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Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for DarkGoddessLilith | October 2021 | 10512 Words

Glittering stained glass focused warm mid-day sun rays down from the towering heights of the ancient Cathedral of Tristram, casting a shimmering patchwork of color across the long rows of cherrywood pews that lined the silent stone halls of the old church. Powdered with thick incense smoke, the old Horadrim building echoed rich beauty and splendor, despite having stood for centuries. Its new caretakers, the Order of Zakarum, more colloquially known as the Church of Light, did their best to honor and uplift the old seat of power - both Horadrim power, and their own.

It was well known that the Church of Light was in part responsible for the Darkening of Tristram, the fall that condemned the city to ruin and destruction. Archbishop Lazarus was lured by Mephisto into the catacombs beneath the cathedral, and compelled to release Diablo, the Lord of Terror. His actions doomed the city to its cursed and wretched state. And yet, the Church of Light clawed itself out of the ashes, its faithful working tirelessly to regain their image upon the death of their corrupted leader.

On this still and quiet mid-week morning, the grand cathedral's halls sat empty, save for a lone voice softly echoing off the stonework. A lone cantor, draped in the fineries of the Zakarum order, knelt before row upon row of shimmering candles. With but a simple wooden taper, the priest methodically recited a hymn, carefully tending to the wall of roiling flame by tending and re-lighting the flickering candles as needed. A lesson in humility, and focus on devotion to The Light, it was common for the cathedral's caretakers to attend the candles when not otherwise engaged. It helped that the kneeler was situated in the perfect spot within the cathedral; the old building's acoustics threw his praying voice far and wide, allowing anyone entering the cavernous building to know that someone was there, and that they were welcome.

The lone priest did not hear the old wooden door open, lost in his meditation as he noticed the third candle on the left, the fifth row, sputter and fizzle out. "By the light," the young man muttered, pushing his cowl back to reveal a tuft of dark brown hair. "You try my patience."

"I should hope you mean the candle, Good Pastor," a soft-spoken voice called out, causing the priest to nearly drop his burning taper. Turning about, the young man huffed as he saw the lithe figure of a young lady dressed in green leaning up against the edge of the first pew in the church.

"O- Oh! Lady Oraza," the young man said, snorting softly as he diverted his eyes out of respect for the young lady, a soft smile crossing his face as he gave a gentle bow to his guest. "Welcome to the Cathedral of Tristram." Bringing his gaze back up, this time making sure his eyes did not linger on her shapely chest as he spoke. "Please, do not take offense at my silly words. Sometimes it is easier to speak directly to the stubborn candles; put the fear of The Light into them so they remain lit."

"I assure you, there was none taken," the town baker smiled, offering a warm smile and a gentle bow herself, as much as her tight-waisted belt would allow. "I can only imagine how you stay focused on your prayers for so long. I knead dough for far less time and I still have to walkabout to stretch my distracted mind."

"It is a calling, Miss," the young priest said, stepping forward from the candles and around the altar, approaching the empty nave to better greet his guest. "To what do I owe the pleasure of today's visit?" A soft smile crawled across the young man's face, the corners of his mouth slowly drooping as Oraza sized him up.

"I am here to see the Bishop," she said at last, her words causing a brief moment of relief to the priest's face. "My sister should be with him already."

"Of course, Miss," the priest smiled, nodding as heard the pre-arranged passphrase. He guided the sweet baker off to the right ambulatory of the old Cathedral. "He is expecting you." Among the row of tiny chevettes, miniscule chapels designed to venerate the ancient Horadrim mages long since past, stood a heavy wooden door, locked tight with an iron latch and bearing the semi-circle cross of the Zakarum faith. As the young priest fumbled with the lock, his inexperience showing, Oraza could not help but give a second glance over the young man called to serve The Light.

"Good Pastor," the baker asked with a smile, peering back over her shoulder to make sure they truly were alone in the dusky dark of the cathedral. "Might I ask, will you be joining the ceremony?" It was an innocent enough question, though one which brought a sheepish frown to the priest's face.

"I- I am afraid not, Miss-" The young priest hissed the last letter softly, his eyes shifting as he realized she was talking to him candidly, before deciding it was safe to finish, "-tress. I am but the newest member of the cult, and so it is my duty to stand guard."

A smirk cocked across Oraza's face, the corner of her lip upturning ever so softly as she reached out to grab the priest's hand, his eyes growing wide as he felt a cold chill flush through his veins. Raising his gaze to the young lady's eyes, the priest gasped as she seemed to pierce through his soul, heart flickering like a candle as she softly spoke.

"Do not despair, oh Acolyte of Hatred." Her words dripped with an almost honeyed ooze as the world about them seemed to flicker. "You serve a great purpose, even if you miss the ceremony. You are the guise which keeps the coven safe, the illusion which ensnares and confuses." In a blink, the true nature of the Tristram Cathedral flashed into existence. Gaping holes in the ceiling allowed sunlight to bathe the broken, fire-scorched pews. Bones and skeletons littered the floor, the first to fall when evil was unleashed from the catacombs. And there, on the old wooden door that once held back the evil that was Diablo, the Zakarum cross was replaced, painted over by the angular markings of the Cult of the Triune. The young priest, mouth agape, shivered as he stared into the eyes of the succubus, Lady Lucia, her humble disguise as the friendly neighborhood baker, Oraza, fallen as the illusion faded. "You shall be rewarded handsomely for your service. Those who follow the path of enchantment, deception and guile, should consider themselves a vessel, a living embodiment of my grace."

In a flash, the world came crashing back as the illusion blinked into existence once more, accompanied by a flood of icy warmth that seemed to fill the priest's body. Overwhelmed, the young man collapsed to the floor, doubled over on his knees as he realized that he had been singled out to receive a blessing, or perhaps more, from his patron. Of course, Lady Lucia had no further time to waste upon the affairs of her lowest human minions. Brushing the crumpled man aside, she carefully pulled the lock on the door, opening the staircase down to the catacombs. "Rise, oh Acolyte of Hatred," she calmly added over her shoulder, "and walk with my blessing." Before the cantor could even bring himself to an upright kneel, Lucia slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind her. "Ugh..." she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes once she ensured the door was locked behind her. "Typical. Give a man your blessing of eternal damnation and they practically fall all over you."

Descending beneath the towering cathedral, Lady Lucia stepped through the dark and dank corridors of the decrepit catacomb tunnels. With one hand on the side wall, the other holding a torch before her to light the path ahead, the Sister of Darkness felt her way down the decayed pathways, occasionally grasping an indentation that once housed an ossuary or skeleton. But Lucia was not here for the moldy bones of some old Horadrim mage or ancient ruler. As the sorceress stalked the crumbling halls, bathed a gentle red glow from the faintly luminescent Triune runes that lit the way, she could feel something swelling from deep within the caverns below.

Following the crypt through twists and turns, staircases and private prayer spaces, Lucia found herself in the columned halls of a long antechamber. A warm grin passed across her face as she stepped down the walkway, the ancient pillars carved with brooding gothic styling, dripping with a deathly aura, and embellished with even further Triune icons carved into the walls and pillars. Ahead of her sat two small protuberances from the floor, small, carved wooden boxes that rested upon two stone plinths carved straight out of the cavern floor. As she approached, a gout of fire erupted from the door at the head of the antechamber, a rush of heat washing over her as two powerful balrogs seemingly appeared amidst the swirling flame. As the fire subsided, just as Lady Lucia reached the two ornately carved boxes, the pair of guardian Greater Demons bent their knees to the daughter of their Greater Evil lord.

"Mistress," one of the foul, red-scaled demons croaked, their wings tucking behind their backs to expose the door to the chamber ahead, the darkened oak door reminiscent of a cathedral's grand portal. "At your very command."

Gracing her hands over the ornate wooden boxes, Lucia rubbed her fingers over each one, feeling how they seemed to pulse with a dark magic infused within them. Giving a soft nod of approval, she turned to the beasts and commanded, "Arise, my minions. Bring forth the ossuaries, so the ceremony may begin."

Stepping past the two boxes, Lady Lucia need not watch as the pair of balrog guardians lumbered towards the boxes, carefully picking each one off their resting place, before turning to follow their leader through the heavy oaken doors. Stepping through, Lucia sighed as a strange cloying warmth filling her chest. With it came comfort, relief, as one might step into a grand cathedral on the end of a long pilgrimage.

Cathedral was certainly the term to use; the cavernous building was almost a mirror image of the cathedral above, excavated straight out of the heavy rock of the catacombs underground. Thick buttresses provided support to the cavernous hall, with an ornately decorated aisle leading from the rear of the chamber all the way to a grand altar dedicated to the Triune. Pews of stone, worn smooth by decades of use, filled either side of the aisle, packed full of faithful worshippers, members of the Cult of the Triune lost in soft babbling prayer or stone-faced in the presence of their leaders. With the demonic guardians following her in procession, Lady Lucia walked the long aisle, her mere presence causing a stir amongst the mortal worshippers. Yet as she approached what could only be described as the nave of the cathedral, the ominous drone of off-tone choir music and hushed sounds of the cultists gave way to silence as she walked towards the altar. Well, almost silence.

Allowing the balrogs to set the wooden ossuaries down upon the nave of the dark cathedral, the floor seemed to illuminate with a dark energy, a low purplish glow outlining the faintly carved Triune icon sunk into the floor. Lucia's focus was not upon the floor, but the two sets of heavy wooden crossbars positioned just behind the altar. As the inky, corrupted light spread, heavy braziers began to light on their own, a dark red glowing from the seething coals that roiled in their basins, illuminating the soft skin of two, very helpless women hanging spread-eagle from the Saint Andrew's crosses, in a profane mockery of the décor of the Zakarum church. To the left of the altar, a portly, heavyset lady with dusky blond hair hung helpless against her own weight, exhausted from the many hours she had hung from her restraints. Though her skin seemed almost pale, in the style fancied by those in the middle class of the Three Kingdoms, her hands and feet appeared to be purpling thanks to the tightly-secured wrist and ankle cuffs.

To the woman's right hung a more slender, darker toned lady, her jet black hair tousled as she struggled with a bit more fervent desire to escape. Having spent far less time hanging, she continued to make grunting huffs as she worked at the thick metal clasps, desperate to break free from the bonds that held her before the throng of faithful cultists. Without much of an escape plan, she had little chance at actually freeing herself, let alone leaving the catacombs with her life intact. But, she only knew that she needed to try. At worst, it would deny the cult a willing participant in whatever profane ritual they had planned. The pair of helpless captives, though in various states of exhaustion, appeared aware, and alert, though unable to vocalize more than soft grunting and huffing noises through the thick wooden gags forced into their mouths, secured tight with heavy leather straps. Lucia could not help but savor their helplessness; the pair's lives had been reduced so far, from living, happy mortals, to helpless captives, their cries, pleas and threats further dulled to soft whimpers as they hung like living decorations in the profane church's hallowed hall.

"Lucia, dear," a familiar, hissing voice called from off to the side, catching the enchantress off guard. Emerging from a room to the side of the subterranean cathedral, Lady Lilith, the cloven-hoofed succubus, strode with purpose as she entered the cathedral. Imposing, with an air of raw fury that seemed to swell to fill the room, the horned goddess of the underworld sent a hush across the subterranean cathedral. With her long, reptilian tail scraping across the floor behind her, the Daughter of Mephisto led the vestment-clad bishop of the Cult of Triune out from her personal quarters. Her flowing black robes slightly askew, the earthly leader of the profane cabal seemed to be walking funny, a wry smirk plastered on her face, having clearly just received more than a blessing from her dark mistress in the cathedral's rectory. The wicked succubus, however, paid no mind to her enthralled servant, instead focusing upon the fact that her dear twin sister had come at last to begin the ceremony. "I believe we are ready to proceed," Lilith smirked, perhaps a little fond of the preparations made.

"I believe so," Lucia said with a grin, offering a gentle bow to the high priestess, who seemed to be still in a bit of a daze after the 'personal meeting' with her divine patron. "It took my faithful some time to collect the mortal remains. Especially those of the Margrave. But all should be in the ossuaries."

"Good," Lilith nodded, before turning back to the Bishop, who had since steadied herself on the lectern. "My dear high priestess..." Lilith could not help but blow a kiss to the lady, clearly still pleased with the back room sex the two shared. "I ask your humble permission that I may officiate today's ceremony..."

"Y- Yes my Mistress," the young Bishop spoke, her eyes practically glowing with radiance. "You are our esteemed guest." Legs still shaking, she bowed and took her place off to the side of the altar, upon a cathedra designed for the cult's leadership when they were not to address their faithful onlookers. There was no need to ask for permission, of course. Lady Lilith, or Lucia for that matter, could demand, or simply take as they wished from their faithful followers. But of course, a little kindness did go a long way to ensuring obedience among the mortal followers of the Triune. Mortals were always such strange creatures. Strange, but a necessity to build their base of power here in Sanctuary.

As the black-scaled succubus mounted towards the apse, ascending a set of smooth-worn stairs with heavy hoofed stomps, Lady Lilith paused long enough to stare the pair of helpless ladies up and down. Examining their squirming forms, the Daughter of Hatred gave a wry little smirk before turning to address the audience of onlooking cultists.

"My adoring worshippers," she began, resting her hands upon the carved stone altar, a low rumble in her chest as she made no illusions about her relationship to her faithful flock. "We gather here today, to witness the fearful power of the Prime Evils." Though they had lost much of their fight by this point, the two helpless captives renewed their struggles at clear understanding that they were meant to be sacrificed to the horror that was the Prime Evils. "Today you see the true fury and power that flows from the Daughter of Hatred, bestowed to all who serve the forces of the Burning Hells in the battle for the soul of Sanctuary."

Extending her slender, claw-tipped fingers outwards towards the faithful, Lady Lilith crooned a soft and wicked growl as she motioned towards the two wooden ossuaries. In response the masses of faithful worshippers bowing their heads in reverence as the Daughter of Hatred presided over her black mass, the seemingly endless rows of black-robed figured softly reciting a prayer in response to the opening of the service.

"Before me lay the bodies of those who dared to stand in the way of my might," she growled, a soft crackle of static electricity arcing over her palm as he spoke. The Daughter of Hatred need barely begin, and already she could feel the favor of the Prime Evils flowing through the cathedral of darkness. "Margrave Ella Weiss, a young and brash upstart from the Kingdom of Westmarch, lured to her death at the hands of the Sisters of Hatred. And the cocky sorceress-diplomat, Barani Jabir, the one who nearly escaped to warn the world of the evils to flow from the City of New Tristram."

By now, Lucia had taken her place beside the ossuaries, careful to continue channeling her power in a slow and rising fashion. The wooden boxes practically radiated warmth as the lids of each began to crack open, a dark and wispy haze escaping from within, pooling on the ground about her ankles. The guardian balrogs had long since left, returned to guard the entrance, giving the onlooking cultists the perfect view of the black, sooty smoke that roiled about the floor.

"These two have henceforth been bound to serve the Prime Evils," Lilith continued, a warm smirk rolling across her face as she remembered each one's end, their spirits broken before their untimely murders. "Forever shall they be locked in the service of Hatred." Turning to the pair of helpless ladies behind her, Lilith raised her hands high as she allowed her voice to swell. "Tonight, we perform a sacrifice, to bind their spirits to the mortal realm, and resurrect their brittle bones in service of the Sisters of Hatred..." Reaching out, Lilith ran a clawed finger along the exposed thigh of the lady on the right. Slowly licking her lips, Lady Lilith listened as the terrified, plump girl gasped in pain, blood oozing out the thin slit carved in her sensitive inner thigh. "All it shall take," she whispered, cold gaze locked upon the woman as she licked her finger clean of the sweet, irony blood, "is a mortal vessel." Between the pain, and the realization that she was being called a 'mortal vessel' made the dusky-blond woman shudder as Lilith addressed her faithful.

"Today's ceremony marks the first time we strike at those who oppose us in the mortal realm," Lilith boomed, her voice practically electric as she intoned that something far more sinister than raising the dead was afoot. "Before us hang the sniveling bodies of two beautiful young women..." The audience of onlooking cultists seemed to agree, the soft rise of murmurs causing Lilith to motion for silence. "To my left," she lifted her right hand to motion to the dusky-blonde who was dripping blood down the side of her thigh, "is a feisty one, with a taste for the finer things in life. Bridget Mayfair, a well-heeled merchant's daughter from Westmarch who gained a taste for the flesh most forbidden by the laws of mortals." Those words seemed to cause a bit of confusion among the lay-cultists, those who were furthest from the goings-on of the Triune's sinister plots. "There are those who wish to root out and destroy the influence of the Triune. They need not be angels or zealots to be a threat. The City of Westmarch houses an unassuming little butcher's shop, which happens to be the headquarters of the city's demon-hunters. Ridding the land of our demonic influence, while making a tidy profit selling the flesh of our fallen." Turning about to cast a dark gaze upon Bridget, Lady Lilith added, coldly, "Flesh happily consumed by our guest here."

The revelation caused a swell within the onlooking crowd, cultists beginning to jeer, some even shouting, causing the dark cathedral to echo with their calls. Only when Lady Lilith motioned for them to calm, did the crowd seem to hesitantly return to their seats. The impulsiveness of mortals was a curiosity, something that certainly brought a spark to Lady Lucia's eyes as the continued the incantations upon the ossuaries.

"Reserve your anger," Lady Lilith growled, taking heart in her worshippers blind energy and rage. "You shall have your change to commune with her blood. But you stand in the presence of another who dared partake of the flesh of our demonic brethren. A rare catch - a noble birthed woman, Charlotte Tasse, courtier and to the Baroness Kuznetsov herself." Motioning with her right hand, the bared naked woman upon the cross shook her jet-black hair, the long locks flowing over her shoulders as she hung helpless before the crowd. "The sins of her liege come back to bite her. She would not have been captured were it not for the errands she had run."

Shaking her head, the noblewoman whined into her gag as Lady Lilith leveled her eyes upon the helpless woman. "Mmmnpfh!! NNNGH!" A burst of strength, perhaps from the sudden terror, caused her to jerk violently in the shackles holding her arms, the upright cross groaning at the struggles but ultimately holding sturdy.

"What's wrong, my dear?" Lilith asked with a low croon, her slender fingers tracing along the woman's rounded midsection, playfully toying with her pudgy navel. "Do you think it is not fair?" Her glowering gaze was answer enough. "On several occasions you brought packages to the Baroness. Packages of demonic flesh." Lilith leaned in close, craning her neck to press her mouth softly against the terrified noble's ear. "...my flesh, to be exact." Planting a soft nibble upon the fleshy edge of her earlobe, Lilith could practically feel the woman's pulse causing her body to vibrate. Turning back to address the cabal of cultists. "Both of those fine young women fell to their greed. Lured to our little coven with promises of cheaper meat, and more exotic offerings. They knew not that they would be the ones offered."

Turning her attention back to the haughty merchant's daughter, Lilith smirked as she lifted a cold iron dagger off the lectern, the blade glistening with the same darkened magic that seemed to emanate from her touch. Bringing the razor-sharp edge close to Bridget's body, Lady Lilith decided to take her time with her first victim. Torturing a victim to death as part of a dark and depraved ritual was, to the succubus, like savoring a fine wine. Not exactly necessary to get the results she desired, but so much more enjoyable.

Carefully perusing the helpless lady, making sure to lock eyes with the terrified mortal, Lady Lilith began to tease the honed edge of the blade against her victim's tender body. Nudging the stiletto-pointed tip of the ceremonial blade upwards, Lilith guided the knife until it ever so softly nicked the flesh of her captive's belly, piercing just under the subcutaneous fat of her rounded gut. As the blood oozed out the little pocket of flesh, it began to flow down the cold iron dagger, captured in channels etched into the wicked blade until the dark purple knife was inlaid with crimson red. "Shhhh," Lilith hushed, her victim's pained whimpers beginning to echo in the cathedral as the torture commenced. "Does that hurt, sweetheart?" In a flash, hot, searing electricity coursed from Lilith's palm, conducted up the length of the blade into the helpless girl's body, causing her to convulse and spasm. Her dripping blood burned as electricity arced across the ceremonial knife, turning the blood-soaked etchings dark and sooty. "I just needed a donation, to begin the process of sealing your soul...."

In a flash, the cattle-prod like jolt of electricity suddenly turned to a rush of current through Bridget's body. Lady Lilith carefully pressed her clawed fingertip into the girl's supple inner thigh flesh once again, teasing her finger a little higher than the last haphazard slice. Throwing her head back, the merchant's daughter gasped and quivered, her body racked with convulsions as she hung helpless before the cultists, her breathing quickly turning labored as the current flowed through her spine, passing nearly perfectly through the girl's exposed pussy. Despite her rounded gut overhanging her hood slightly, the thickened pad of her pubic mound helped to expose her sex between her chubby thighs, the soft muscles contracting and spasming in such lewd and licentious ways. With the current rolling through her loins, Bridget could only whimper and struggle as she felt herself start to contract and spasm, a sudden realization that the Daughter of Hatred wished to cause her not only agony, but also humiliation before the embrace of death took her at last.

"MNNN! MMM-MMM!" A sudden yowl escaped the gagged mouth of the noble courtier, Charlotte gasping out in sheer panic as she felt the cold hands of Lady Lucia rub against her slight and naked form. Having finished with her incantations over the ossuaries, the sorceress took her place at the altar, a wicked grin crossing her face as she locked eyes with her sister in the midst of torturing the poor merchant's daughter. However, it was not her presence that caused such distress from the hanging noblewoman, but instead the fact that Lucia had brazenly sunk two fingers deep into the girl's soft and supple folds, invading her sex with the same level of care one might use handling a joint of meat.

As Lucia hooked her thumb up against the girl's tender hood, carefully teasing the cherry-red clit until it began to swell and slicken with supple juices, she whispered softly, "Does that feel good, princess?" The forced pleasure was a cruel mockery, and immediately brought about more frantic tugging and spasms from the tortured courtier. "Too bad that you won't get the pleasure your friend over there will endure." A sudden prick caused Charlotte to freeze, eyes widening as she stared down at Lucia as best she could. The succubus was focused intently upon the girl's nethers, her free hand holding an ornate copy of the dagger that Lilith wielded, the tip pressed ever so precariously into the base of her swollen clit. With her thumb perched atop the engorged little nub, Lucia began her own game with her captive lady, prodding in harder and harder until Charlotte was forced to strain in her restraints to keep her bodyweight off the blade's tip.

"MNNNG!" Closing her eyes, the noblewoman whimpered as she tugged with all her might, arms straining as she used what little strength she had to keep from being skewered on the blade. Muscles burning, first her arms, then her gut, the courtier struggled at her limit until finally she could no longer hold herself off the precariously positioned blade. A painful prick quickly turned to a rush of stabbing agony as her body finally collapsed forwards. Spearing herself through the clitoris as gravity brought her down to a slumped, spread-eagle resting position, the tip of the blade came to rest somewhere under her pubic mound. Licking her lips at the delicious sight, the girl's frantic panic having doomed her clitoris, Lucia began to rock her thumb back and forth, slowly coaxing the little nub to slice against the double-edged blade.

"There, there, sweetheart..." Hot tears rolled down Charlotte's face as she felt her most sensitive and tender flesh sever, cut by tender cut. Like slicing a carrot, Lucia guided the little nub in her hand until, at long last, the flower of Charlotte's womanhood seemingly popped off in the sorceress's hand; her most sensitive bundle of pleasure and nerves severed perfectly. The tender nub rested like a sweet little cherry in Lucia's hand. Without any hesitation, the succubus drew the blade upwards, slicing in a dramatic stroke from just above the noblewoman's pussy, all the way up to her breastbone, before following the sternum until she had created a body-length slit in the girl's flesh.

Her pained struggles would be Charlotte's downfall, the girl's wide-eyed panic causing her guts to begin slipping out the opening that Lucia had created in her belly, a macabre encyclopedic listing of intestines, stomach, hard organs, and even her ovaries, still in their perfect prime. Lucia, for her part, did not bother to watch, instead bringing the little nub of flesh, pierced on the tip of her dagger, to a glowing brazier off to the left. Plunging the dagger into the heart of the roiling, purpled flame, she offered the same blood sacrifice to bind the tortured woman's soul to the ritual.

As the fire consumed Charlotte's most prized and tender cut, the sounds and smells of burning flesh were accompanied by a tortured wail as Bridget's body convulsed upon her own cross. The growing crackle of electricity began to overstimulate her tender loins. Having slowly built the electric charge, feeding off the yowling cries of the pair's tortured victims, Lilith took perverse pleasure in ensuring that the electricity rocked through the girl's g-spot. The succubus seemed entranced as Bridget's supple folds squeezed and released, the pudgy merchant's daughter squeezing her thighs as best she could in a vain attempt to shield herself from the onslaught. It would do nothing to protect her; she could only ride the spasms, her supple folds aching from forced contraction as the dripping pussy juices began to hiss and heat. Unable to contain herself, Bridget spasmed, her body rocked with a mixture of forced pleasure and pain. Made to humiliate herself before the Cult of the Triune, the plump woman's blossoming orgasm sent hot cum spattering out her sweet folds, drenching her thighs in fluids hot enough to steam, the pungent scent of lust wafting like incense.

In a swift move, mimicking Lucia's fantastic knifework, Lady Lilith drew her dagger upwards, slashing through the girl's belly in one swift and forceful move, while simultaneously dragging her clawed finger down the girl's thigh, tearing a gash into her flesh from hip to knee. Despite their mutual predicament, being sliced open till their guts hung loose, neither girl could begin to fathom the hell they were destined to receive; their torture was just beginning.

The helpless victims did not seem to see, or perhaps did not have the mental fortitude, to notice the first rows of cultists had begun to stand. The most revered of all the Triune's mortal followers, Deacons of the profane religion, began a slow procession which ridiculed that of the Church of The Light, first to the aisle, then towards the altar. It was a profane mockery of the reception of communion, each one passing the glowing ossuaries as they approached the crosses. Bowing before their dark mistresses, the leadership of the Triune Cult stepped gingerly towards the pair of helpless creatures, careful not to anger, or overstep their boundaries. After all, they were in the presence of their deities, made flesh and blood. With a gentle nod from Lady Lilith, two of the approaching faithful, clad in the ornate robes of a higher-ranking cultist, took their place beside each of the massive crosses, awaiting their moment to commune with the act of barbarity that took place beside them. Bridget simply hung limp, exhausted and ashen from the pain she endured. Charlotte, on the other hand, still had a bit of fight left in her, her eyes glaring down at the brooding figures that took their place on either side of her broken body. Her face was fraught with a mix of terror and pained pleading as she struggled fruitlessly in her bonds.

When the procession of their highest ranks had reached its conclusion, Lady Lilith begin the next step for her ritual of binding. Placing the knife against Bridget's open belly wound, she carefully slipped the blade between her hefty gut and the supple skin above. The merchant's daughter would curse the fact she indulged in gluttonous hunger in her life. The oily and slick subcutaneous fat that padded her girthy midriff made it easy for the Daughter of Hatred to peel back the flesh from her bare muscle. The fact that it was easy did nothing to alleviate Bridget's agony; despite the thick wooden gag plugging nearly to the rear of her throat, the terrified lady's cries echoed within the halls of the cathedral, her screams quickly joining the low rumbling choir which had continued its brooding chant, perhaps in an attempt to drown out or incorporate the cries of the innocent. Her clawed fingers bloody up to the wrist, Lady Lilith carefully offered the flayed edge of Bridget's belly flesh to one of her trusted cultists, the young man reverently taking the blood-stained skin in his hands. She could hear him gasp as he nearly touched her fingertip while taking the human pelt, pulling back to provide tension as his dark mistress continued to flay the merchant's daughter alive. The grisly act was soon repeated by Lady Lucia, the Sister of Hatred perhaps slightly less adept at butchery then her twin, but no less efficient as she too began to unravel the noble courtier as one would prepare a freshly cut deer. And what a doe she made.

Wide eyed and bucking like a scared animal, Charlotte screeched in agony as she felt her arms and legs carefully being unzipped, a seam opened on her inner thighs and biceps, as Lucia carefully dragged the knife along her extremities until the blade tapped each metal restraint holding her in place. The torture was exquisite, every fiber of the helpless girls' collective being screaming in pain as layers of flesh where peeled clean from the mass of meat beneath. A symphony of wails, already primed by the wrenching agony in the two women's guts, occasionally punctuated by a hacking cough or need to retch. All the while, their guts hung down low, offering a macabre sort of modesty as they covered over the ladies' blood-soaked privates, despite the tortures already inflicted upon there fair womanhoods. That is, until the skinning process reached their hips. Lady Lilith paused her slow carving, puzzling over how she might relieve Bridget of her tender loins while playfully using the flat of the blade to manipulate her wriggling entrails.

Allowing one of her subordinates to hold the mass of fleshy organs aside, as the remaining two held Bridget's flayed skin taught, stretching the woman's body like an animal pelt, Lady Lilith decided a clean cut was in order for the woman's most sacred parts. While Lucia had removed Charlotte's clitoris and sliced her open from the tip of her vagina up into the girl's abdominal cavity, Lilith had preserved her victim's womanhood, the supple folds still quivering after such an intense, forced orgasm. She might have been excused to think that she would escape having her loins mutilated. That is, until Bridget felt the tip of Lilith's blade press firmly into the edge of her pussy, the knife slipping just underneath her outer labia. Using her soft labia lips as a guide the Daughter of Hatred began to carve into her victim's dew-soaked flesh. She did not seem to care that the tender folds clenched and spasmed with abject pain, tinted with hints of lust and pleasure. All she needed was the Bridget's flesh rended from her skin, and the Daughter of Hatred had plenty of experience butchering helpless women. With tears pattering down her open and flayed chest, the salty liquid searing as it dripped down her fatty, exposed breasts. Bridget could only scream as violation became mutilation. In time, those cries would turn horse and quiet, as her own flesh hung limp around her quivering musculature, released from her body and hanging loose like a set of overalls.

So engrossed in her work, Lady Lilith hardly noticed the progress being made on Charlotte to her right. The acolytes of the Triune stood proud beside the crosses, each holding the skin from the flayed victim in their hands, keeping the flesh tight so Lucia could work the blade down her victims back, carefully freeing last inches of skin. Charlotte too had begun to lose her battle with the overwhelming pain that racked her body. Her bold and spirited pleas had eroded, fallen as more and more of her blood dripped and drooled onto the cathedral floor, staining the dark stone crimson. With her head slumped slightly to the side, Charlotte simply allowed her skin to be removed, a human pelt, no different than leather one might turn into a jacket or suits of armor. But the purpose for flaying a young, noblewoman like an animal was far worse than the mere desire to create an article of clothing. As Lucia freed the last of the women's flesh from her quivering musculature, taking her time to scrape the last bits of meat from the hide, the esteemed acolytes of the Triune held aloft their prize to the faithful. As if swayed by the show of devotion and terror the throngs of cultists broke into prayer, bowing their heads and babbling in tongues as the spirit took them. With the first human hide in hand, the esteemed Deacons of the Triune carefully walked the leather pelt out from behind the cross, parading Charlotte's own skin before her. It was not a perfect cut, her head, hands, and feet were all left intact, a mockery of the person she once was. But the flesh would do fine for its purpose.

Laying the freshly fade and bloody human leather upon the floor, the deacons began the laborious process of removing each bone from the ossuary, reverently holding the mortal remains of one of Lady Lilith's chosen thralls. As the same process was repeated before the ossuary containing Ella's remains, the rows upon rows of cultists slowly filed their way down the aisle to join in the ceremony with their leadership and their living goddesses. Allowing their revered Deacons to perform the next steps of the ritual, carefully compiling and arranging the bones of Margrave Weiss and Sorceress Jabir, Lilith and Lucia both prepared to give communion to their faithful flock. As each cultist filed to the front, passing between the emptying ossuaries, Lady Lilith turned her attention back to her exhausted sacrifice. By now, Bridget seemed to slump forwards in her restraints, the plump woman's breasts hanging down before her, each heavy mound of meat capped with fat and mammary glands, devoid of the prominent, perky nipples that once crowned her heavy chest. Testing whether she was still conscious, Lilith reached her clawed hand up to grip one of the clammy-moist globes of flesh, squeezing just hard enough to break through the exposed meat. While she did scream, the noise clearly waivered, hoarse and raspy, her head barely lifting as she cried some unintelligible gagged plea for clemency, or perhaps simply for The Light to take her at last.

Under the Daughter of Hatred's grip, Bridget's tender tit began to shred like pulled pork, the darkened red flesh splitting into stringy strands as Lilith so casually crushed and cleaved the poor girl's breast by hand. The slippery meat was hard to hold on to, but with a little effort, she managed to tear a chunk of the girl's hefty breast clean from her broken body. Turning back to her faithful, Lilith beckoned for the first of her faithful, who had patiently and reverently lined up before their Dark Mistress, to come forwards. A young acolyte, the girl brimming with enthusiasm and hand-selected by Lucia on one of her missions scouting a nearby village, approached the Daughter of Hatred, her eyes practically twinkling as she stood before the earthly form of her divine goddess. After offering her a slice of the sacrificial flesh to chew and swallow, Lilith bestowed a blessing in the form of three bloody markings, one upon each shoulder and one on the forehead to signify the three Prime Evils, the corners of the Triune. In return, the sweet farmer's daughter, who had never traveled outside the realm of Duncraig until enticed by the Daughters of Hatred, gave a soft bow to her Mistress, her hands trembling at the realization that she communed with the Daughter of Mephisto. Chewing upon the stringy, iron-tinted flesh, she retired back to the pews, allowing the macabre procession to continue, filing past the now empty ossuaries, their contents arranged in a grotesque fashion upon the bloody human leather that covered the floor before the altar.

Lilith and Lucia began the laborious process of carving their victims inch by bloody inch, careful to remove only small slices at a time from their blood-drenched victims, allowing them the opportunity to suffer for the longest possible time. Though their wails had softened to low groans and gurgling coughs, the pair still reacted to the painful cuts and slices that severed their flesh for a cannibalistic communion. Each gentle twitch of muscle or spasm of one's fingers showed that the two girls were very much alive, their voices practically drowned out by the choral drone as each member of the cult took their piece of flesh, and their Goddess's blessing. The terrifying procession only paused momentarily when the Deacons of the Cult of Triune paused their fastidious work, climbing the steps to the altar to receive their communion and blessing. After each had received theirs from their living goddesses, they waited patiently as Lilith and Lucia returned to the helpless girls. Their bodies hung broken and carved; some muscles were completely removed while others were shaved down to nearly nothing, still in the process of being taken apart like so much butchered meat. It was not their meat the pair were after now.

Lowering her blade into the gaping wound that was Bridget's gut, Lilith sighed as she poked and prodded around inside of the girl's lower bowels. She must have still had some sensation, as the merchant's daughter's face remained matted with tears, her dusky blond hair streaking into her eyes as her head softly bobbed side to side. Lady Lilith simply ignored her wretched pleas, the girl lost as her slurred, gagged words begged for her death to come quicker. Instead, the succubus began to cut at the entrails that hung out her open gut wound. It was not a perfect cut, nor was it exactly how one would dress an animal, but after a few hacks and slices, Lilith had freed the sloppy mess of coiled colon, intestines, bladder and womb, all wrapped up in a tight membranous package. Bridget elicited a low and deep grunt, almost begging for her entrails to be returned, as Lady Lilith slowly handed off the mess of organs to her faithful Deacons, the weak and ashen girl quivering as she felt as if she needed to heave. It was no use, as Lilith had already disconnected her esophagus, leaving a gaping hole where he belly had once been.

Once Lucia had finished gutting Charlotte, the pair allowed their most trusted servants to go about the tedious process of removing the organs from the bundle of flesh, scrutinizing each one with intense focus. It was always so amusing to watch the mortals pretend they could divine fate from the entrails of a sacrifice. At least they knew not to damage any of them, reverently placing each one upon the human pelts in their roughly correct place. These organs were needed for the resurrection to work properly, and to damage one was to offer up your own organs in their place. Lilith and Lucia returned their attention back to the task of cutting and anointing, working through the throng of cultists gathered for the Dark Mass. As the procession continued, the meat on both Bridget and Charlotte's bodies began to dwindle. The pair of succubi made sure that each cut came as close as possible to the bone, leaving only a thin strip of hearty ligament attached to keep the body together. Without muscle to twitch or spasm, the sacrificial girls soon resembled skeletons, their bodies dangling uselessly in their restraints as raw bones and grey tendons gleamed in the darkness of the subterranean cathedral.

There was no telling when the pair of sacrificial victims finally slipped the veil. The commotion of so many in the cathedral, coupled with the lack of noise coming from their fitful, final moments made it merely impossible for onlookers to tell when they had finally given up the last of their fight. However, Lady Lilith new far better than any other in the room; attuned to her captives cries and tears, she focused her attention to try and divine those last, fleeting moments. For Bridget, it was easy. With her knife plunged deep into the merchant's daughters' shoulder, Lilith being very careful not to puncture the girl's chest cavity, the growing dribbles of blood pooling on the cathedral floor continued to increase volume. She intended for the girl to suffer as long as possible, but even the Daughter of Hatred could not stave off the terrifying effects of shock as they ravaged the mortal woman. Lilith knew the pudgy girl's time had come when she felt the knife leap softly in her hand, a bodily twitch that caused the unlucky victim to quiver in her restraints. Calmly placing her hand upon the girls de-breasted chest, Lady Lilith drummed her fingertips upon the bare sternum, her palm resting as close to Bridgit's heart as possible. A cruel smirk crawled across her face as she felt the dying muscle quiver and spasm, the lack of blood and blood pressure taking its toll upon the little organ. Like the flutters of a butterfly, Bridget's heart gently spasmed, a growing bubble of air filling one of its ventricles. Long since gone unconscious, the girl's head softly flopped from left to right, coming to rest upon her shoulder as the skeletal body fell quiet and still at last.

Not content with leaving well enough alone, Lady Lilith needed to give one last torment to her helpless victim. Allowing a surge of crackling lightning to well within her hand, the Daughter of Hatred pressed her fingertips into Bridgit's chest, sending a jolt of electricity rocking through her body. For a brief moment, as the last of her oxygenated blood pushed through Bridget's system, the plump merchant's daughter quivered, her eyes fluttering open only once before the stillness overtook her at last. There was no way to tell if she truly regained consciousness. It did not matter. What was left hanging upon the cross was a mere skeleton, still articulated, but stripped of nearly all its flesh. That which was not eaten was retained, laid upon the altar in a macabre and humiliating display, like so many cuts of meat in a butcher's case. Bridget's flesh was soon intermixed with that of the noble woman Charlotte, Lucia also having finished providing the sacrament of communion to her patient acolytes. Perhaps through sheer force of will, or perhaps due to her lither body, the young courtier seemed to hang on just a few minutes longer. While Lucia did not notice her final breaths, the sorceress busy taking the remainder of her victims' bicep and laying it out as one might a chicken breast, Lilith certainly caught the very moment the sacrificial victim passed.

There was something special about one who fought to the very last for their life. The Daughter of Hatred moaned softly to herself as she caught those final, ragged breaths. With the same lusty abandon expected of a succubus, the daughter of Mephisto caught herself reaching down with two, clawed fingers, rudely rubbing from the bottom of her pussy, all the way up the tender folds and circling her prominent clit. These sights of the young woman's final breaths, coupled with thoughts of what came next for her body, only serving to alight Lady Lilith's sadistic streak. As stillness rocked the cathedral, the choir of chanting slowly ebbing to an eerie end, leaving all in attendance aware that the sacrificial victims had finally met their end. Lady Lucia turned her attention to the ritual being performed before them. The deacons of the Cult of the Triune had busied themselves with the dark art of necromancy.

Having arrayed the entrails of their victims upon the human pelts they had taken from Bridget and Charlotte, the Deacons of the Triune began to sew up the leathery flesh, carefully following the bodies' natural contours in an attempt to create a human like form. Stuffed to the brim with bones and organs, these two human dolls were nothing like either of the four donors involved. Headless, handless and feetless, they appeared more like effigies, human voodoo dolls that lay upon the bloody ground in a profane mockery of the mortals they once were. Lady Lucia held her arms above the pair, presiding from just in front of the raised altar, the ornate stone plinth heavily laden with meat and flesh. Lilith turned her attention to the two hanging corpses, taking the time to carefully crack each rib cage open and break back the bones to expose the pairs' hearts and lungs, the only remaining pieces which had not been added to the profane effigies. As Lady Lucia cast her incantation, the same dark and swirling cloud of inky purple began to swell about the flesh sacks laid upon the floor. As flame-like tendrils of smokey magic whipped around the bodies, all in attendance to the Dark Mass were witness to a true miracle: the might of the Daughters of Hatred. In what must have seemed like Lazarus raised from the dead, Bridget's heart, began to twitch on its own, soon followed by that of Charlotte.

The oozing corpses hung perfectly still upon their crosses, limp and lifeless, save for the haphazard motion in the open chest cavities. It quickly became apparent that both Bridget's and Charlotte's hearts we're doing more than just twitching in place. As if struck by lightning, both meaty muscles seemed to shudder simultaneously before the topmost atria contracted. Like starting an old 2-stroke engine, neither heart kicked off correctly at first. After a few gentle quivers, Charlotte's young and spry organ suddenly left in her open chest, the frantic squishing of moist meat replaced with a rhythmic lub-dub lub-dub as the clearly-dead heart seemed to miraculously beat on its own.

A crack of light filled the cathedral hall as the roiling black magic that surrounded Charlotte's former corpse coalesced around the stuffed doll that once was her flesh. Tendrils of inky smoke coiled about the body, seeping into every crack, and consuming the fleshy figure from top to bottom. As Charlotte's heart beat frantically in her still and dead chest, the dark mist seemed to coalesce, adding form to the missing head, hands and feet. Another crack startled the mass of onlookers; none of the cultists noticed that Bridget's heart resumed beating in her chest, the muscle looking dry and cracked after Lilith had expelled the remainder of the blood from the cadaver. Inky black magic swelled to consume the effigy, as it had with Charlotte's skin. Lucia, all the while, focused upon the incantation, never breaking her concentration as she sealed these corporeal forms to their obedient thralls.

As the tendrils of dark magic faded into the flesh that once was Charlotte's, it became apparent that this was no longer a mere sack of guts and bone. The flesh was molded and sculpted by the dark magics of the Prime Evils. Flowing black hair filled out behind a set of sharp eyes and stern features. The skin too had taken on a decidedly bronzed tone, that which one might expect from a native of the empire of Kehjistan to the East. As Charlotte's heart began to slow, reaching a constant rhythm in the chest cavity of her former body, the smoldering eyes of the dead sorceress Barani Jabir slowly opened. Opening her mouth, the sorceress swallowed her first gulp of cool, Sanctuary air, eyes blinking as she realized that there was no movement within her chest. The dank air of the catacombs still tasted sweet; the first breath she took since that fateful day that she suffered and roasted for Lilith's amusement.

As the dark magic abated from the reanimated thralls, a second form coalesced on the floor of the cathedral. Her dusky-blonde hair matted down over the girl's face as the cocky Margrave shook her head from side to side. Unlike the sorceress, who perhaps knew what to expect upon her reanimation, Ella practically shrieked the moment her eyes opened after the infinite blackness of death. Practically, because her lungs were completely empty. Sucking in a deep breath, she screeched in terror at the strange sensation she felt; her chest remained still, unmoving despite the heavy breath in. A wicked grin crossed Lilith's face as she raised her arms above her head, signaling the end of the ceremony. To her left and right, the skeletons of her sacrificial victims hung, their hearts and lungs beating and breathing. Bridget and Charlotte had become phylacteries, vessels to hold The Daughters of Hatred's newest thralls.

Settling her sabaton-covered boot down upon the dusty cobblestones, Margrave Weiss smiled a broad grin as she stepped up the long stone staircase to the Baroness's keep. She carried with her a satchel, heavy and swaying from her hip, tucked tight against her leather-padded waistcoat. The firebrand minor-noble seemed to walk with a sense of purpose, never hesitating as she walked past saluting town guards or onlooking courtiers. They would never suspect the young upstart held a dark secret, one which required her to wear the long and flowing overcoat. If one was lucky to catch a glimpse, they might have noticed the long scar on her forearms, leftover from the skinning and stitching process that sealed her new body. A little, slightly neurotic, tug to her wrist was all it took to ensure nobody noticed her injuries.

Stepping up into the court of Baroness Kuznetsov, Margrave Weiss smiled warmly as she zeroed in on the corpulent head of state, making a move straight for the throne of the ruler of Westmarch. Perhaps surprised to see the young noble, whose lands bordered the very edge of the kingdom, the Baroness, was surrounded by a throng of foreign dignitaries, the Chief Diplomats of Kingsport and Entsteig gathered around a table set up before her throne. The official business entirely consumed the noblewoman. She hardly noticed Ella's arrival, only cocking an eyebrow once the woman had nearly reached her side. "My dear Margrave," she called out. "You should have sent word of your arrival! I would have prepared a feast had I known you were coming to town."

"My Lady," Ella smirked, taking a knee before her liege, "I should do well to remember that in the future. However, today's visit is unfortunately not a social one. I am only here on my way back home after a... hunting trip of sorts." The tone of her voice seemed a touch off, but the distracted Baroness hardly noticed that something was different about the young Margrave. Her normally spry and brash demeanor seemed a bit tempered, a bit reserved, as if she was holding something back.

"Of course, dear, of course. I am always happy to host you, even for but an afternoon."

"There is one reason I stopped by, my liege." Opening her satchel, Ella smiled as she produced a heavy paper package wrapped tight with twine. A bright red stamp marked on the top of the package bore the mark of the Tip and Tail, the butcher's shop and bakery that ran as a front of the Daughters of Hatred's burgeoning empire. "I ran into one of your courtiers the other day."

"Charlotte?" The Baroness perked up, turning her attention from the map laid upon the table and finally making full eye contact with Ella. "She has not written since her trip to Tristram."

"Aye, it was a chance meeting. Though, she was acting odd." Ella huffed softly, scratching her wrist ever so gently, fingers gracing over the scar left over from the reanimation process before tugging her coat's sleeve up. "She said she was headed westward, and asked, as I was headed back towards Westmarch for my hunting trip, if I would deliver to you this package."

Something did not quite add up about Ella's story. Charlotte was not the sort to run off and shirk her errands for her noble lady. Why would she hand off her package for delivery, especially when Margrave Weiss was not headed directly to Westmarch? Fingering the package, the brown paper wrapping securely covering cuts of fresh meat, the Baroness gave a soft sniff to the flesh, expecting it to have gone off after the long and roundabout trip Ella took before delivery. Yet it did not seem to have spoiled. Indeed, the meat seemed to smell fresh, even if she could not tell what type of meat it was by scent alone.

"Strange," the Baroness said at last, sighing as she put aside the package. "It is not like Charlotte to get the lust to wander."

"Perhaps, but she does have good taste in food - The Tip and Tail is a wonderful butcher's shop." Unable to help but lay on the praise for her new Mistress's work, Ella added, "I can think of no better butcher in the Western Kingdoms."

"I can think of one," the Baroness muttered, noticing her guests were eyeing the package and the markings upon the paper. Turning the brown paper pack over, so as not to distract them. Baroness Kuznetsov added, "Is that all, my dear? I hate to harry you, but I am in a meeting."

"Of course, my liege. I shall take my leave." Ella smiled, bowing softly to her noble leader. But something seemed to take her as she turned to the door, the cocky Margrave tapping upon the shoulder of the Chief Diplomat from Entsteig. "Do stop by when you can, oh esteemed ones. The Tip and Tail will surely sate your appetites."

Before the Baroness could ask what had gotten in to her trusted Margrave, only a little confused how she became so enthralled by a humble butcher's shop, the spry young woman was off in a flash of dusky-blonde hair. Returned to her carriage, the Margrave gave a tap to the door, an olive-skinned hand reaching out to open the door for her from the inside.

"I take it the drop went well," the sorceress Barani Jabir asked aloud, perhaps a bit nervous to be sitting out so exposed on the cobblestone streets of Westmarch.

"She suspected nothing," Ella said with a smile as she climbed aboard the carriage, finally allowing her guard to fall as she unfastened her waistcoat and allowed herself to relax on the plush carriage seat. After a moment of silence, the sorceress gazing out the window at the Baroness's castle, Ella cocked her head softly to the side as she commented, "May I... ask? Are you also having trouble-"

"Adjusting?" Barani cut her off, her smoldering eyes casting their focus upon the young woman.

"It..." Ella motioned to inhale sharply, as if trying to steel herself to comment. Her lungless chest did not rise or fall as she did. "It still feels odd. Though perhaps it is just that I am back here in Westmarch."

"It was your home," the sorceress added coldly, a little aloof to the nostalgia that Ella felt.

"It just... You seem more comfortable with your resurrection than... I am? It almost seems easier for you," she added at last, giving a tap upon the carriage to signal the driver. As the horses lurched forwards, Barani blinked softly at the insinuation that she was comfortable having been resurrected.

"Perhaps," she said at last. "I- I gave myself willingly to the Daughters of Hatred."

"Willingly?"

"They broke my spirit before they took my life. I gave my soul in the vain hope my death would be quick." A touch of embarrassment flashed across Barani's eyes, followed by a rush of flame, as if her concern was snuffed out by her undying pledge to serve her Mistress. "I know my resurrection is a gift from our Mistresses. So I try to act like it, even if it is... unfamiliar."

"Ah." Ella added, turning her eyes away softly. "I, um... I... shared an evening with Lady Lilith before my death. She, uh... She was the one who claimed me."

"Then perhaps it is a different experience for the both of us." That would have been the end of it, the conversation shut down with a mere comment. But Barani was startled as she felt a soft hand rest upon her knee, the sorceress casting her gaze downwards to see Ella's touch upon her thigh.

"Well," she said, smiling softly to her new colleague in servitude. "We are in this together." Softly, the ex-Kehjistani gave a nod of agreement to her fellow.

"Together, under the Daughters' command." Reaching down, the pair interlocked their fingers, connecting with one another in their unique situation, caught between life and death to serve the Prime Evils. "So, do you believe the Baroness will eat the meat of our hosts?"

"Heartily. She has continued to gain weight since I last saw her."

"Good," Barani commented. "Then it will not be long before we begin to unravel Westmarch from the inside."

As the carriage rumbled down the cobblestone streets, the swaying motion causing Ella to bob back and forth as she commented, "We either bring down the Baroness, bring down her demon hunters, or bring down the kingdom. And upon the ashes, our Mistresses will rise."

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