it at all. The gatherers need to keep ahead of all the reagents and materials they’re consuming,” replies Ebusuku, clearly exasperated by the bottomless pit for materials that magical crafters can become.
“Just provide them with the basics, and if they want more, they can choose to go on expeditions to do the gathering. Have they at least gone with Sidero so they level faster?”
Ebusuku smiles at me, like I’m trying to teach a Succubus how to suck cock. “Yes, and others have accompanied Isa material gathering since she also has the same effect. We get them out of the Domain once with that information. Afterwards, they usually make excuses about being in the middle of ‘just another’ batch.”
“Well, at least they’ll be levelling their crafting classes at a Mortal rate. I’ll let you know as soon as we’re back out of the Abyss with the proceeds,” I say, and secure the storage bag.
With a quick nod, Ebusuku simply disappears, leaving me to tear apart the office for every record I can find.
* * *
There aren’t a few crates of potions but rather twelve in the storage bag, and they all get used up tending to the slaves. Ground down by the constant mistreatment by the Dao, it’s weeks before they’re all recovered, and returned to their homes.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
While we’d achieve the biggest number of Dao kills—at a ratio of fifty to one—the number of slaves rescued had taken a lot of time to help. When the last Gate was closed behind them it was almost a relief, yet the news Ebusuku had delivered made me concerned we’ve sent some to their deaths.
“Anyone have a preferred location for selling the Torment Lodestones?” I ask the moment everyone’s found a spot to sit with the last Gate sending survivors home having closed.
“Iron Spire on Torrent, we can sell them to the enchanter’s consortium there,” Fainil says after a thoughtful silence settles across the group.
“That’s Naz’ricla’s Home Plane,” observes N?r, from her spot sprawled out on a rock ledge. The way she trails a hand across her stomach and between her thighs gives the impression she’s daydreaming about a lover coming to call.
Fainil’s grin turns vicious at the observation. “I saw how many wings Amdirlain carried to the tanner after a session with Naz’ricla; I want to bury her in trouble. She was involved in the raids the Sisterhood conducted against Orcus a half-century ago, so its plausible for her to have come into possession of them. They’re too valuable to allow a Sister to keep though, very naughty to have kept any at all.”
“Likely they’ll have her among the breeders, since she’s planar locked at present,” argues N?r, her fingers digging into a thigh through the leathers she’s currently wearing.
“I still want to cause her trouble.” retorts Fainil.
Leaning across Calithil, Sírdhem give Fainil’s shoulder a thump, and the silver-haired beauty pushes Sírdhem away before she gets stuck in the squabbling between them. “Do you think they’ll believe she snuck out of the stronghold?”
Sírdhem’s question is enough to still Fainil’s reply—either physical or mere words—but still Calithil shoos Sírdhem further away. When she goes to sit near N?r though, she gets smacked by a quick swipe of N?r’s long red braid.
“Point,” Fainil admits, the word drawn out in a reluctant admission, having already ignored the rest of the byplay as she considered the situation.
“It’s possible,” N?r offers, and the others glance at her in confusion. “There are ways out of the breeder’s section of the strongholds. You lot just haven’t spent enough time among them to know. If they learn she’s been out, and selling goods that she should have told the sisterhood about…”
“Who’s got Electrical Immunity? Not Greater Resistance, Immunity; Torrent’s lightning bolts aren’t for those with lesser resistances, especially not in the Iron Spire,” I state, and note N?r along with a half dozen others raising their hands. “N?r, you’re in charge. Pick two to go with you.”
She flows upright dumping a set of Sisterhood armour onto her resting spot, before she signals two among those available that have Blood Monk and strips. Her form blurs into the familiar Sisterhood uniform shape before she dons the armour. “We’ll leave everything not Sisterhood-issue, in our refuge. The enchanters won’t want to sell materials, so I’ll get finished items and go trade for ingots in one of the mining centres.”
When they vanish, I open a Gate to Cemna and the others rise to their feet, eager to be out in the sunlight again. The curved arches of the buildings that show the erratic pattern of stonework common to the Elven species that had called it home. Their living view of stone having grown from the Songs that had birthed them from the various stones native to the planet.
“It’s so quiet,” murmurs Sírdhem, and the others nods despite the sound of wildlife both in the tree choked streets, and the forest just beyond the wall. The plants growing in the streets are far smaller than the centuries the city’s been deserted should have allowed to obtain, but that they’re all growing between the trunks of long fallen trees shows the cause.
“Let’s check the central spire. Perhaps Isa missed any relics they kept,” I suggest.
Sírdhem’s casual shrug isn’t a hopeful gesture. “She can hear True Song. Do you think she would have missed hearing them?”
“Ebusuku said this was the first city Ilya brought her to for training. Do you think she would have possessed enough knowledge to separate any relic’s music from the surrounding Song?” I ask. When no one answers the rhetorical question, I Teleport skywards.
I spare a moment to take in the beauty still within the circular streets and spiralling sun towers that rise above the buildings along the city’s outer ring. Moving towards the city’s centre, we soon pass the outer line of statues—double the height of the closest sun tower—each holding a circular fighting disc at the ready. I can’t help but wonder if it was following their ancient custom of paying homage to the place’s first ruler or simply a generic figure.
* * *
The inhabitants might have kept relics for themselves, but we find signs Lóm? had deliberately left something behind in the central palace. The markers guide us to ancient passages that are hard to bypass without True Song’s aid, but after days of effort, working our way through them finally bears fruit. In a music room beneath the palace, we find a small crystal harp atop a plinth in the room’s centre. The body’s material glows from within, yet its strings appear formed of the deepest blue of a midnight sky.
“It’s one of the noble lap harps. Are you sure you want to risk this Erwarth?” asks Fainil, her voice low as if she were concerned that she might anger the relic by her presence.
“Since Isa remains unwilling, it’s a risk I think I need to take; everyone else leaves,” I command and raise a hand before they voice expected protests. “If it won’t allow me near, its Song might lash out. Use no powers until you reseal the doors behind you. It might not be a full-sized harp, but it’s more than enough to destroy us all.”
Only once they’re outside the room, and I hear the outer door seal, do I move forward. The first touch of its aura’s light upon my skin makes me hiss in pain and I hasten forward, glad I’ve replaced all my Abyssal equipment with Dwarven gear. I don’t try for subtle but stretching the mouth of a storage bag open; I cover the harp in a single move. The brief moments of close contact with its aura having soaked the surrounding ground with a spray of Demonic ichor from half-a-hundred wounds.
Where the harp had been sitting shining from within the top of the plinth’s crystal, I see a most unexpected House crest—my own. A blue planet circled with shimmering rings of gleaming ice with the sun setting behind it. I can’t hear the Song within but the memory of its beauty has me ache for tears I can’t shed sealed in this form.
“Was this here originally, or did you send it, Titan?”
There is no answer, nor do I expect one, but after sending a Message for the others to resume operations, I open a Gate to the cavern’s edge.
The beauty of the Burning Grotto’s Song, at least, is one I can hear, with the crystals spires and broken walls still resonating true. Approaching until the Song is painful, I remove the harp from the storage bag, and rest it on a flat rock in one smooth motion, despite the pain.
Teleporting away the moment it settles safely into place, I watch as the Ichor I left behind dissolves under the aura’s assault. As the Burning Grotto’s Song reaches its beginning again, the harp resonates with it. Each note that emanates from it fills the air with a tranquil feel of night, and within the closest shattered crystals I see the cracks narrow. Waiting beyond the edge of its aura’s reach, I sit to wait and heal.
It’s some time before I see movement among the spires, and a figure armoured in black True Song crystal edged with mithril and a closed helm, crosses the boundary formed by a broken gate. Their stride shows they’re female, but they’ve no house symbols or rank to tell her importance among the survivors. I wait for her to approach and watch her gait to ensure she’s flesh and blood and not a construct. “Who were you to bring such an item to this place, and not already be destroyed, Succubus?”
“Once I was called Ewdil, I was the conductor of the Chorus that Balnérith bound, I now use the name Erwarth.”
“That name alone wouldn’t promote trust, but I can hear the self-accusation and regret in your Song. You may call me Pengeth. What is your purpose here?”
A single name only with no House, but I still take it as a hopeful gesture that she provided any name. “I bring this harp to aid your barrier and bring news of events. I seek word with anyone that might advise us by what means we might aid you.”
I can barely see her eyes through the helm, but I catch enough to tell the suspicion present when she glances at the harp, but she moves forward again. A soft Song filled with notes calling of curiosity stirs from her lips, and my flesh reverberates with every note, unsettling energy that fortunately stays beneath the threshold of pain. “You speak the truth, the harp is safe, yet questions remain: you serve a Fallen, but I cannot hear their part in the Oath’s duet.”
“It is part of my tale that I would wish advice upon. The Oath to the Fallen you hear within me is to an Anar who left the Titan’s reality upon the fall. Someone cursed her unfairly and returned her here with two others. She seeks to free herself from the curse, and has freed another, but the situation is complex.”
Pengeth said nothing for long moments, and I just waited, listening to her heartbeat’s slow, moist sound. “I will speak to the Elders. Step clear from the harp so that I don’t risk hurting you without reason to do so.”
When I’m clear from it, she glides forward and smoothly lifts it up. The aura flares to life at her slightest touch, almost striking me despite the dozen metres I’d allowed. Without even a glance, but doubtless aware of my Song, she doesn’t hesitate in returning into the grotto’s depths.
Perching on a nearby ledge, I get ready for a wait, and don’t bother wondering how long their discussions will take, it will take however long it takes. Getting past this first stage in one piece is enough of a victory for now.
The reports from N?r that come in while I wait are something to celebrate; enough material to craft equipment for legions of Celestials—and a few wayward succubi. When the others report that the mines we’d intended to strike are empty, contemplating all the options about how the word could have gotten out gives me a mental exercise to fill my time.
The Song repeats flawlessly for three days before I see not one figure but two returning this way. The armoured figure is Pengeth from her gait, and the figure behind isn’t one I’d expected to see. Despite his confident demeanour and sure grace he looks worn. Silvery hair he’d once worn in a long braid is sheared so close that it is nearly stubble fit for mourning. His ageless features are unlined, but his deep emerald eyes look hollow with fatigue, and his once expressive mouth is in a tight line of worry.
I almost flee the moment I feel the weight of his gaze tracing over me, from the top arch of my bone wings and down to my boots. Yet unexpectedly, his gaze doesn’t grow judgemental, but tears glisten unshed in his eyes.
“What advice is it you desire, Ewdil?” asks Roher, after a long pause with them both having approached me almost to arm’s reach.
“That is not my name now, Lord Roher-” I reply.
With a look of exasperation, he waves my response aside. “I don’t care what you’d label yourself, daughter. Erwarth is not your name—it is an accusation—and one you’ve unfairly placed upon your Song. Yes, you were the conductor of the Chorus that approached Balnérith for aid, but the decision to accept the agreement her messenger brought was not yours alone. I would not label you a betrayer. We should have suspected she was hiding something when she didn’t come herself, or at the very least, speak to the royal council via a Spell.”
“It is still the name I choose for deeds I need to make right,” I insist, my hands clenching tight doesn’t draw a hostile reaction from either of them, but a calmness settles across Pengeth as my father steps close enough to touch. I can see him fighting the urge to do so, as his protections would likely snuff me out.
“Stubborn one, you are not to blame, and your mother and I still love you,” declares Roher, determination brushing away the fatigue in his gaze. “I came when I got word, though I can’t be long away from the place that we serve. What news do you have that the others freed from Balnérith’s grasp did not know?”
“You’ve heard from them?”
“Twenty-five lost ones returned to us many days past, having shed their demonic shell to join the Souls singing to the crystals for a sanctuary’s defence. We learnt about her Sigil weakening unexpectedly, and they rejoiced to remove it at last. They did not know how it had occurred.”
“Neither did we until we met Lady Amdirlain—who I swore Oath to—she was once Orhêthurin, Lord Roher.”
The flicker of surprise in his gaze is clear, but so is the exasperation. “Lord Roher? Can you not call me father, or at least Roher, since you are long past the rites of adulthood? As for the Anar, we felt them depart. Their Song faded from the universe. I would hear your tale, beloved daughter.”
“The tale is not just mine, but Lady Amdirlain’s as well. She’s not available, but an Astral Deva in her service has a transcript of her account. I should have gained a copy to bring with me.”
“Why do I feel unsurprised that the Lady of Dawn manages the impossible,” mutters Roher, and shakes his head. “A Celestial in service to one bound as a Fallen. Why is she not available?”
“She has a mortal’s perception still from her last life, and has endured horrors after returning here as a Succubus—at present she’s healing and meditating. The curse that returned her here sits upon her alone, not those in her service. She has gained the service of Angels only by enduring a painful challenge of will. The first of her servants came from failed powers freed by a Named Succubus who also endured the Titan’s trial to rise to become a Solar.”
Father looks almost sickened by my explanation and I know he can hear the worry in my Song from the tales Ebusuku has shared.
“This sounds like a substantial tale, but I meant in Mortal terms that I can’t spend much time here. Would you arrange a transcript of the tale to be brought?”
“Of course, Lord-” the glare he fixes me with stops my reply, and nodding in apology, I continue on. “Father, I never expected both of you to be still alive.”
“I will show you the edge of the sanctuary I serve. You will come visit regularly or your mother will have my ears. However, I’m here now at the invitation of this Sanctuary’s Elders and others are carrying my burden of the Song. So let us attend to the matters at hand first. You asked how you can help, I believe?”
“Yes, I don’t know what you need or what challenges you face. Are there any that would benefit from additional Souls to sing to the crystals?”
“Were you involved with how so many lost ones have returned in the last decade?” asks Pengeth in surprise, interrupting father’s reply.
“The initial efforts were only Lady Amdirlain’s, especially this place’s initial expansion. We didn’t even know the various Nox forms had Souls imprisoned in them until she told us. She can see Souls; none of us have that capability.” I reply and motion to the crystals. “We didn’t even know the Souls were singing to the crystals when we first came here. We had been listening to the Song and deciding if we should end the existence of our current forms when she found us.”
“We certainly need to hear more details than I had expected, but what you''ve already said requires acting on. Would you consult with your Elders’ Pengeth that we may perhaps postpone this discussion? There are sanctuaries close to their breaking point from fatigued singers; Souls to help sing to the crystals would mean many kept safe.”
Pengeth gives a sharp nod, and doesn’t walk back to the sanctuary’s depths but teleports away.
* * *
Naz’rilca''s PoV - Sisterhood Stronghold - Torrent
Her hungry snarls tempted Naz’rilca to slap the brat, cage and all across the room, but the chance of killing the—as yet—fragile pest stayed her hand. Taking her from the cage, Naz’rilca moved her top so the infant could feed, her sharp teeth drawing blood that mixed with Naz’rilca’s yellowish milk.
Bolts of lightning crashed towards the battlements far below the window, illuminating her barren chamber with a blue-white afterglow. The bright light spilled across the child’s dark red skin and tiny bat-like wings, but she didn’t even blink in surprise at the light or the noise. With both Succubi native to this plane, the lightning posed no threat to either.
“Hurry and grow, you slow little shit. At this rate, you’ll still be sucking my tits when they want me knocked up again.”
Naz’rilca’s growl didn’t prompt the child to suckle any faster. For a moment she actually paused, understanding the slowness caused frustration to the being feeding her, she stayed latched onto Naz’rilca’s breast. The emptiness in the child’s pitch-black eyes growing greater still before she resumed suckling. The slow twitch of her wings reminds Naz’rilca of the one that had brought her to this fate as a mere breeder for the Sisterhood.
The door smashed open with a bang that startled the baby Succubus, not for the noise but rather the shadowy male figure that filled the doorway. Its mere presence set the energy to drain from the air, and his featureless face fixed on them both.
“You are to come with me.”
He didn’t wait for her acknowledgement but turned and walked away.
Naz’rilca had to force the child to release its hold so quickly her teeth took a chunk of nipple before being returned to the cage. The blood darkened the leather front even as she healed, but she hurried after the quarters’ guardian.
Entering the breeding mistress’ office, the cold hostility from the Sister sitting behind her desk slowed Naz’rilca’s pace, and the guardian stepped to one side of the doorway before he shoved her towards the desk.
“How many more Torment Lodestones did you not turn in from the campaign raiding Orcus?”
“I gained none during the raids,” Naz’rilca replied immediately, not mentioning the ones given to her by others to repay their debts.
“Your lies are disappointing,” the Mistress stated, and set a Torment Lodestone on the desk. The energies that stirred within the room caused Naz’rilca to hold back a groan of pleasure and momentarily distracted her.
An icy fist wrapped itself in her hair at a flick of the Mistress’s wings and slammed Naz’rilca face down across the stone desk. Blows and counters applied with lightning speed blocked every effort to get free.
"I shall have to educate you about the theft of Sisterhood resources."