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Chapter 8 : Proper Care and Feeding Of the Souls of the Damned

Hovering over the abyss within him, Tuco scanned the glittering expanse of souls that belonged to him. "It's like night in here," he murmured aloud. "I can see through any darkness in earth or the Abyss, but not here."

"Because it is the Voidsea, the true Abyss." Baron Mammon's voice sounded small and distant. "The ocean of souls forever shunned by the One Above. Do you see the brighter lights?"

Tuco looked up from the tiny lights bobbing in shadow-waves. Far distant, he saw larger ones, still dim, but looking the size of moons, dwarfing the tiny lights that floated around them. They looked like embers blazing in the midst of inky shadow: dull red, flickering orange, ghostly blue. "I see them."

"Those are the Fallen Stars. Devils in the Abyss, tending their souls. You, too, are a beacon in that darkness, Sir Tuco, and your souls cluster around you, hungry for your light."

"It's so sad."

"Perhaps. But Paradise, too, is sad, viewed through the eyes of the soul. Perhaps you will see it one day. But come now. Find your soul."

Tuco swept over the Voidsea, passing uncountable twinkles. He didn't know the name of the one he searched, but he felt himself drawn anyway, pulled toward a glittering corner of his private ocean. There, he found one tiny light, floating up and down. He dove toward it, and it grew larger and warmer and encompassed him, as though he were floating down into the inviting glow of a well-lit room in a dark night. There he saw her, his soul. Her name was Henley, and she was held in limbo, awaiting something other than waiting, her eyes watching the darkness, but turning toward him as he illuminated her small space of limbostone. Her shape was made of light, and her light made up her memories, uncountable motes of light made of moments of her life: her parents, her love of gardens, her career as an herbalist, the sickly patient she fell in love with, their wedding, the births of their six children, and the loss of four as infants, her husband's death to the plague, her son's determination to work hard to care for her and his sister, the landlord that evicted them, her son's death, and the fire that burned in her to see him hanged for it. It was then that Sathanus had whispered in her heart, promising her that pain would be answered, that vengeance would be visited upon the landlord in the Abyss, and all she need do was promise to glory in his suffering. How heartily she agreed, in her pain and anger, and how readily Sathanus took her soul.

"It wasn't even wrong," Tuco murmured.

"She wished for the suffering of another," Mammon answered.

"But she didn't cause it!"

"'You have heard that it was said, 'Thou shalt not murder.' But I say to you that everyone who looks at a man with hateful intent has already committed murder in his heart.' The book of Matityahu. It was enough for the Almighty to condemn her, for she did not repent. I remember that landlord you saw, and indeed, he is punished. He is one of mine, for he fed his own family well while hers suffered, and his greed delivered him to me."

"What do I do now?" Tuco asked.

"Bring her up to us. Find her limbostone and let us see it."

Tuco concentrated, and somewhere in the depths of his demesne, great stones moved. He felt the vibrations beneath his garden as the little light of the woman drew nearer, and then he startled out of his darkness, opening his eyes as the ground beneath him trembled. He stepped back from the unfolding of earth, several finely manicured rose bushes falling away as an enormous slab of limbostone erupted from the soil.

The Baron smirked. "Very well done, if a little messy. Are you certain you were not born a devil? You take to it so well." He rolled his shoulders and stepped toward the limbostone.

The woman was trapped inside. She was old, and tired-looking, her hands braced against the edges of the stone as though in an attempt to escape.

"What would you do with her?" Mammon inquired. "What should her fate be for wishing evil upon another?"

"That cannot be her only sin," Tuco objected.

"No indeed--gaze upon her life, if you wish. Has she not longed for physical pleasure, for extra food, to be superior to her peers? Look at the stuff that composes her life. It is what makes up every soul in your dominion: desire. Want is what moves mortals through life, what motivates them, what drives them both to greatness and to darkness. They are such stuff as dreams are made on, Tuco, and their little lives are rounded with a sleep."

"A very pretty sentiment," Tuco observed.

"Not mine. One of the souls that belongs to Morningstar. But apt, don't you think? Desire inflames and moves them, and finally damns them. It is only the worst sin you see now, that of hatred toward another child of the Almighty."

"How can it be wrong to hate someone that God Himself damned to the Abyss?" Tuco blurted out, and saw Mammon flinch. "I mean, the One Above," he amended.

"The faithful do not question Him," Mammon answered. "This is how the world is made, an immutable fact of its existence. Now. What punishment will be hers for all eternity?"

"What punishment could possibly be just? She was only angry because her children died, and the one man who could have helped her made it worse!"

The Baron put a hand on Tuco's shoulder. The physical touch was grounding, pulling him out of the ethereal plane of darkness and light and memories. Tuco breathed in deep, smelling upturned soil and the sweet nectar of his roses. "You must do something with her," Mammon said gently. "You may punish her, you may leave her in the tedium of limbo, or you may do something else. The decision you make is yours, but it will affect all the souls in your custody. Your demesne will learn how you intend to treat others. You may be like Sathanus, tormenting them and feeding them endlessly to your demons. Or you may choose a different path. The One Above has surrendered custody of them. They are yours to tend now."

Tuco turned over the possibilities in his mind. He could, perhaps, have her live as the landlord she'd despised and feel her hatred turned against herself. He could give her the punishment she'd wished on him. Neither felt right or just. He could put her in a world with the landlord in it and let her visit whatever vengeance or wrath she wished upon him, he thought. Give her what she wanted, and perhaps she would see that vengeance was unsatisfying. But perhaps it would only give her a taste for it. He could feel her hunger for another to suffer as she had suffered, like a barb in her soul, and perhaps if she indulged in that, it would only push that thorn deeper.

He spoke aloud. "I know this soul is mine to look after now, but it doesn't seem right to punish her. Wasn't it suffering that led her to her fall? I don't see how further suffering helps anything. And I can't teach her any kind of lesson. She's older than me and lived an entire life. How could I impart any kind of wisdom that would help? And what good would it do now?" He frowned. "I think I know what I want to do."

And in her mind, he found her place of peace: it was a spring morning, twilight, before most had risen, and she sat in her night garments in the grass by a pond, listening to birds heralding the dawn and watching the tiny ripples of insects gliding across the surface of the still water. Without even knowing how he did it, he crafted this world around her, weaving it out of threads of limbostone and shaping the void around it like clay, his talons crafting long stalks, his fingerprints daubing the edges of the pool, smoothing out the water like glass.

And then, without even intending it, he shaped her as well; her toes stretched and extended, digging deep into the soft, loamy soil by the pond. Her arms reached up for the sky. Another finger grew from each of her hands, and then another, and then her arms branched out. She gasped as her growing toes found water and drew it up into her. Her hundreds of fingertips burst into brilliant green leaves, unfurling under the brightening sky and extending out into long tendrils that arched down from her lengthening arms to brush the surface of the water. Her skin turned smooth and grey, becoming bark, and her head tilted back to greet the coming dawn as her hair grew long and green around her. Then she stood in her place of peace, a willow tree, tasting the good water of the earth, breathing from every fingertip the taste of the sky, turning to meet the rising sun as it bathed her leaves in warmth.

"I think that is the best I can do for now," Tuco said as he came back to himself. "I didn't mean to change her, at all, though. That just happened." He looked back at Baron Mammon.

The Baron shook his horned head. "Souls cannot help but change around us. But this fate you have crafted surprises me. No ironic punishments? No pain, no malice? You made a place of paradise for her. From a devil of lust, I might have expected the landlord to return in an arousing form, one that made her loins pulse for her once-enemy. You might have let her endure the torment of being irresistibly drawn to the man she hated."

"That... is a good idea," Tuco admitted. "But I thought she had suffered enough."

"And when her soul wearies of the peaceful eternity you have crafted for her and longs to rise, to engage with the world again?"

Tuco shrugged his broad shoulders. "I suppose I will try to give it to her. How can she be punished just for what she wished for in her heart? Don't we all wish for things? How can desire itself be evil?"

The Baron gazed at him for a long moment. "How, indeed? So. This is the sort of devil you will be for the minor sinners in your hoard. But now I find myself curious how you would foster a great sinner. Shall we take a look at one?"

"I suppose I ought to."

"Then seek out that soul within your dominion. Vlad ?epe?. Gaze upon his deeds and do not shy away."

It took little time to find this soul. The limbostone containing it was large, looming above the other souls in the Voidsea as though ruling them, and the stone itself was pitted, pocked, and cracked, as though someone had beaten against it with weapons, tried to destroy it. Tuco guided it toward himself, and after a few moments, it slid and shuddered up out of the ground, dwarfing the empty limbostone that had held the woman from before. This stone contained the soul of a tall, dark-haired man with large, powerful-looking hands. His wide green eyes stared, frozen, at some point in the sky beyond Tuco, but something in his gaze seemed broken, as though the window of his soul had fractured. Tuco braced himself and looked into the man to see who he had been and what, exactly, he had done. As Baron Mammon had advised him, he resolved he would not look away. He must see the person truly if he were to assign a worthy fate.

A moment later, he was staggering backward, his gut knotting, tears flowing from his eyes. He dropped heavily to his knees and put his claws to his head as though he could tear the visions he had just seen from his memory. The horrific sights filled his mind, evils that Vlad III had committed beyond his comprehension. His stomach heaved as though he could disgorge the recollection, but there was no way to unsee what he had beheld. The soul before him was vile, filled with contempt and hatred for his fellow man, and with pride and a sense of glory at the terrible things he had done. To soldiers. To scholars. To mothers. To infants. Not only had he tormented them but he had thrilled in it; he had drawn great pleasure in the depravities of violence, mutilation, and torture he had invented for them. Tuco put his hands to the ground and wept.

"Ah ha," Baron Mammon said gently behind him. "And now that you have seen, what should be done with this soul?"

Some part of Tuco wanted to say that the spheres would not be well-served by a punishment of even an evil this great, that torment added onto torment only made the world worse, but that part of him was now small and shuddering in the dark at the horrors it had seen. What should be done with this evil king? No punishment is too terrible for him, snarled the voice in his mind. He should be rent, he should be torn apart, he should be flayed and stretched across the sun and devoured by ants! We will visit our vengeance upon him tenfold! We will make him suffer a thousand times what he has visited upon every person he harmed! This is justice. We will show him what hell means!

And Tuco tilted back his head and roared to the night sky of the Abyss, so loudly that even Baron Mammon crouched next to him, covering his head with both arms. His ears ringing from his own bellow, Tuco lifted both his arms over his head and brought them down heavily on the limbostone containing the soul of Vlad III. With a sound like a thunderclap, he smote it in twain, the broken pieces toppling to either side of him. For a moment, they held the cleft soul of Vlad within them, one wide green eye staring up at him from each shard. Then, like smoke, the soul of Vlad roiled out of the split stone and coalesced into the form of the man himself, who stood momentarily confused, and then cowering before Tuco.

"Please, oh great devil," he stammered, dropping prostrate on the ground before Tuco's toes, "what have I done to earn the torments I have suffered here? Certainly, I killed many. I tortured many. But it was necessary! All of it was done in the service of my country--all done to make Wallachia a strong and unified nation!"

So sickened by what he had seen was he, so consumed by his own wrath, that Tuco felt almost as though he were not in control of his limbs as he stooped and snatched the cowering man up off the ground with one hand. The soul of Vlad ?epe? ought to have been heavy with the weight of his terrible sins, but, squirming in terror at the end of Tuco's arm, he weighed less than a shadow.

"Please! Please!" the man howled.

But all Tuco could think of was the horrors this man had inflicted on others. "Silence, worm!" he snarled through bared fangs. "You think that I cannot see the evil that suffuses your soul? The pleasure you took in doing it? You think there is any torment I can devise that you will not deserve?"

The man beat in terror at Tuco's hand, trying to free himself, but his blows were the fluttering of a moth's wings against glass. He was dwindling in Tuco's grip, smaller with every second, his eyes going wider.

"Worm you are," Tuco growled at him, "and worm you will become for eternity, or until I think of something worse to do to you." And as it shrank, the soul of Vlad began to shift. He howled in terror as his eyes sealed over with flesh, leaving him blind, his features softening, his arms and legs shrinking away as all his bones dissolved inside him. He shrank down, more and more, wriggling in Tuco's grip, and then his fist, and then between thumb and forefinger, until he had become just a worm with the remnants of a terrified human expression, stubby vestigial arms dangling from his sides. His tiny mouth opened in fear.

"Grovel for your meals of dirt in my meadows," Tuco told him. "And pray that I do not see fit to fill the field with crow." And with that, he drew back his arm and flung the tiny creature away into the grass. Then he stood, panting, as the rage that had seized him suddenly fled, leaving him standing next to the Baron, shaking and bewildered. He felt suddenly released, as though in its own way, the fury had gripped and flung him about just as he had the evil king.

Baron Mammon arched one thin eyebrow. "Well. Wasn't that interesting."

"It's... it's far less than he deserved," Tuco stammered, certain of that much even if somewhat appalled at the terrifying devil he had momentarily become.

"True enough. But interesting nonetheless. Perhaps an innocent such as you was not truly prepared for the visage of great evil. I ought to have eased you in with a mere murderer or two, I suppose."

"I don't quite know--" Tuco began, and then a piercing pain shot through both sides of his head. He doubled over, clutching at his temples with both hands as the pain intensified, then dulled to a strange throbbing and shifting of bone. His hot blood ran down his fingers as he felt two new horns push out between the previous pairs, their curved surfaces ridged, thickening as they sprouted and grew, sweeping back over his scaled head, larger and prouder than any of the four previous. After a moment, the sensation was gone, and he stood upright again, feeling his powerful neck adjusting to carry the weight of his new horns, feeling the way it changed the balance of his head.

"And that," observed Baron Mammon, "is even more interesting."

Tuco gave him a pleading look. "Do you know what it is? Do you know why this is happening to me?"

"I may," the Baron answered calmly, "but it is not for me to say. A devil must leave his own tracks, as they say. Still. Accept my apologies for pushing you so. I assure you, I wished you no distress. And your demesne has begun to learn what you think of your sinners: the sweetness of your mercy, and the ferocity of your fury. All devils need the latter, but few possess the former."

"I wish I had not reacted so immediately," Tuco said. "Surely justice is delivered with measured sobriety, not with a spirit of vengeance."

"Consider whose demesne you inherited. And consider too that your punishment is far kinder than what that soul suffered under Sathanus. Even in your wroth you are merciful."

"I wanted to do worse," Tuco admitted. "I wanted him to suffer everything he made others suffer, tenfold, a thousandfold."

"And such is your prerogative, should you change your mind, Sir Tuco. You might visit greater punishment upon him, or you might see fit to grant him mercy."

Images of Vlad ?epe?'s atrocities flooded Tuco's mind again, and he shuddered. "I thought all evil had an innocent reason behind it. That always it was rooted in pain, or madness, or bad teachings."

"And now?"

Tuco inhaled. "Now I know that some men are cruel because they can be. Because they find pleasure in causing pain, in exerting their power over others, and seek out chances to do so. Some enjoy the perversity of tormenting the weak and innocent even more. But that's a desire too, isn't it? Where did it come from? Was he born with it? Or did a devil place the desire in his heart?"

"Place the desire there?" The Baron sounded shocked. "Do you think we can do that? We do not create desire; desire is part of what men are. All we do is listen to it, and sometimes, shape them in answer to it." He gave Tuco a measured look. "I think I see now. I have tested you, and I have come to a decision. I have another gift for you."

"I--I do not need another gift," Tuco protested.

"Nonsense. I insist. Be a little greedy today, won't you? For me, Tooky? I promise you this is a gift you will greatly appreciate. And if you don't, you can order me to rescind it, and I will obey. Follow me, if you will."

His head still whirling from the events of the night, and bobbing a little with the weight of six horns, Tuco followed Baron Mammon back to the front of his manor. The crunch of the rocks under his feet was reassuring, and he tried to push from his mind the thoughts of the evil he had encountered, and his strange and overwhelming reaction to it. He would have to prepare himself, he realized, to adjudicate the fate of more of the souls in his demesne, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that however terrible some of them might be, he had already seen the worst of them. And what had made his new horns sprout like that? Was it the logos of Sathanus asserting itself? But Sathanus had borne only two horns. No matter how much he learned about what was happening, still further questions arose.

The wild lightning music rose in volume as he followed the Baron through the dazzling entourage that had assembled in his front gardens. He was acutely aware of the stares of demons and mortal souls trapped in the endless party as he strode past them, his swinging nudity in contrast to the glittering costumes and bright accessories of the dancers. Several demons dared dance at Tuco's side or in front of him, their gyrations rawly sexual and plainly inviting, hips swaying toward him, backs arched, rumps nudged against him, tails lifted. On all sides, hungry eyes lured him, tongues licked fangs, fingers beckoned hopefully.

Tuco's everpresent lust reasserted itself, and the thoughts of dallying with each of them over and over, driving them into a full orgy of demonic satiation, nearly distracted him, but he kept his focus and followed the Baron back to an enormous purple pavilion tent that had been erected at the center of the procession. The Baron stepped inside the tent, and as Tuco followed, the thundering music outside dulled impossibly to a distant, quiet beat.

The pavilion was much larger inside than out, its ceiling reaching toward the stars, huge swaths of purple fabric arching down to drift airily above them. The floor of the pavilion was all cushions of various colors and sizes, piled here and there, but never revealing an inch of the grass beneath the tent. Graceful-legged tables protruded from the soft floor, bearing arrangements of spiced meats, exotic fruits, and pitchers of sweet-smelling wines. Even the air was different, delicately scented with a musky perfume that sent the tension from Tuco's shoulders. He tried to put himself on guard for an ambush of some kind, for this was a Baron of the Abyss, and all of them wished for his souls, did they not? All the same, he felt at ease for the first time all night, in a way that did not seem to him false or artificially induced.

"Do you find my pavilion comfortable?" the Baron asked, pouring two goblets of wine from a pitcher and passing one to Tuco.

"I do," Tuco admitted. "I wish I had one like it."

"You could, you know, sweet thing. You can shape your demesne as you wish."

"I am still unused to the idea that I can... just have anything that I want." Tuco sniffed the wine. It could be poisoned, he supposed. He resolved not to drink it, just in case.

The Baron gave him a disappointed glance and drank deep from his own goblet. "It's a very fine vintage, you know. But I suppose you must be cautious. Even with me. For now."

"What do you mean, for now?"

Mammon rolled his narrow shoulders and then reached up to his collar and undid the clasp at his throat, removing the purple cloak from his costume. "I mean, Sir Tuco," he continued, as he took off his jacket, revealing the gold sleeves of his shirt, "that intend to offer you my fealty."

Tuco stared at him, uncomprehending. "You mean you want me to offer my--but you mean--you are going to--but you're a Baron!"

Mammon chuckled, untying the laces of his gold shirt and revealing his slender, dark red chest. "Indeed, the fact had not escaped me. I would, of course, offer that fealty in trade for a night of seeing just what a handsome incubus like you has to offer."

"You--you want me to..." Tuco faltered. "Why?"

"The incubus who made Asmodeus himself shoot his soul out through his own dick? Who wouldn't want to try?"

"But why would a Baron of the Abyss swear fealty to a Knight?"

Mammon gave him a smile and a hooded gaze. "Let us just say that I see great things in you, Sir Tuco Witchywine, and I've always prided myself on picking the right side. Save for that first time, when the One Above flung us from the heavens. But a more important question, Tooky, is why any devil would say no when another offers to swear fealty to him."

"Because there must be some deception, some... ambush."

"Your caution will serve you well, but in this, I swear to you, there is no trick, no lie. Fealty cannot be guised or feigned. Though of course, you could suspect me of lying about that as well. Which is why I propose a deal. All know deals with devils must be followed to the letter."

"A deal?"

"Indeed. You spend two hours having sex with me, and I grant you my unwavering fealty. I will wear your brand with pride, and you shall become Baron. No tricks. No deceptions. And," he added, looking over his shoulder, "I think if I can trust you not to devour my soul when you finish with me, you can trust me to try a little of the wine. It's quite good, and shouldn't go to waste."

Bemused, Tuco took a delicate sip of the wine. In that sip, he could taste the hills of Rome, the heat of the sun, the splash of Mediterranean rains. The salt on the fingers of the vineyard hand who had plucked the grapes; the wood of the wine casks, the water that had washed the feet that had crushed the grapes. "It is good wine," he said in surprise, his forked tongue catching the air.

"It is," Baron Mammon answered with a smile. "Now are you going to help me undress, or not?" He pulled open his shirt to reveal the lean shelf of his pectorals, the flat lines of his dark red stomach descending into his purple breeches. His eyes drifted down to Tuco's nude loins, and Tuco felt the erotic thrill of his shaft changing shape to meet the Baron's desires: his two-foot long, spiked demon cock shrank down to something only about a foot long, pleasantly girthy, and smooth-skinned, looking human other than its still prodigious size and the dark red color that matched Tuco's scales.

He looked up at the Baron in surprise. "It's the first time I've been with someone who didn't want me gigantic down there," he said, and the aching firmness of his shaft jutting upward felt no less intense.

The Baron winked at him. "Take it from a devil of greed. Sometimes less is more. So do we have a deal?"

Tuco let his eyes travel up and down Mammon's lean, athletic frame. "We have a deal." He took another draught from his goblet, set it down, and strode over to Mammon, enjoying the way the Baron's eyes widened in excitement, the way he had to look up to see Tuco's face. Tuco helped him to shrug out of his shirt and stood close, his incubus lust surging to the forefront, making his cock drip with sudden and intense arousal, nearly poking Mammon in the chest.

"I still have these breeches on," Mammon teased him, and in response, Tuco gripped the breeches and gold hose in his talons and tore them away, ripping them off the devil's legs as though they were no more than cobwebs. Mammon gasped in surprise, his long, slender cock, spined as Tuco's had been a moment ago, bobbing before him, already hard. His legs were strong-looking, well-muscled, probably from dancing, and his forked tail swayed excitedly behind him. Tuco reached down and gripped him, hefting him up by the thighs, and his tail twined around Mammon's and began writhing of its own accord as though teasing a cock. Mammon's tail squirmed in response, and the devil grinned up at Tuco over his chest. "Well, those two are already having fun," he said. "Give me a taste of your incubus power. I want to feel its strength."

Tuco gathered up the forces of lust within him. By now he had learned how to control them rather easily, though he could not always stop them from leaking out and affecting those around him on a constant low level. Now he gave Mammon a quick pulse of his power, enough to make the slender devil arch his back in his grip. With a cry, the devil bucked his hips, sending a little jet of his precome up to splash against his belly. A dazed grin spread across his face. "That was stronger than I--" he began, but Tuco didn't let him finish, sending this time a much stronger pulse of his lust--still only a fraction of what he could manage, but enough to widen Mammon's purple eyes as he jerked in Tuco's grip as though struck by lightning. Once, twice, thrice his cock jolted before him, without being touched, and the tip fountained clear precome, coating his shaft.

Tuco's long tongue slid from his jaws to curl around Mammon's cock and clean the slippery fluids free. He found to his surprise that they were sweet, like honeysuckle, but at the touch of his tongue, the devil shuddered, and pushed weakly against Tuco's chest. "Stop. Stop. I'm too close. I'll come."

"Already?" Tuco asked in surprise. "But never mind. I can always make you ready again."

"I know, I know, but if I--if I climax," Baron Mammon said, squeezing his dark-lashed eyes closed, "then I'll have to fulfill my end of the bargain. And after that, it will be different. But now, right now... I am nobility being overwhelmed by his rough and brazen Knight. I want to enjoy that."

"Then you shall not come," Tuco told him. "Until I allow you. Is that clear?" And to his surprise, he found that the waves of lust in the Baron were his to master, that just as he could send arousal crashing through the greater devil, so too could he tie it off, like a knot around Mammon's shaft. Mammon gave him an astonished stare and nodded jerkily.

"Good," Tuco said, and he set Mammon down. Standing nude before Tuco, stripped of his fine clothes, it was apparent just how much Tuco loomed over him; the Baron was smaller in mass than one of Tuco's arms, and standing before him put him right at nose-height with Tuco's dripping tip. Mammon eyed that drooling helmet and licked his lips, so Tuco reached down with one hand, gripped Mammon's short horns, and pulled his head toward him, allowing the devil lord to suckle hungrily at his tip for a moment, an action he rewarded with a hot faceful of precome. Mammon groaned and tugged at his shaft while licking at his own lips and chin.

Tuco lay back in the cushions, which were both soft and deep, and pulled Mammon down with him; the devil could sprawl across his broad chest with room to spare, and he set to licking and suckling at Tuco's tip while Tuco leaned up and explored the devil's thighs and rump with broad licks of his tongue. He bathed the two globes of Mammon's well-muscled backside with hungry laps, and then buried his face in Mammon's ass, his tongue writhing like a serpent as he pushed it through the Baron's twitching ring and up into him, making him howl in shock and overwhelming pleasure--only to grip the Baron's horns and shove his gasping mouth back down around Tuco's own precome-fountaining cock.

He skewered Mammon from both ends, pushing his shaft deeper and deeper into the devil's flexible throat even as he slid his serpentine tongue deeper into his backside, wriggling it further, and all the while wondering with an erotic thrill if he could actually meet in the middle, tasting his own cock from the other end. No fewer than four times, he felt Mammon's orgasm rise, escalate, and slam against the pinnacles of his arousal in a desperate attempt to climax, only to be stymied by Tuco's imposed limit on him. Mammon made frantic, choking groans around Tuco's cock; he bucked his hips spasmodically; he tugged at his own shaft with both hands, and yet he could not climax. Tuco had managed absolute erotic control over him.

With gentleness, Tuco finally withdrew his tongue from within the Baron, pulling him free of his cock, and kissed him, tasting his own shaft on the Baron's tongue. Mammon's eyes rolled in overwhelmed arousal and he pawed feebly at Tuco's chest. "More," he moaned. "Give me more."

And so Tuco gave him more. Holding the Baron above him, he slid his shaft into place between Mammon's well-lubricated thighs, his cock splashing the exhausted devil with coats of precome. The devil's tail wound around his shaft, giving insistent, needy tugs, and so Tuco pushed inside him, burying a few inches of his footlong shaft inside Mammon's hot gut. Mammon panted, planting kisses across Tuco's chest every time Tuco breathed in and those massive mountains rose, and each time, Tuco pushed a little deeper, until finally he was hilted all the way inside the Baron of Greed.

He wasn't sure how long they rutted. He rode the Baron slow for a while, and then slammed into him, making him cry out in pleasure. He rolled over and drove Mammon into the cushions, atop him like a predator that had caught his prey; he stood and demonstrated his prowess by holding Mammon steady with one hand and driving into him with forceful thrusts; he clutched him to his chest with one powerful forearm and rutted him with short, insistent jolts of his hips alone.

"I'm ready. I'm ready to come," the Baron finally told him. "Finish me, and I will complete our bargain."

It was then that Tuco gave him a sharp-toothed grin. "No," he said.

"But--but we had a deal!" Mammon stammered, eyes widening.

"Our deal was you would pledge your fealty after I satisfied you. I haven't satisfied you yet."

"So let me climax!" Mammon clenched his eyes shut, struggling as the waves of orgasm rose within him again, only to meet the wall of Tuco's control over him. "Please!"

Tuco's grin widened. "Pledge your fealty to me now. Then I will let you come."

The Baron drew in a shuddering, amazed gasp. "I... I knew I was right about you," he managed through his panting. He tugged at his shaft again, trying to coax the eruption from it, but it would not come. "I won't let you win that easily though."

"You can always get up and leave," Tuco teased him, easing back into a slow, rocking rhythm.

"I--I will!" Baron Mammon vowed. He started to pull forward, sliding up from around Tuco's shaft, and then groaned, shuddering at another intense wave of need, and pushed himself down harder. "I can't. Just... just honor the agreement. Let me come, and I swear to you I will pledge fealty."

"No." Tuco flexed his cock inside Mammon, making the devil yelp and shudder.

Again Mammon tugged at his shaft, using his hand and his tail, and again he failed. Tears of frustration brimmed in his eyes.. "But--but I--" He clenched his pointed teeth, groaning again, panting. He rubbed the tears from his eyes and left a smear of his own precome across his nose. He panted a few more times, and then gave in, desperate resignation dimming his eyes. "As you... as you command. I, Baron Mammon, vow--aggh!" He broke off, gasping in pleasure as Tuco gave another mischievous flex inside him. "--vow to faithfully obey Tuco Witchywine. To him I grant my title of Baron of the Abyss, and all rights, privileges, powers, and responsibilities thereby accorded, from here and unto eternity, and I pledge my fealty, now and forever."

He clutched at Tuco's arms, shuddering in withheld pleasure. "Satisfied?" As he stared up at Tuco, the mark appeared on the inside of his right arm: three circles enclosed in a larger one, blazing with crimson light as it burned its way into his wrist. The sign was unmistakable: he belonged to Tuco now.

Tuco grinned. "Not quite." And then he sent out the most powerful surge of erotic pleasure he could muster, letting it grow like a rising wave before releasing it to crash against Mammon's being, the force of the blast so intense it blew out the sides of the tent, lifting them as though in a high wind. Mammon's eyes rolled back in his head as arousal roared through his body. He arched his back hard, his thin tail lashing wildly, his erection straining toward the sky, looking as though it might split... and then Tuco released him. He came like a fountain, sending forceful arcs of devil come flying toward the high ceiling of the tent, his clawed hands clutching at the cushions. It looked almost painful, and it kept going, past eight spasms of climax, past ten.

Tuco considered he might have pushed things a little too far; a chorus of roars and moans echoed from outside the pavilion. His own climax took him, and he joined their roars with his own, pouring his infernal seed into Mammon as the smaller devil twitched and jerked around him as though possessed. After a full twenty arcs of seed, Mammon lay back, panting, the whites showing around his purple eyes, the dark liner smeared with his tears, and then his panting began accelerating, and another orgasm rose within him and overtook him, his straining cock dribbling what was left of his seed as he stabbed it at the sky. For nearly as long the first time, he rode out the waves of pleasure and then finally, woozily, lay back and relaxed.

Tuco was pulling steadily out of him when the third climax washed over him, and at that one, Mammon seemed to pass out, his eyes closing, body slumping back into the come-spattered cushions. Even unconscious, his shaft continued to jerk as his orgasm continued.

I hope this isn't permanent, Tuco worried as he gently pulled himself out of the climaxing devil. He arranged some of the dryer cushions around the Baron's--no, around his vassal's--twitching body and walked toward the tent entrance, leaving him there to ride out the waves of ecstasy.

I'm nobility now, he thought to himself in amazement. A Baron of the Abyss. I wonder if this is going to make things easier or even more complicated. He stepped through the entrance to the tent.

The music had stopped, for no one was left standing to play it. The once-Baron's entire entourage lay sprawled across the gardens, lost in erotic fervor. Some stroked themselves, some were engaged in autofellatio, and others were locked in sexual bliss with each other, humping into the bushes or up against walls or in large, writhing piles of demons and damned souls. The sounds of moans, cries, bellows, whimpers, and roars came from every direction, punctuated by the guttural bleats of mating sheep out in the hills. I wonder how far this goes, Tuco thought uneasily as he headed inside, passing Hob rather vigorously face-fucking a gargoyle on the eaves above him. Inside, his demonic staff had stripped from their clothing and were engaged in a long, sexual chain of carnality.

"Yes... Lord Witchywine..." panted Peeves, who was planted hips-deep in the head cook. "What can I... do for you...?"

"Er, nothing." Tuco stepped past the contorting bodies of his staff and headed up the stairs. He found the door leading to the balcony and stood out on the walls of his new manor house, staring out over the countryside. Baron Witchywine. That was who he was now. He had defeated--or rather, won over--the Baron of Greed without any conflict at all. He recognized that the entire encounter had been a series of tests of some kind, and he had passed them, though what the Baron--what Mammon--had been looking for in him, he couldn't quite fathom. Nonetheless, he had won, and next, he supposed some devil representing the Temptation of Belonging would be coming after him.

That was worrying, he thought, as he looked out over his grounds, across the masses of demons and damned souls writhing around in the sexual ecstasy he had caused. If there was one temptation he felt weak toward, surely it was that one. Even as a boy, he had never felt in-step with his family, with the other people in his village. Coming to Abyssus Abbey, he had felt an outsider the entire time, and what happened to him had certainly not helped things. Now he was an aberration: a human soul in the body of a devil, ruling over a demesne in the Abyss and hunted by other devils. How wonderful belonging must be--how soothing to know you were in your place, that others wanted you there. But the farther he ascended through the peerage of devilry, the more out-of-place he became. He would have to be on his guard.

After a time, the sexual revelries began to subside, as the powerful blast of arousal he'd flattened everyone with finally began to ebb, and demons and souls alike collapsed in exhaustion around his manor. Even insects in the air dropped to the ground, worn out by their mating frenzy. Uncomfortably, Tuco wondered if the effects of his lust bomb had spread beyond the limits of his demesne, and if so, how far. He had no idea how powerful he had become after assuming the mantle of Baron. He shook his head, feeling the odd weight of his new horns, and went back inside. Sleep did not come naturally in the Abyss, but Tuco found one of his many bedrooms--it, just like all the others, shaped perfectly to comfort and soothe him--lay down on one of the beds, and willed unconsciousness upon himself.

---

He awoke to a gentle tapping at his door and rolled to his feet. "Yes, come in," he said.

Peeves opened the door, bearing a tray with a little scrap of parchment on it. If the rigors of the night before had left him any worse for the wear, he showed no sign of it. "A message from Sir Mammon, My Lord," he said, bowing low.

Tuco noted the change in address both for himself and the once-Baron. "Read it for me?" he suggested, as he turned to a heavy wardrobe and opened it to find clothes well-suited for him. He withdrew a fine outfit of black, pale blue, and gold that seemed to match well the colors of his scales, and frowned, trying to discern how it was meant to be donned.

"Certainly, My Lord," Peeves answered, and made a little gesture with one hand. As he did so, several imps of various colors fluttered into the room, gently withdrew the clothing from Tuco's claws, and began wrapping it around him with startling speed and efficiency. Peeves cleared his throat. "My Ascendant Lord Baron Tuco Witchywine, please do accept my humblest apologies for vacating during your absence, but urgent matters called me elsewhere. I hope that the gifts I have brought you satisfy, though after your performance the previous evening I find myself wondering if anything could sate so magnificent a desire. Forgive me if I do not reflect too directly on it, for even the memory can induce recurrences. It is an honor to have been graced with such an enduring reminder of your power. In the days to come, as you face additional trials and responsibilities, I am glad to know that you will remember me as your servant, one whose eyes were open, and who bent the knee to you, if not willingly in the moment, at least gladly. I am always available to guide you in the ways of wealth, and counsel you to remember always what true wealth is, and what it is for. Yours, Sir Mammon Dis Pater, Knight of Greed."

Peeves looked up. "That is all that is written, My Lord."

"What a peculiar message," Tuco said, shrugging his shoulders in the clothes he had selected. It was a perfect fit, the fabric cunningly woven to move easily around his enormous bulk and the spikes erupting from his shoulders and knees, while permitting his tail free movement. He had no boots or shoes, but scarcely felt he needed them, as no rough surface could cause discomfort to his thick-scaled feet, and finding shoes that would allow his taloned toes to move comfortably would have been nigh-impossible. The fit and colors suited him handsomely, giving him a regal bearing while not diminishing the power of his frame: his chest pushed open his shirt to no small degree, and rolling his shoulders pulled it open farther, creating the impression that if he wished to, he could shrug out of his clothing at a moment's notice. "I wonder what he meant by all that bit about wealth at the end."

"I couldn't say, My Lord," Peeves answered, keeping his eyes lowered.

"Master! Master!" that was Hob's voice, squeaking in the hallway.

"Yes, what is it, Hob?"

The ink-black imp fluttered into the room, darting about Tuco's head. "Master must come and see! So terrible it is! Such treachery!"

"Treachery?" Tuco asked, alarmed. "What are you talking about?"

"Come quickly, master!"

Tuco followed the frantic Hob through the house to the stairway and down past the wine cellar into the cool, dark vaults beneath the manor. There he stopped and stared. The enormous hoard belonging to Sathanus--the uncountable wealth of ages that the Prince of Vengeance had looted from the mortal world, all the gold, the gems, the art, everything, was gone.

"Robbed!" Hob moaned, beating at his head with his little fists. "Master has been robbed! Such treachery!"

Tuco gazed out over the enormous cavern that had once been filled with immeasurable treasure. Nothing remained: not a coin, not a jewel. All that was left was stones. High standing stones that had once been buried beneath the wealth of ages. Limbostones.

"It's all right, Hob," he said, reaching up to grip the little imp in one hand.

Hob calmed down steadily in his fist, his tiny chest heaving. "But--but master, the wicked devil tricked you and stole from you."

"No," Tuco answered. "He gave me something. A reminder. Look out there. What would we do with money and gems? What could we buy? My demesne can be whatever I need it to be. Think about it. I was tearing myself up with worry over what I would do with all those riches, how I could possibly use it to help other people and not hurt them. I don't know how to do any of that. Mammon does." He stared out across the endless array of limbostones, stored by Sathanus through ages upon ages, once buried beneath a mountain of gold. "Wealth isn't meant to be hoarded. That's what he wanted me to understand. And I'm one of the richest devils in the Abyss."

He squared his shoulders. "But we will have to think about what to do later. It's time we headed back to the Abbey. Pike and the others will be worried about us. We need to look in on them. We need to free the innocent people who are trapped in the prison of the Throat. And we need to stop Brother Gabriel from hurting anyone else. And we're almost certain to have another devil coming after me soon, so we need to act as quickly as we can. It will be dangerous, but I'm not just some frightened human apprentice any longer. I'm a damned Baron of the Abyss. I can face what's coming. Now. Hob. How do we leave the Abyss and get back to the mortal world?"

The little imp fluttered back and forth anxiously. "Erm, about that, master. There is a way back to the mortal world, but it isn't easy. Of course, it would be a lot simpler if you had--" He trailed off, his eyes widening, tilting his head back.

Tuco frowned. "What's wrong, Hob? What is it now?" He followed the imp's gaze upward and saw, to his mystification and horror, what looked like a hole being torn in the world above him. Behind it there was nothing. Not blackness, not emptiness, but nothing--a mind-wrenching spot of absence of sensation, of blindness, a rip in existence. "What in blazes is that?" he breathed in astonishment.

"Master, Hob fears that you are being s--"

The imp's voice was cut off, and so was everything else. Tuco stumbled. There was an odd pressure on his ears, and then he was somewhere else.

He stood in a stone room, lit on every side by long, black candles burning with an eerie red flame. He tasted the air and to his surprise and joy knew immediately where he was: he was back in the Abbey! The scent was by now as familiar and reassuring as that of his own bed at home. Ahead of him was a door leading out to one of the corridors. He took an eager step forward, and something unyielding struck his nose, sending him staggering back.

Baffled, he reached out a hand, and his scaled fingertips slid against something solid and invisible. He pressed against it and found it unmovin. "What--what is this?" he growled aloud. He looked down at his feet and saw markings on the floor: the sigils and symbols of a summoning and binding circle. A sudden, dread feeling washed over him. He turned, lashing his tail, and saw a short, nervous-looking Brother, dressed in the brown robes of the Abbey, swinging a censer that emitted a smoke that stank of blood and onions.

"A--avaunt, devil!" the monk cried in a thin, reedy voice. He lifted a crucifix in his right hand, thrusting it toward Tuco. "Satanus, abjuro ego te! You have been summoned and bound by me, and I have questions and demands to make of thee!"

"What are you doing?" Tuco snapped, rolling his eyes. He reached for the impudent little monk, and again his hand struck an invisible wall, one outlined by the circles in the room. An apprentice cowered in his robes behind the monk.

"Abjuro ego te!" the monk cried again, holding his crucifix closer to Tuco. "Do not attempt to deceive me with your devil's tongue. I have summoned you, Sathanus, and you are my prisoner."

"I don't have time for this," Tuco muttered. He tried to raise his voice and hiss a lie to this silly little man: "You want to sssend me home right now." But his tongue cleft to the roof of his mouth. He stumbled back, his tail striking the edge of the circle behind him. He was trapped, and he could not speak.

He was back in Abyssus Abbey, but they thought he was Sathanus. He was trapped, bound by the magic of summoning and binding, completely in the power of the Brothers.

"Now," the little monk said, a smile spreading across his acne-pocked face, "about my demands."