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Princess of Demons: Chapter One

By MisstressChange

Mankind, since being able to walk upright and exhibit complex thought, has always looked to the heavens. Throughout the ages, they’ve gazed up into the stary skies at night and pondered the possibility of other life existing beyond. However, life in another world is, in fact, much closer than it appears. Unknown to the overwhelming majority of Earth’s people, there exists a realm parallel to them. This realm is known to the peoples who inhabit it as Aereas, a world that almost mirrors Earth, only with three moons instead of one, and much less pollution.

While having the same continental shapes, biomes, and atmosphere as Earth, Aereas differs very much when examined more closely. While Earth is a realm of machines and technology, Aereas is a realm of magic and mythical creatures. Although, to the peoples of Aereas, these creatures wouldn’t be considered very ‘mythical,’ as they live amongst the humans who dwell there. Earth’s peoples are separated by the first, second, and third worlds. However, Aereas is split between two people. The ones inhabiting the surface plane and living under the sky, known as the overworld and the creatures dwelling beneath its surface, in the hellscape plane known as the underworld.

The denizens of the overworld consist of humans, elves, centaurs, satyrs, fairies, beast-kin, dwarves, gnomes, trolls, giants, ogres, dryads, and merfolk. These peoples go about their day-to-day lives the best they can, living around their own species or mingling peacefully among the other kinds in the various cities. Most have set aside the physical and cultural differences that plague the humans of Earth and have for hundreds of years. They cannot afford to be divisive in the face of what lies below.

In the hot, brutal lands of the underworld or hell, as many overworlders call it, dwell creatures of darkness. Legions of greater and lesser demons, minotaur, succubi and incubi, hellhounds, imps, shades, goatmen, forge bound automatons, and molten elementals ceaselessly serve their godlike rulers: The Demon royal family. Every underworlder goes about the malicious and vengeful tasks assigned to them. Backstabbing and treachery are commonplace as each underworlder vies for a better position in their society. Climbing the ladder in hell is a bloody business, and friends should be trusted less than enemies.

While these two planes vastly differ, they both utilize magic to run various elements or their societies. However, unlike the peoples of Earth, who use machines to enrich their lives, the peoples of Aereas use magic for the same purposes.

All overworlders can use magic to some extent, although gaining more and more control of these magical forces requires much practice. Some are more natural at using magic than others, and some races are more in tune with these enchanting powers.

All magical power in the overworld comes from the two principal gods: the lord of the heavens and mistress of the wild. The sky lord grants his powers as miracles through rites and prayers, while the mistress of the wild grants her powers as ebbs and flows through chants and ceremonies. All magic in-between is known as sorcery, conjured as spells from books called grimoires.

Magic in the underworld works much differently. Only demons, succubi, and incubi have access to the powers afforded by magic. The demon god, who resides at the center of hell’s nine rings, grants magical powers to those with sufficient tribute. Demon hexes, curses, and ruinous powers all require the distilled suffering of mortal souls.

Luckily, there is an almost infinite supply of damned souls in hell, and the more a demon can enact their cruelty on several souls, the more power they can extract. Because of the demand, entire industrial-scale operations span across the nine circles, separated by whichever sins the tormented were guilty of in their lives above. Underworlders can absorb this suffering within themselves using an obsidian orb called a soulstone. When the time comes to use their powers, the wilder calls upon this sadistic energy to tribute to the demon god. This manifests as whatever power the user has the ability and energy to do.

The overworld and underworld existed on Aereas for thousands of years without ever meeting. But that all changed two hundred years ago. The nine circles of hell exist floating on top of the world’s molten mantle, wrapping around its curvature. Unfortunately, this offers little space for expansion, and eventually, hell became full. With most of hell’s denizens living on top of each other, it wasn’t long before frustration turned into violence, and the entire underworld was consumed by a bloody, destructive war known as the day of culling.

Millions of underworlders were killed that day, and hundreds of millions of mortal souls, accumulated over millennia, were lost to the fiery mantle. The damage done to the nine rings would take years to rebuild. Some damage was irreparable. The demon king, Xor’un, vowed that the day of culling would never happen again and set out to find a solution.

After long research, he found a path upwards, to the overworld where the mortal souls flowed from. There was a weakness in Aereas’ rocky crust that could be torn open, and he and his armies of the underworld could conquer the overworld and turn it into a hellscape. They would enslave the people there and never again have to worry about running out of room again.

The king ordered the legions to prepare for war and forge weapons and armor in droves. Then, he had his most ingenious forge masters design an enormous, magma-powered ram to split Aereas’s crust at its weakest point. From there, his armies made for the surface. But, much to Xor’un’s dismay, his legions, once reaching the surface, began turning to stone and crumbling to rubble.

The magic of the overworld gods was too much for the underworlders, and without the heat of Aereas’s mantle, they froze to rock. Even Xor’un found himself petrifying, as powerful as he was. There was only one underworlder that could resist this petrifying touch.

Xor’un’s youngest daughter, Valencia, blessed by the demon god with a heart of ice, was the only underworlder who could walk unscathed the surface. At her father’s orders, she disseminated her power throughout hell’s armies and bound them to her heart, allowing them to survive above. Unable to share in this power himself, he relinquished his armies’ command to her, which she graciously accepted.

The legions of hell burst forth from the planet’s crust, surging out into the surface world with destructive malice. Like a sandcastle before a tide, the overworld was despoiled, its unprepared peoples surrendering more and more of their territories. The armies of the overworld desperately gathered together to make one final stand against the hordes of darkness outside the capital of men.

On the eve before battle, the leader of men, Errand the pious, entered his city’s grand cathedral and prayed to the sky lord for victory. Unbeknownst to him, that night, all nine planets had aligned, allowing the sky lord to grant him as much power as possible. The righteous forces of the light surged within Errand, making him a demigod amongst mortals. He had the strength of a hundred men. His armor became unbreaking and shimmered like gold. His sword glowed as bright and hot as the sun, capable of cutting through any foe.

In the midst of battle, Errand arrived on his faithful steed. He cut through the dark forces like a scythe to wheat, his sword sweeping through entire regiments of underworlders. He destroyed many of their war machines and slew many of their monstrous creatures.

Valencia’s ire had been drawn to this new hero laying waste to her father’s armies. She flew towards him with blinding speed, and in turn, he charged valiantly at her. The two were determined to destroy each other.

The moment they met in combat, their souls collided. The blazing light of Errand’s and the icy darkness of Valencia’s clashed, and for a moment, they merged. The result was catastrophic.

A superpowered burst of arcane energy exploded from them, vaporizing half of each side’s armies in an instant. Both of their spirits were dashed in the explosion, scattered into the aether beyond Aereas’s realm. Errand’s body fell to the ground as a steaming corpse.

Valencia’s body, not being mortal, succumbed to the magic of the overworld rather than dying. Her icy heart protected her from petrifying and instead became encased in an amber crystal. The underworld armies, no longer bound to the princess, began to turn to stone and crumbled. The overworlders were victorious.

Errand’s body was taken back to the capitol, where his corpse, still clad in his armor, was sealed in a stone sarcophagus. His followers placed his tomb inside the great hall of the same cathedral he was granted his holy powers.

Valencia’s body, trapped in her crystalline prison, was left in place. The overworlders built a temple around her body. They summoned the most powerful sorcerers to cast a magical barrier around it, shrouding it from all sight and phasing it out from their reality. Those that stumbled upon it would not see it and would walk right through it.

A mighty wood was grown around the temple, hiding it further. The sorcerers involved then went their separate ways, taking their knowledge of this place and scattering it through the world as far as they could.

With the world in disarray, Errand’s followers set out to restore order. The church of the sky lord took power, claiming to operate under the glory of Errand. The overworld was eventually rebuilt as things returned to normal, but at a cost. Now calling themselves The Sons of Errand, the church became the prime authorities throughout the overworld and sought to crush any chance of demon influence. The overworlders, at least near the cities and towns, felt the oppressive thumb of the paranoid church day in and day out.

Unable to close the fissure in Aereas’s crust that led to hell, the nations of the overworld built a nigh impenetrable fortress around the opening. Its battlements were guarded by armies made up of all peoples of the overworld, standing vigilantly in wait. Tens of thousands of blessed crossbows and holy ballista aim ever downward at the fissure, ready to shower the forces of hell in a rain of bolts. Should they ever return.

Meanwhile, in hell, Xor’un and his wife, Qyrnila, wept for the loss of their daughter. With the meager legions he still commanded, he set about replenishing his forces. He felt humiliated by his defeat, and vengeful bitterness took over his aspirations. For two hundred years, he worked tirelessly to bring his armies back to full strength. He sent half-shades, demons that could inhabit shadows and survive at night, to the surface to spy on the overworlders and sow corruption.

Eventually, a cultist network of overworlders either unhappy with the church or seeking great power was established. They called themselves, The Dark Order, and their entire purpose was to awaken Valencia from her perpetual slumber. Finally, it would seem like they would soon have their chance. Through interrogation, bribery, and corruption, the cult secured the proper scrolls to locate her body and awaken her. They just needed to wait for the appropriate night.

Fortunately for them, or, unfortunately for the overworld, the night that they were waiting for was upon them. Once every two hundred years, just as on the night before the final battle between planes, the nine planets would align, and her soul could be returned to her body, awakening her once more.

The church was also anticipating this night. The highest priests had communed long with the sky lord and had collectively taught the sacred rite to bring Errand back through reincarnation. The high marshal had been preparing for this night as long as the cultists had. Both sides expected the return of their heroes, hoping they would vanquish their enemies.

None of them could guess how that night would actually transpire.

The giant wooden doors to the cathedral’s central nave were suddenly pushed open. The room echoed with the solid and hearty clasp as the door’s hinges were stirred from their rest. As both sides of the door slowly swung open, the yellow light of the hall beyond reached in. Three figures broke the light, casting long shadows into the chamber.

Grand marshal Dunsmir strode in with a determined gait. His two most honorable paladins flanking either side of him, their heads covered by their great helms. The marshal crossed the nave toward Errand’s sarcophagus, where archbishop Cameaon stood awaiting them. Ten men in white robes stood around the tomb holding candles and chanting holy scripture in unison. The archbishop took a few steps towards the men to greet them with open arms.

“Grand marshal Dunsmir, I was not expecting you so soon. I must inform you, this rite requires much concentra-“

“Don’t you lecture me on the rite, archbishop. I, as much as you, know how the rite must be performed,” Dunsmir said sternly, cutting the archbishop off. “I have matters that need be discussed.” He pulled the holy man aside and further hushed his voice.

“What seems to be the problem, grand marshal?” He now looked nervous and confused.

“It’s the Dark Order, archbishop. I have intelligence that they will try to infiltrate our cathedral tonight. That they will try to stop the ceremony.”

“Oh, dear. How do you know of this?” The archbishop asked.

“The interrogators work well. Several of their dark agents have been captured, and all of them have revealed the same plan to us, one way or the other.” The archbishop looked shocked at this news. His face sunk with worry.

“B-but, how could they enter the cathedral!” he exclaimed as quietly as he could.

“I’m unsure they have yet. I’ve stationed knights throughout the citadel to stand guard, and my paladins and I will be presiding over this chamber.” He answered with poise, gesturing to the other two. “None shall disturb the return of our greatest hero. But, of course, they’ll have to cut all three of us down to do so” He stood tall at his announced plan. A picture of haughtiness.

“Good, good to hear, grand marshal.” The archbishop’s voice and body became relaxed once again at the promise of security.

“How much longer will the rite take, do you figure?” Dunsmir asked, eyebrow raised.

“It won’t be long now, maybe an hour more. Once the planets are all aligned, we will know for sure. Errand shall rise from his tomb, renewed, and hoist the lid off his sarcophagus as if it were made of paper.” The archbishop said, almost preaching to the marshal.

“Splendid.” Dunsmir retorted, pleased. Just then, they heard the sound of footsteps on stone getting rapidly closer. The two paladins turned and placed their hands at the ready on their sheathed swords. Dunsmir did the same, moving the archbishop behind him, who once again displayed a worried look.

The footfalls got louder until a shadow-casting silhouette appeared in the door. The figure entered the nave and stopped momentarily, looking around the room. It was clear now that it was but only a foot squire. He grasped a rolled-up scroll in his hand. The three relaxed the hold on their swords and took on more casual stances. When he saw Dunsmir he hurried toward him, hastily kneeling before him and bowing his head. His gathered inertia caused him to slide a bit as he kneeled.

“Message for you, my lord, extremely urgent.” His voice shook as he tried to catch his breath. There was fear in his tone, like what he delivering was of grave importance. He held the scroll up the marshal, quivering. Dunsmir took the scroll from his hand and unbonded the ribbon holding it together. He unrolled it and began reading in silence.

“What does it say, grand marshal?” the archbishop asked nervously. Dunsmir shushed him quietly and continued reading. As his eyes scanned the page, they grew wider and wider until he finally stopped reading. He addressed the squire, bringing the scroll away from his face.

“Is this true, squire?”

“Yes, my lord, I’m the only survivor other than sir Bradford, and he is gravely wounded.” His head remained bowed. Marshal Dunsmir looked around at the three others.

“The dark order has found the location of the demon princess’s resting place.” Once those words left his mouth, the two paladins stood at further attention. The archbishop’s mouth gaped.

“What? How? How could they have found it!?” The bishop’s voice quivered with terror, breaking his own rule of remaining quiet for those chanting.

“I do not know, but however they managed to do it, it appears they have broken through the barrier and are on route to the temple.” Even the marshal seemed shook by these developments.

“Well, what can we do? We must stop them before they unleash the princess’s destruction on the world once more. All of our work will be for not!” The archbishop looked between the other three desperately.

“I agree, archbishop.” Dunsmir began stoically. “We cannot allow the corrupt to undue two hundred years of progress.” He turned to one of the paladins. “You, Sir Parrian, take your most favored knights and ride out to the temple with haste. Slay those you find there and secure the area. I will stay here with Sir Welkleid and the archbishop to ensure the rite is completed.”

Dunsmir took a few steps toward Parrian while relinquishing the prayer beads from his neck. He handed them to the paladin. A ten-pointed star made of gold hung from the end. “Here, take this. The star was crafted from a piece of Errand’s armor itself. It will allow you and your cohort passage through the barrier. It shall also bestow unto you a fraction of his power. If the unthinkable should happen, and you are too late, she will be weakened as long as she remains inside the barrier. At all costs, you must cut her down or, at the very least, wound her. If our ritual works as intended, she won’t stand a chance against Errand.”

“Yes, my lord, it will be done. I shall not fail you. I shall not fail our fallen champion.” The paladin’s voice was muffled by his helm, but this did not take away the courage and determination in his voice. He took the prayer beads from Dunsmir and wrapped them securely around his wrist.

“You are dismissed, Sir Parrian. Now go, and may the light of the sky lord be with you!” Parrian saluted and turned, hurrying out of the nave the same way they came. Shouting echoed from further down the halls as Parrian ordered his for horse and knightly cohort. Dunsmir looked to the messenger, still kneeling.

“You, boy. Send for my war council. We must be prepared for a worst-case scenario.” The messenger rose from his place and turned at attention.

“Yes, my lord. Right away.” He stood waiting to be dismissed.

“Go! Go now! Waste no time!” He shouted, disregarding the ten chanting individuals still performing the rite behind them. The boy skidded off out of the room, his leather wrappings slipping on the cold stone floor. He disappeared down the lit hall while Dunsmir watched him leave.

“Your war counsel, sire?” The archbishop asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Yes.” The marshal turned to face the archbishop, the flickering light of the room casting grim shadows across the shallows of his face. “If Sir Parrian fails, and the Dark order succeeds in bringing the demon princess back from her slumber.” He paused, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Then the church and the rest of the overworld’s nations must be prepared for war.”

Brother Urxues pushed another branch out of his path, making sure not to let his robes snag on the thistles below. He held his torch ahead of him to light the way through the dense forest. Then, he turned his head back to address his fellow cultists. “It’s shouldn’t be much farther, comrades.”

He had said that at least 5 times already. While respecting his rank and trusting his knowledge of their acquired texts, the other cultists were clearly showing fatigue.

“We have been searching these woods for almost an hour, brother. Are you absolutely sure this is the way?” Sister Grondia asked with an inkling of doubt in her tone.

“Yes, sister. This is the direction as written.” He lifted the assembled tomb from its place hanging from its leather strap.

“We had better find it soon.” Brother Kaaska added. “That squire is sure to have reached the citadel by now. They are sure to return in force.” Urxues knew he was right, and they had lost half their number assaulting the holy men that stumbled upon them. It was a one in a million chance that they would have been found in those woods, but luck didn’t seem to be with them that night.

“As long as we can complete the ritual, it won’t matter how many come for us. The princess will slaught-“ Brother Urxues cut himself off as his torch illuminated something that naturally shouldn’t belong in the middle of a forest. A worn stone wall lay before him. Ivy clung to its surface and climbed upward out of view. Upon further illumination, he could make out more of the dilapidated structure of stone and vine. It couldn’t have been anything but the temple of her unholiness’s resting place.

“It’s here! It’s really here!” He raised his voice in jubilation. Until then, he suspected they had gotten lost. But now, there was no doubt. The other nine cultists rushed to his side; the combined light of their touches revealed even more of the temple. It was an impressive building, even in its ruined state. Its splendor had clearly been long lost to the annals of time.

“We’ve found it.” Sister Gorndia added. “Incredible…” she trailed off, gazing up at its crumbling architecture.

“Indeed, sister.” Urxues looked to either side of him, making sure all of them were still there. “Steel yourselves, comrades. We still have yet to complete our quest. Onward to glory.” The ten of them made their way along the side of the ruined temple. None of them expected how immense the building indeed was. It was a hike all its own just to find the entrance.

Finally, they came the to temple’s opening. With the wooden doors long rotted off their hinges, it was big enough for the ten of them to walk through side by side. As they entered the temple’s grand vestibule, their torch’s light cast flickering shadows through the space.

Statues to the heroes of the great war lined each side, striking daring poses. Surprisingly enough, most of them were still in good condition, except for one. It had toppled onto the moldy red carpet that led into the temple’s main chamber. The cultists stepped over the rubble with care, continuing on, torches held high.

All ten of them gasped in astonishment once inside the temple’s enormous main chamber. Granite pillars rose high, holding the ceiling, some holding not but an empty space where the ceiling had collapsed.

“We’re so close. I can feel her presence.” Sister Gorndia remarked.

“Yes, it feels…good.” Brother Kaaska added.

“We can bask in her glory once she is awakened, comrades. I’m sure she will bestow her gratitude unto us once released from her prison.” Urxues stated, reminding them of their mission. He started down the long, red carpet, and the others followed him in a V formation. Further, and further, they got, until they stopped, silent. Then, there she was, in front of them. At the top of a shallow set of stone steps, placed atop a marble pedestal for all to see.

The light of their torches shimmered and danced, reflected off the amber surface of the crystalline shard that contained its powerful prisoner. All ten of them stared into the crystal, their eyes taking in their prize. The demon princess hung within the glasslike rock, suspended just as it had been for the past 200 years.

She was massive compared to them. At ten feet tall and exhibiting immaculate muscle mass, she made the cultists look like children. Large ram-like horns protruded from her skull, and dark wings poked out from behind her back, folded. Her wide hips and ample breasts were displayed as she wore no clothes, yet the glare of the torch’s light of the crystal seemed to cover her private parts perfectly. The ten of them gaped at the remarkable sight.

“She’s beautiful.” Urxues pronounced in awe.

“Indeed, more beautiful than anything my eyes have gazed upon,” Kaaska added, also in awe. “But why would the enemies of hell build such a once magnificent shrine to her?”

“It’s not for her, brother,” Urxues answered, seeing something the others didn’t. He moved toward the princess a few steps and held his torch further out in front of him. Behind the princess, a massive statue of Errand had been erected against the back wall. The figure had a vengeful visage and held a stone sword in its hands by its hilt, several times the princess’s size. The sword pointed downward toward the princess. It was as if it was about to execute her by thrusting it down through her body. “It is a monument to their victory.”

Urxues’s followers all spit on the ground in disrespect to Errand. He turned to face the others. “This is our time, comrades. Make ready your preparations for the ritual. We must hurry, for the forces of the light are sure to be here soon enough.”

“For the darkness.” The other nine acknowledged in unison. Then they all fanned out, going about their business as planned. They began drawing a pentagram on the floor around the princess and lighting candles. Others drew runes and symbols, instructed from scrolls they had been given by their leader. It took ten minutes or so, but when they were done, the area around the crystalized demon was transformed into a dark shrine all its own.

The ten then gathered around the edge of the pentagram. All but Urxues pulled a ceremonial dagger from their robes. Some were still bloody from their previous encounter with the holy men. Urxues held his tomb open in his hands, flipping through their patchwork pages until he reached the point that allowed him to start the ritual. They stood in silence. The only sounds heard were the patter of mortar naturally dislodging from the architecture and skipping across the ground.

“We begin this dark ritual or rebirth. This night, two hundred years ago, our dark goddess fell to the forces of the light. But now, as the planets realign, we offer our blood to you. Mortal blood.”

The cultists took the ends of their daggers and cut open their hands. They extended their arms outwards and allowed the blood to flow freely, dripping onto the pentagram. Then they walked forward, arms still extended and palms raised. Nine bloody palms rested on the crystal’s surface. Sister Gorndia shivered as a bolt of pleasure shot through her. Whether real or imagined, she grew a deviant grin under her hood.

The nine withdrew from the crystal, back to their places at the edges of the pentagram. Brother Urxues began chanting in a dialect foreign to most overworlders, reading from his texts. The others soon joined in, mimicking his words as he spoke them.

Gradually as they chanted, the temple seemed to rumble. Before long, it was undeniable that the place was shaking. A few stones shook loose from the walls and ceiling, landing with a crash. Still, the cultists chanted on.

As the building continued to shake, they could hear one of the statues from the vestibule fall over. Its furious shatter echoed through the main hall. The shaking seemed to reach a crescendo as Urxues completed reading the texts. Finally, he stopped, and so did the others as they mimicked his final words. The place was nearly coming apart.

They stood, silent, trying to maintain their balance. One of the pillars behind them toppled, collapsing in two places. Then the room lit up. The crystal glowed bright amber, forcing all ten cultists to shield their eyes.

“This is it!” Urxues shouted over the deafening earthquake. “Our glorious princess returns!” He cried out in triumph. The others turned away from the now blinding light. They could almost feel a heat radiating from its source, and a strange wind blew outwards from the center, ruffling their robes. Then, in an instant, everything fell quiet, and the world around them went white.

Chris fumbled with his keys as he tried his best to keep the strap of his laptop bag from slipping off his shoulder. He flipped them back and forth one-handed until the one to his townhouse was pinched between his index finger and thumb. Then, fitting the key in the door, he turned it, and the deadlock slid open with a *click*.

His door opened, and the six-foot-tall, average-looking man stepped in. He kicked his shoes off in the house’s meager foyer and pushed the door closed. Then, wearily, he made his way up the stairs to the main floor where his kitchen and living room were and lay his bag down on the island. He poured some more coffee grounds along with some water in his drip brewer and sat down, flicking on his TV. This was a routine he had repeated every day for years now.

Chris was an engineer, and while he had a passion for his job when he initially started, his interest had been long waning. He scrolled indecisively through Netflix while he waited for his coffee to brew. Unable to choose, he went to his default favorite anime show and let it play.

Eventually, his coffee was ready, and he promptly drank it. But hunger could only be staved off for so long, and he was forced to reheat some food cooked earlier in the week. As the night went on, Chris headed upstairs to the house’s extra bedroom that he had turned into a hobby room.

The room was lined with anime posters from his favorite shows and games. Glass cases containing dozens of figurines of his favorite characters stood against the walls. Bookshelves stored a library of manga comics, all organized alphabetically and by series. A desk held his very pricey PC and its curved monitor. The whole desk area was lit up by colorful LEDs from his mouse, keyboard, and tower.

He spent a lot of time in this room, escaping his humdrum life in the fictional world on paper and on his computer screen. His favorite theme and setting of these worlds were always the fantasy ones. He loved the idea of grand stories, where heroes won against evil using courage, magic, or otherworldly powers, especially when they involved female protagonists. He loved the idea of mythical creatures and castles, armies clashing with sword and shield, spear and bow.

He honestly wished for nothing more than to be taken away from his dull, lonely life in his stuffy townhouse with his mundane job. To become a hero of his own story and save the world from evil, winning the hearts and minds of its denizens. He wanted to be a king, making the lives of his subjects joyful and splendorous, protecting them from invading hordes.

He had other fantasies too. Not only did he dream of being a hero in another world but of possibly shapeshifting. He wondered what it would be like to be a heroine rather than a hero. The idea of having soft porcelain skin, round curves and, long flowing hair enticed him. To be as powerful as she would be beautiful sounded divine.

But alas, these were but dreams. Dreams that would never come to pass. He was stuck here on Earth to live out the rest of his days in his house, with his things, alone. With no real friends and estranged from his family, there was little he could rely on. What felt even worse was that his girlfriend had recently broken up with him, compounding his loneliness. He was stuck as a boring, average-looking man in his late twenties. But at least he could escape into his fictional worlds…

As the night crept closer to midnight, Chris had to part ways with his escapes and head to bed. Rolling into bed, it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep. However, by fates chance, he happened to lose consciousness at the exact moment two rituals, in another realm, were being completed, both also at the precise moment. The odds were astronomical.

That night, at that moment, Chris’s body was lifted from the Earthly realm and pulled along to a place beyond Earth. His body seemed to just vanish from the material plane, its atoms being scattered among the cosmos. It would be a while before anyone came looking for him. They would find no trace.

Unfathomable darkness surrounded Chris as he opened his eyes. He felt weightless, floating as if he were in outer space. Yet there were no stars, no earth or moon, no sun, just blackness. He could only make out his own body, which almost seemed to have its own light source.

“Hello?!” He shouted into the void. His voice trailed off into the infinite distance, lost forever. “Is anyone here?! Where am I?!” He was confused, and fear was gradually adding to his confusion. “HELLO?!” He shouted louder and more frantically. He tried flailing his arms and legs around in a vain attempt to move. If he moved at all, he couldn’t tell without any point of reference.

Suddenly, a voice answered him from all around him. It sounded feminine, sultry, and haughty.

“Hello, my dear, who might you be?” Chris looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. She sounded intrigued.

“Hello?” he asked again. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I am Valencia, princess of demons, daughter of Xor’un, general of hell’s armies…Or at least I was.” Her voice dropped in shame for a moment before returning sterner than ever. “Now I ask again. Who…are…you?” Chris swallowed hard.

“My name’s Chris. Chris Griswold.” He paused, deciding which of the dozens of questions he had to ask. “Where are we?”

“We are in a space between realms, I believe. I’ve been here a very long time. But, of course, time seems meaningless here.” Chris continued to look around for the woman, or demon, who spoke.

“This has to be a dream. How would I possibly get here?”

“I assure you this is no dream.” She paused. “I sense no soul within you. You must have come from the realm opposite mine.” Her voice had softened again.

“No soul? I had no idea souls were a thing.” Chris pondered. His voice was a tad shaky.

“They are, my dear. Where I come from, every sapient being has one. We demons feed off them for power. You are but a husk. Soulless. At least that’s what the rumors of your realm suggest.” Chris frowned at this.

“Whatever you say, lady. How do we get out of here?” He was starting to get impatient. The blackness was getting to him.

As if responding to his questions, a cloud of thick, black smoke with silver linings materialized in front of him. Then, slowly from the fog, a figure of a lady emerged. As she got closer, he could immediately tell this was no ordinary woman. She was far from it.

She was about the same size as him and looked to be in her late teens. Her skin was blue, dark blue, almost as dark as night. Yet, it appeared purely smooth and seemed to be covered in a glossy sheen of oil.

Her figure was both powerful and graceful. She looked like she had not a pound of fat of her form, and her muscles looked toned and defined. Wide hips and ample double D breasts showed off her femininity, not to mention the tight slit between her legs. All were on shameless display for him to see.

Her hair was light pink, almost platinum white, and was separated into two braids that ran down the front of her body, covering her black nipples and ending at her hips. However, what really drew his gaze was the large rams-like horns protruding from her skull, curving backward then back around to half a foot away from either side of her face, tapering off just level with her mouth.

As his eyes traveled downward, he saw that her fingers, while slender like a woman’s, ended in dangerous black claws. Her lower legs and feet were far more beastly. Their human shape became more twisted the farther they got from her knees. Her feet, or rather, claws, were longer than a human’s, and she had only four toes. Long, black nails grew from each toe, impressively more deadly looking than the claws of her fingers. A fifth claw extended from her heel, allowing her to possibly grab at things…like other’s limbs.

The final detail he noticed has the thick, smooth tail that ran six feet out from where her tailbone should be. It was as wide as her arm and tapered off. A sharp, spaded tip the size of one of her hands terminated it. Armored plates seemed to grow from its top, where it left her back, trailing halfway down like giant scales. As Chris gawked at her, she spoke again, breaking the silence.

“There is only one way to get out of here, mortal. And it requires a great deal of sacrifice.” Her face appeared deadly serious.

“Sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?” Chris asked, sounding frantic. She looked him over

“Well, before you showed up, I was trapped here with another soul, a hero of the light from my realm. His name was Errand, and we killed each other in battle, sending us here.” Her hands rested on her ample hips. “Right before you appeared, we both felt like we were being pulled back to our realm, our world. But before we could leave, there was a flash of light, and suddenly you were in his place.” She frowned at him. “A soulless mortal.”

“Ok? So how do we leave?” Chris mulled over her story. He was starting to get into her spoken lore.

“I’m getting to that, you cur.” Her voice stabbed at him. She, too, was losing her patience. “While you lack a soul, Errand’s spirit still remains here, in you. It is what is producing the only light in this empty void. He must have finally ascended to the sky lord’s kingdom.” She rolled her eyes. “Lucky him.” She remarked sarcastically.

“What does that mean?” He asked eagerly.

“I’m not sure. I believe you being here…is tethering me to this void. I can still feel the pull of my realm but can’t cross over.” Chris just stared at her, hanging off her every word. “However, you, not having a soul, yet containing Errand’s spirit, might be able to take on my soul without being annihilated. It would complete you and might dissolve the tether.”

“Uhh, so, you want to-“

“Merge myself with you. Here, all I am is my soul. My body is still on Aereas, which is what we call my world. That is where we will return.”

“Merge with you? Are you saying I can’t return to Earth?” Chris’s anxiety was returning.

“If Earth is what you call your world, then yes, you are correct.” She said, very matter-of-factly. “The only way we can leave is if your empty body becomes me, weakening the tether. After that, you’ll become more spirit and soul than physical, and we should be able to escape.” Chris looked distraught.

“There has to be another way! I can’t just leave my life behind!” His voice cracked as terror took hold. Valencia floated closer to him.

“There is no other way, Chris. I’m not even sure this will work, and I’m not sure how much time we have to escape. This pull I feel is waning and dark god knows how long we’ll have to wait before we have another chance.”

“So, what does ‘merge’ mean, Exactly?” Chris asked meekly. His eyes darted about, going over the few options he apparently had.

“My soul will enter your body and become one with you. Then, if everything works as I hypothesize, we will wake up in my body and be able to live out the rest of my life, with you in control.” She spoke hastily. Worry seemed to eat away at her as much as Chris.

“Living in your body?” Chris asked, his tone calmer now. He thought of one of the fantasies he had back on Earth.

“Yes, Chris. In my body. You will live as me, with all my powers, my status, and my…beauty.” She said that last part with arrogance. “I’d be there with you the entire time, living through you.”

“I’d be in control?” Chris asked again. “But what will happen to you? How do I know you aren’t tricking me, and I won’t be trapped as a passenger in your body?” He was more suspicious now more than anything. Valencia grabbed him by the shoulders, therefore grabbing his attention.

“Look, Chris, I have nothing to lose. Even if I ‘were’ tricking you, you’d much rather live as a passenger than live in this place as long as I have. Trust me, Chris.” Chris stared into her dragon-like eyes and pondered his situation. “Please,” she added, sounding desperate.

“What would it be like for us?” He sounded like he was starting to come around. It’s not like his life on Earth was very eventful or fulfilling. He had no one to rely on for companionship, especially with his girlfriend leaving him. He went in and out every day, running the same rat race only to start the next day again. He was willing to listen to her, mainly because he had no desire to stay here.

“You would live as me, in my world, where magic rules, where I am one of the few rulers of my kingdom. I would live with you, helping you subconsciously. I’d be a part of you, with you. You would never be alone again, Chris. I would always be there at your side, in the back of your mind. Feeling every feeling you feel, doing everything you do. You will be beautiful and powerful, Chris. You only have to let me in.”

It was like he was being offered everything he had ever wanted, all of his fantasies. Or, at least, most of them. His heart raced, and he began to sweat; his breath hastened. How could he say no? What did he have to lose?

“O-ok, I-I’ll do it. What…do I have to do?” He stammered, his nervousness shaking his body.

“Just let me in, accept me as I join with you. I will feel wonderful. The joining of our beings will feel like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Just enjoy it, Chris.” Chris took a deep breath steadying himself.

“Alright, here it goes….” Chris let go of everything. He relaxed and focused on what he perceived to be letting go.

“Thank you, I know you’ll enjoy your new life, my dear.” She cooed into his ear as she wrapped her arms around him the way his girlfriend used to. A warmth spread through the front of his body where her body touched his. Slowly but surely, she seemed to melt into him as she squeezed around his form. The further her soul merged with him, the more complete he truly felt.

She was right. He no longer felt alone, like someone was permanently there for him. Like…a soulmate. He moaned out in pleasure as her soul almost wholly joined with his, nearing the end of their journey as two entities coalescing. Tears streamed down his face, his mouth agape. Gradually, as her soul no longer dwelled without him and the dark void around him lit up. Brighter and brighter, it went from black nothingness to white totality. He, or they, were consumed by its overwhelming glow.

Valencia drew in a deep and sudden breath. Her dragon-like eyes shot open, her vision suddenly filled with the stone visage of Errand, perpetually in a state of thrusting his sword downward unto her. Orange torchlight flickered off its smooth surfaces. Her head was hanging off the edge of some cold, flat object, and it appeared her legs were doing the same.

Slowly, groggily, she brought one of her clawed hands to massage her sore and cloudy head. Then, she gripped the edge of whatever she was laying on and pulled herself up into a sitting position using her other hand. She found it unusually easy to lift her upper body, like her abdominal muscles had been well trained.

She looked down to see her toned, muscular legs hanging over the side of a square stone pedestal. As her monstrous feet came into view over mountainous breasts, her eyes widened, and she gasped.

“What? What happened to me?” She brought her arms and hands in before herself so she could examine her body. “What the hell? How?” She softly gasped at her own feminine voice. It was…not her own. Or was it? Her gaze traveled around the stony temple, its walls flickering with the same orange glow as the statue. That’s when she noticed the hooded figures surrounding her.

They all appeared to be looking away from her like they were shielding their eyes. The one directly in front of her was the first to turn their head back around. Its arms raised in rejoice.

“My goddess, Valencia, the princess of demons and despoiler of the overworld…you’ve returned! The ritual worked!” He proclaimed, his voice, revealing him to be a man, echoed throughout the room. The others turned their heads back almost instantly. They murmured and gasped with excitement when she came into view.

“Val-en-cia?” She slowly worded out. As she spoke, she couldn’t help but feel like that name sounded familiar and…right. “My name is Chr-. Chri-.Crrr-.” Dragon-like eyes darted around the floor as she attempted to sound out her name but couldn’t quite remember it. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t quite grasp it, and the more she tried, the more she had trouble with it. The figure in front of her took a few slow steps towards her.

“You are Valencia. Daughter of Xor’un, and the true ruler of the overworld. Do you not remember?”

“Valencia…” Valencia pondered her own name. That other name she had in her mind seemed to have slipped away. “My name…is…Valencia.” She accepted this, having no other name to go off of.

“Of course, it is, my goddess. You’ve been trapped here for two hundred years. Since you vanquished that cur, Errand the Pious.”

“Errand…” Vague memories of battle fluttered through her mind, but they were too unclear for her to make anything of them. “Where am I?” She asked absentmindedly. Her mind was still foggy.

“The temple your enemies built around you. They used a magic barrier to hide you from the world. But we managed to find this place, and you. We brought you back so you could spread your glory to the overworld once more!” He reached above his head to emphasize his monologue.

“And…who are you?” Valencia looked around at the hooded figures surrounding her. Only now was she realizing how small they seemed in comparison. How tall was she? The man’s arms rested at his side once more.

“My goddess, we…are the Dark Order. We have been working with your clandestine forces here on the overworld for decades to free you from your prison. To return your unholy soul to your body.” The others began to move, gathering beside the man speaking. “I am brother Urxues, the second-highest-ranking member of our cult. I personally helped obtain the necessary texts and assembled them in this tomb, see?”

He stepped toward her, offering his tomb to the ten-foot-tall demoness, who was now preoccupied with checking out her tall, muscular body. Her hands were at her pendulous breasts, groping them, the strange yet familiar feelings fascinating her.

“I have breasts…” She commented to herself. She bent over to see past them. There, between her legs, was the hairless outer lips of a pussy. “…And…girl parts…” part of her was shocked at the discovery, yet, part of her gleamed with pride. The tomb entered the upper peripheral of her vision, and she looked up at the cloaked man holding it out.

Grabbing it from his hand, she leafed through its patchwork pages. The strange words and runes inscribed on the parchment looked odd to her, yet she found she could read them expertly. “Whoa.” She remarked.

“You are impressed with my work?” Urxues asked, clearly eager to please in any way possible.

“Um…yeah, this looks pretty neat.” Valencia patronized the cloaked man.

“I wish not to talk out of turn, my goddess, but… with the many years of work our cult put into service assisting your father with your return….” He paused, appearing nervous to peruse further. “We would be beyond grateful if you could…bestow some of your power unto us…so we may….” He chose his following words carefully. “Better serve you…” He took a few wobbly steps back with haste, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He graciously kneeled before her, and the others followed suit.

“I..powers?” Valencia looked herself over once more, turning her hands over to observe her claws. “I’m…not sure…”

“Please, my goddess. I beg of you. We beg of you. Grant us whatever you can. We wish to serve you.” Other members spoke up now.

“Please, your grace.” A female voice spoke.

“Anything you can give would be more than enough.” Another male voice spoke.

“I…don’t know how. This…body isn’t mine. Where am I? How did I get here?” The demon looked around the temple, fear starting to overtake her. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her anxiety-ridden chest. The cultists were a chorus of pleas now. Some of them stretched out their arms to her in praise. Some rose to their feet and shuffled toward her.

“I will give you anything more you need, my worship. Just bestow upon me a fraction of your magnificence.” Urxues eagerly negotiated. He had his arm outstretched toward her, open-handed like a beggar.

Startled, Valencia shuffled on her rear backward across the stone pedestal. She turned to rise from it, getting up onto her feet, trying to get away from them. They followed her around the pedestal, slowly, arms outstretched, still babbling their requests.

“Get away from me!” She commanded, but none seemed to be listening. Valencia retreated from them until she found her back pressing against the stone visage of Errand. The batlike wings that extended from her shoulder blades were now apparent to her. She turned her head up in a panic to see the massive stone form with its downward sword ever looming over her.

The cultists closed in around her, softly laying their open hands on her smooth oiled skin. While they were respectful enough not to touch her lady parts, she felt the terror of having unwanted hands of strangers violating her personal space. “Leave me alone! Get away from me!” She cried.

She looked up to see one of the cultists standing beyond the rest, pulling a scroll from his robes. She watched the figure unroll it in his hands. Then, suddenly, she could hear his words in her mind. They clouded out the voices of the others, every syllable ringing like the tolls of an enormous bell. The words were foreign to her, but she understood their meanings. With each word spoken, she found the overwhelming need…to obey them, to obey…him….”

As his words continued, her eyes began to glow pink. Her body relaxed, and she no longer felt the tensing at the touch of those around her. Instead, she became still, standing at attention, his grasp on her mind tightened like a leash. She was almost his.

“They’re here!” Came an angry shout from the room’s entrance. Every cultist stopped their invasion of her space and turned to look to its source. This included the one holding the scroll. The voice inside her head ceased, and she suddenly had control over herself again.

In the archway to the temple’s vestibule, there stood a man holding a torch in one hand and a gleaming sword in the other. He wore chainmail over his tunic and a white tabard over that. An outline of a golden ten-pointed star adorned the livery of his tabard. Shortly after his call rang out through the temple, five more similar-looking men followed him in, all holding torches and swords.

“They’re here,” Urxues remarked with vitriol. “Fear not comrades, our queen is awakened.” He brandished his curved dagger from his robes. “She will protect us…and slay those that wish to bring harm to us!” He raised the blade in an aggressive stance and started toward the men with determination. The others followed suit. All but the one with the scroll, who stayed behind, to the unawareness of the others.

The man with the scroll growled in frustration and looked around the place frantically. Then, suddenly, his hooded head snapped to one side, where a sizable hole in the temple’s wall had recently appeared from the earlier shaking. He looked back at her momentarily before dashing for it, disappearing into the night beyond.

“Kill these filthy heretics!” Cried the original mail-clad man. The five soldiers then charged at the cultists. They didn’t have to travel far, as Urxues and his cohort were already running headlong at them. Their robes flapped behind them.

When the two groups were within striking distance from each other, the first five cultists were immediately cut down. Either slashed or stabbed, they were run through. Having no armor, reach, or prior melee skill, they were mere fodder. They cried and groaned painfully as they fell. The other cultists managed to get close enough to stab at the soldiers, but their daggers proved useless with their enemy’s bodies covered in mail.

Valencia watched with rapt fascination as the last of the cultist were butchered in front of her. Their anguished cries and gurgling filled her pointed ears. A part of her was frightened and disgusted by the death being delt before her. But another part of her, a gradually rising part of her…lavished in the bloody carnage.

“Holy men.” She said in a voice deeper than before. “Foot squires. Mewling whelps of that bastard, Errand.” As she continued to speak, her voice turned darker, demonic, even. “How dare you slay those loyal to me!” She was snarling now, teeth bared and face twisted up with hatred and vitriol. The calmer part of her was rapidly losing control, giving way to demonic instincts.

“By the sky lord…they actually managed to do it.” One of the foot squires remarked in astonishment. “We are too late.” The original squire sheathed his sword and withdrew a steel claymore from his shoulder-slung scabbard. He looked to her with the courage of a warrior.

“Not too late, brother. She is weak inside this barrier, and Lord Parrian will be here in seconds.” He looked back to his comrades. “Hold her here until he arrives. She won’t stand a chance against him and the high marshal’s pendent.” He turned back to face the demon again. “Slay her now, and I’m sure you’ll be crowned emperor of all the overworld!”

He cried out and charged at her, claymore raised at chest height with both hands. Valencia didn’t move, her eyes locked in of the man. He quickly closed the distance to the pedestal, and, with a bound, he managed to hop up onto it. Then, making another jump, he leaped at her, claymore risen above his head, intending on burying it in her skull.

Time slowed down for the demon princess. A searing rage surged within her. Finally, her subconscious instinct took over, and her conscious sight was blanketed by inky darkness. She blinked, and when her eyes opened again, they glowed red like the unbound anger of an erupting volcano.

She surged forward, swiftly grabbing the man in mid-air. In a fraction of a second, she slammed him onto the pedestal, cracking its surface. The air rushed from his winded lungs in the form of a sudden groan. Then, reaching up, she grabbed onto the tip of stone Errand’s stone sword with her free hand. The entire end half of the stone blade broke off the statue like it was made of styrofoam. She let go of the man, only to smash the broken piece down onto him, or rather, into him.

The stone piece caved in the entire middle third of the man’s body, from crotch to head. It made a sickening crunch, and his head was completely pulverized. Blood and skull fragments sprayed out around the improvised weapon, staining the cracked stone surface of the pedestal.

She looked up at the other four men like a predator seeking its next prey. The other men had faltered in their advance, taken aback by the gory and instantaneous end of their commander. One of them was finishing drawing his crossbow and placing the bolt in its place.

“For Errand! For the overworld!” Cried the man nearest her. He charged at her with his sword. Valencia’s head snapped to him, and with blinding speed, she dashed toward her next victim. Before he could even swing his sword at her, she had him lifted off the ground by a claw full of tunic and chainmail.

His face became one of absolute terror as she looked into his terrified eyes. A malicious smile spread across her face. She could feel his fear and lavished in its energy. Then, sensing the man with the crossbow aiming his weapon at her, she turned to see him loose its bolt. Her ears twitched at the sudden snap of its mechanisms, and she moved her human shield into its path.

The bolt struck the foot squire in the back with a thud. He let out a cry of blinding pain. Then, all struggle from the waist down ceased. The bolt must have pierced him right through his spinal cord.

“You are but cattle to me.” She sneered. Effortlessly, she tossed the paralyzed man across the room at the man with the crossbow. When the two collided, they both tumbled to a disorganized heap on the ground. Valencia’s ears perked again. Her head turned to see another of them coming for her from the other side of the temple.

With lightning speed, she crouched down and picked the previous victim’s sword off the ground. Then, using her immense strength, she flung it at him. The speed and force with which it spun as it flew made it look like she had thrown a disc at the man. It curved a little before striking him in the neck, beheading him. His head rolled off his body, and his body collapsed instantly. The sword terminated its flight, imbedding in the stone wall beyond.

Without anyone else actively attacking her, she looked to the two men on the ground. The one with the crossbow was still trying to shake the other one off so he could pick himself up. Valencia lifted her gaze above them to a large slab of stone that was a part of the ceiling. She reached her hand out and curled her clawed fingers into a vengeful grasp like she was grabbing it.

The stone shook in place, vibrating with enough force to break loose from its mortar. Valencia brought her arm downward in one stiff motion, and the rock came crashing down with double the speed it should naturally have.

“No, Wait!” The crossbowmen attempted to interject, his arm outstretched to her.

The stone crushed both men utterly, like a pair of tomatoes. The slamming of the stone on the ground almost overtook the squishing crunch of their bodies being pulped beneath. Blood exploded out around the stone, which now rested at peace.

A satisfied smirk revealed her revelry in the carnage she caused. Bodies of both groups littered the temple floor, and blood pooled around those fallen. She took her time to admire the scene around her before directing her ire to the last man.

Trembling, he stood in the middle of the room. His sword fell from his shaking hand, clattering on the ground beside him. He reached to his belt, grabbing his personal prayer beads. Valencia started toward him, her hips swaying sensually back and forth. She let her wicked grin flash her teeth. She was like a cat who had caught a mouse and was enjoying its futile squeaks before finishing it off.

“Errand’s light protect me….” The man sputtered out, holding his prayer beads out at arm’s length toward her. A wooden ten-pointed star hung at their end. “Light of the sky lord, shield my soul….” His voice shook with terror, and he slowly backed away from her, nearly stumbling over stone rubble. She could feel his emotions. She could tell he knew he was already dead.

Her eyes glowed brighter. The brighter they got, the weaker the flames from each torch became, darkening the room. An inky darkness seemed to creep in from every new spot of shadow, encompassing the space around them and further obscuring the torches. She stopped a few meters from the frightened man, standing tall. She was but a silhouette, now, her red eyes piercing the darkness.

“There is no light here, fool.” She spoke, her voice twisted and unnatural. It was like a thousand demons spoke through her at once. “Only darkness.” He heard the ferocious spread of her giant wings, their silhouettes blocking the meager light behind her. Then a spontaneous rush filled his ears, the sound of her wings propelling her forward. He had no time to think, let alone react. She was already upon him.

He was lifted into the air, clawed hands digging into his shoulders while monstrous feet grasped his upper legs. They both traveled upward for but a moment before stopping well above the temple’s floor. His life was brought to an end in an instant. Valencia’s claws took a crushing hold of where their grip was and tore outwards in all four directions.

Her otherworldly strength ripped him apart like an exploding piñata. He was destroyed beyond recognition. His gore sprayed over her naked body and rained down over the ground with wet slaps and patters. She let go of his limbs once he had come apart, sending them flying about the room. She stuck her long, dexterous tongue out and licked the blood off her upper lip, rejoicing in the coppery taste.

The second he was gone, the darkness flooding the room abated, and the torches returned to their previous orange glow. She let her wings relax and landed on her bestial feet. Once on the ground, her conscious senses rushed back to her. Her eyes retained their normal dragon-like appearance. All sense of reason returned to her, and she was left to her own devices amongst the bloody mess surrounding.

“What…happened?” She asked to no one in particular. The demon gazed around the bloody nave, letting out whimpering grunts as more and more of the aftermath entered her field of view. She looked down to see her blood-slicked body. Blood stained her legs, her arms, her chest and stomach, even her pinkish hair. “Did I…do this?” She brought her hands up to see the blood dripping from them, absolutely saturated.

Terror, panic, and confusion caused her heart to race. Her legs and arms shook, and so did her hands. She began hyperventilating. Nothing was making sense to her. “What have I done?!” Her voice broke, on the verge of tears.

“Over here!” Came a tinny voice, shouting from outside the temple, obviously covered by a helm. Her head craned up, and the sound of horse’s hooves stamped the earthy ground outside. That’s when the paladin entered her view. The rider stopped his barded horse just outside the temple’s front entrance. Judging by the direction of the rider’s helm, he was still looking away from her toward whoever he was addressing.

He clutched something in his hand, something shiny. It was wrapped around the palm of his gauntlet while he held the reins. When her eyes connected with the object, it shined obscenely bright, filling her vision. It blinded her so severely she was forced to squint and pull away from it. It cloaked her in a searing light. Like the scalding desert sun, it burned her skin and retinas. She felt herself becoming fatigued, weakened, drained.

“She’s Awakened! In the temple! Rally to me, brave knights!” She heard the clatter of the man as he dismounted his horse. Her heart skipped a beat, and her fight or flight response kicked in.

“Paladins…of Errand…one of them wields a fraction of his power…you are too feeble here to fight them.” A voice in the back of her mind spoke to her in whispered words. “Flee. Now!” She turned away from the light, looking back to where the cultist with the scroll had escaped. Even with her eyes still fuzzy from the paladin’s light, she could make out the hole in the wall, just barely big enough for her to fit through.

Without hesitating, she spread her wings and used them to propel herself faster across the room, stepping over bodies of squires and cultists.

“Come back here, you monster!” The paladin sounded like he had reached the nave. His tinny voice rang out around the room. Without looking back, Valencia placed her bloody, clawed hands on the top of the opening and folded her wings. She frantically squeezed herself through the hole and into the cold, dark woods beyond.

Xor’un leaned on the large, circular iron table that made up the centerpiece of his study. Its surface sunk in by two inches, like a pit surrounded by a metal ring-like rail. The inside made up a lifelike map of the overworld, tiny clouds slowly blew around, and the seas swirled about. It mimicked the actual state of the world above. Little movable pieces that looked like cities and forts and various colors of flags littered the realistic lands. He had used this as a strategy board all those years ago. Two hundred years, to be exact.

His form was massive. At fourteen feet tall and hulking with extruding muscles, he towered over most humanoids living on Aereas. His shoulder-length black hair was parted by the two horns protruding from his skull. Unlike Valencia’s, they twisted backward like a dragon. His eyes and tail matched hers. However, his skin was blood red, also shiny with an oily sheen. Four-inch tusks jutted upward from his lower teeth, where his canines would have been, and savage black claws tipped the end of his fingers. He wore only a black silk loincloth adorned with gold chains and runic charms. It did little to hide the massive outline of his member, which could be a powerful weapon all its own.

One-half of the room had a garden of glass tubes, beakers, flasks, and burners atop iron and granite counters. The other half was shelves and shelves of bookcases, all supporting a library of essential tomes. He stood up straight, removing his massive weight from the table. Large, cloven hooves clopped on the smooth, polished obsidian floor.

“You can come out, you two. Unless you have bad news to report. Then it would be best if you never show yourselves in my presence again.” He spoke calmly, yet even calm; his voice boomed like a giant. Black smoke seemed to materialize out of thin air behind him, flowing from nowhere and gathering in one large, self-contained cloud.

The black cloud split into two parts, their separate smoke clouds coalescing into black forms. Eventually, the smoke diminished, solidifying into dark silhouettes of each being’s proper form. Next, the darkness gave way to skin, hair, and finally, other features.

They were both imps, and so, being only four feet tall, they were tiny compared to Xur’un. Little pointed horns poked out of their heads and through their curly, silver hair. Their pitch-black skin was covered in glowing runes, giving them the rare powers they exhibited.

Aliza and Azila were twin half-shades, beings that were born hybrids. While having physical bodies, they could take on the same ghastly form that full shades were forced to remain with. As such unnatural anomalies, they were the only underworlders that could survive above without Valencia’s binding.

They could only take physical form for short periods, forcing them to communicate orders to corrupted humans and assassinate targets with haste. The twin demons kneeled immediately before their king once in solid form. Xor’un turned to face his most valued agents.

“More than great news, my lord,” Aliza spoke in a high-pitched, feminine voice.

“Wonderful news, my lord,” Azila added, her voice almost equal to her sister’s. Xor’un grumbled before addressing them.

“Tell me then, whelps. Is the ritual complete? Have our allies in the overworld proved themselves more than useless?” He looked up and out the open archway to his study’s balcony. “Has my beloved daughter returned?”

“Indeed, my lord,” Aliza answered.

“She has returned, as beautiful as ever,” Azila added. Xor’un sighed in relief.

“That ‘is’ good news.” He hummed to himself and stroked his chin. “How is she?” his eyebrow raised skeptically at the two half-imps. The two looked at each other and swallowed hard.

“She was…confused…frightened even….” Aliza started.

“Followers of the sky lord tried to kill her,” Azila added.

“But she butchered them.” Aliza finished.

“Hmmm…good…good…. She sounds like her old self.” He concluded.

“That’s not all, my lord. The light worshippers brought powerful warriors with them.” Aliza explained, her voice quivering.

“She was forced to run; the barrier seems to have made her vulnerable,” Azila added, voice mimicking her sister’s.

“She managed to escape but is still being perused.” Aliza eeked out, awaiting her king’s anger.

“What?!” He boomed, his handed clenched into fists of fury. “And you’re not up there helping her?!” the two half-imps shrunk away in fear.

“Y-y-y-you said to report back the second she awakened, my lord,” Azila stated, shaking.

“W-w-w-we were just following orders,” Aliza added.

“P-please, have mercy, my lord.” Azila pleaded. They both bowed their head in submission.

“You two, go back to the surface and find her! Bring her here through the royal portal, or I will make sure you two suffer for as long as I rule!” His voice boomed and echoed about the stone room, amplifying his rage.

“Y-yes, my lord.” They said in unison.

“There’s just…one more thing you should know, my lord,” Aliza added with haste.

“And what is that?” Xor’un stopped shouting. However, his voice still exuded significant volume.

“There was a traitor in the Dark Order’s midst,” Azila added with more confidence.

“He tried to bound Valencia to his will, using a spell,” Aliza explained. They awaited another outburst, but none came.

“Traitors amongst our allies, hmm?” His eyes darted around the floor while he stroked his chin. “Deal with him once my daughter has returned here.” He started toward the balcony. His cloven feet slowly clopped on the floor. He passed through the two, their bodies breaking up into black smoke, then quickly reforming their previous appearances.

“My priorities still lay solely on getting Valencia back here. That’s all that matters to me right now. So return her to me, and we will seek out and deal with the ‘would-be’ master of the princess.”

“Yes, my lord.” They said in unison. Xor’un continued out onto the spire’s balcony, overlooking his towering palace.

“Now, go. I must have her back. Two hundred years of planning depend on it.” He gazed out over all nine rings of hell, from his highest point in the center of treachery to the outskirts of purgatory. He could hear the moaning of tortured souls for miles and the clanging, clammer of his war machine. It was music to his long pointy ears.

“She will be happy to know her army is fully replenished, improved even, and ready for her to command.”