By: SinfulWolf

Author’s Note: Sorry all about the long wait. I could give excuses, but I know you don’t want to hear them. But, finally, I present to you Chapter 18. I do hope you all enjoy.

 

Isolde looked up sharply as the door burst open and Sarya stormed into the room. Blood dripped from her spatha as she looked pointedly at the whore. Questions started to bubble upwards from Isolde’s mind, ready to launch towards her lover, her client, the one she wished dearly to be her mistress.

“Don’t grab anything, we need to leave now,” Sarya said firmly, shutting down any questions before they had a chance to get out.

Nodding gently, Isolde was soon moving through halls of the palace. Fear clutched at her. Not knowing what was happening only made things worse. Sarya’s eyes were never still, flicking to each door, each offshoot corridor. Her features a mask of rage as the words ‘fucking cowards’ spilled from her lips every few steps. Like a mantra the centurion repeated them, grinding the anger deeper into her mind, and the fear into the whore’s.

“Sarya,” an armoured member of the Evermar guard stepped out from the shadows by a stairwell, his weapon drawn, nervousness in his expression.

“The rest of the guard is sided with the council. We need to get you out of the city,” the man said firmly, and it was then that Isolde noticed the blood spattered on his armour, and smeared along the otherwise naked blade in his fist.

“What of you Carter?” the centurion asked.

“My family resides here, there is no time to get them. I will remain, and accept whatever fate comes my way with dignity,” the silver plated guard said, and glanced down the stairwell.

“We best move then, before word gets out to the city guard,” Sarya said, and quickly began to descend the staircase. Isolde stayed close to her, not wanting to stray in the least from the warrior’s side. Carter took up the rear guard, as shouts carried along the stone walls of the palace hallways. While Sarya’s and Carter’s boots cracked heavily on the steep steps of the side stairwell, speeding down to the first floor of the Evermar Palace, Isolde’s simple shoes slapped upon the stone.

They emerged into a narrow hallway. One amongst many in the labyrinth of corridors that twisted through the palace. This one meant for servants, for whores to quietly sneak within to service clients who would rather keep their desires quiet. Especially with the perversions of the Kazdruk encroaching upon them.  A small door, guarded by two men stood between the trio and freedom. The men were clad in silver plate, and they glared at Sarya.

“Give yourself up captain.  There might be hope should we turn you over,” one of the guards said, as Sarya kept herself between Isolde and the guards. The hall was too narrow for Carter to stand beside the centurion.

“There is no hope of that. The Elves will not forgive what we did.”

“Regardless, it is the will of the council. Who are we then to refuse the council.”

Sarya wasted no breath on words, instead lunging forward, palm on the pommel of her spatha, and pushing it hard through one man’s neck. Steel scraped against steel, flecks of silver drifting down before being lost amongst the blood gushing from the man’s throat.

As the second guard slashed in a tight arc, Sarya released her blade and moved to the side. She slammed the flat of her palm against the man’s clenched fists. The sword drove to the side as it swept down. Sparks flew when the tip hit the stone wall. The guard grunted and cursed, already bringing his sword back up, only to feel Sarya’s hand clutching his helmeted head. The centurion’s thumb drove inwards beneath the rim, straight into his eye.

The man screamed in agony, one hand shooting up to his face. Still gripping the rim of his helmet, Sarya yanked back violently, cutting off the scream with a crack of bone.

Isolde stared at the scene, the second guard dropping dead to the ground, the first one gurgling as he died. Sarya pulled her blade free, boot upon the man’s chest.  More blood gushed as steel slid free from flesh, forming a pool around the body. Isolde had never seen such brutality up close, and her hand slid over her mouth in her shock.

But, part of her was excited about it, seeing the blood pumping free.  She felt the hand of her Goddess upon the events unravelling around her.

Sarya burst through the door, and the three were staring out over a city gripped in fear. They could see over the tops of the walls, the flickering bonfires of the Elven army waiting to descend upon them.  Only one of the many enemies Sarya now had. The centurion stared out over city and plains, her brows furrowed.

“If only I had I had one more life to give,” she said, the last words trailing off, before she started down the narrow staircase that descended into the city proper. This was one of the service ways for servants of the palace, and whores. Isolde knew that second part very well.

They descended quickly, soon amongst the buildings and streets of Driftafay. Sarya led them smoothly along the cobblestone roads, making her way to the southern gate. They walked with purpose, not bothering to hide. The few guards patrolling along the rows of homes and shops paid no attention to them until they finally reached their destination.

A single guard was leaning against the stone that arched over the wide gates, and he looked at the coming three with a frown.

“M’lady… what brings you here,” he asked, pushing himself off the wall to stand at attention before Sarya.

“I’m leaving. For the council means to surrender. Open the gates,” she said, and the man’s face paled at the statement as he looked between all three.

For a moment, Isolde feared what the guard was going to do, and she noted Carter’s hand straying near his sword.  Sarya just stared the man down, until he turned.

In the end it seemed he had much more loyalty to the woman who both doomed and saved the city, than the elders who preferred to bow and scrape rather than stand up for themselves. He opened a small door  built into the gates proper. Beyond was the darkness of night, the plains that had seen just a taste of the bloodshed to come.

“Take care of yourself out there,” the man said carefully.

Sarya seemed to want to say something, but no words came to her. She turned then to her friend and companion. Carter and the Centurion clasped hands firmly, and nodded their heads once. The guard showed a hint of confusion as Carter made his way back into the depths of the city, while Sarya took Isolde’s hand and started out into the wilderness.

As they left from under the arch, walls behind them, the small door slammed shut. The sound of shifting wood signalled it being locked, and Sarya looked up to the moon in the sky. Then started walking at a brisk pace towards the forest. Turning ever so slightly southwards.

Isolde smiled. Lillium would be waiting at the end of this path, and Sarya would see her full potential.

 

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Crouching at the edge of the forest, Kira could scarcely recognize her old home.  Guard towers accentuated with wicked spikes along the supports and spiked heads were garrisoned by helot soldiers around the edge of Volgras. Humans wandered naked through the streets with leather collars around their necks and shackles on their wrists and ankles. Those that did seem free wore leather garb that accentuated their more sexual features. A style that would never have gained traction before.

New buildings had been hastily built, with strange markings painted on the front walls in red. The church of Oan was desecrated, two impaled bodies on either side of doors spattered with blood and cum. Kira looked away for a moment, closing her eyes to try and remember Volgras as it had been.

Before her sister ruined it all.

The shifting sound of plate armour behind her drew her from her memories, and Kira looked over her shoulder to the three knights crouched just behind her. Gauntleted hands clutching at the hilts of their drawn swords as they waiting, rather impatiently, for the moment to strike.

“Wait here,” Kira told them all firmly, the few that could fight from her gathering of refugees slithering through the shadows, daggers and crossbows at hand.

“We did not come all this way to watch,” Viviane said in a harsh whisper that was still too loud for Kira’s tastes. It seemed the knights were not one for subtlety.

“And you won’t. We’re taking out the guards so you can get into the castle. We don’t stand a chance against my si- Lillium, and you won’t get in there without being riddled with crossbow bolts. So be quiet, wait for my signal,” Kira said, the three knights having to strain to hear her words.

Without waiting any longer, the wolfkin slunk into the night, moving without sound to one of the guard towers. The helot within looked out from his vantage, peering into the trees and darkness of the forest surrounding Volgras, but saw nothing. Kira started to climb up one of the support s of the tower, her feet pushing off the spikes that sprung from the wood. The ladder would have creaked, but here she was soon slipping over the solid railing that boxed the watchman in. A slight creak and he began to turn.

Kira’s hand snapped forward, flinging a dagger directly into the helot’s neck. He tried to scream, but only blood gushed out from his lips, pattering on the floor. In a last ditch attempt, he raised his crossbow, but Kira was on him quickly. A second dagger punching into his wrist and dragging across. The monster’s fingers went limp, and Kira caught the crossbow before it fell.

Slipping one arm under the helot’s own, the wolfkin gently guided the now corpse down to the floor of the tower. Not one sound was made.  As blood soaked into the boards of the tower’s floor, Kira rose, new crossbow in hand, flicking her gaze to one of the other towers.

The helot there had turned his watch and spotted Kira. The refugee climbing upwards to silence him was only halfway there. A shout started to form in the helot’s throat as he raised his crossbow.

Kira was faster.

Her bolt launched forward, punching in the kazdruk foot soldier’s head, knocking him against the back half wall of his tower. There he sat in death, his warning cut off before it truly escaped. But it had been enough. A bell began to rang within the town that was once her home, and was now a den of evil.

Kira grabbed a torch near the ladder, and tossed it over the edge, signalling to knights to come in with their swords.

 

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Leaning back in his chair, Bazk grasped the elf’s head roughly. He didn’t need to force the pretty little thing’s head up and down his thick shaft. The slave had been so utterly broken that the elf just rammed the cock into his own throat, and loved every second of it, even as he gagged and struggled with breath.

As cum began to pour down the slave’s throat, Bazk let out a heavy groan of pleasure eyes closing, head tilted to the ceiling. The slave didn’t pull himself free until that thick spunk had stopped gushing into his mouth.

Cock softening, Bazk looked to his bed, relishing the thought of climbing into it. Then the bells started to toll, their clang carrying through Volgras. The Helot officer jumped to his feet, knocking the slave backwards, sprawling across the floor. The slave was terrified. Bazk was just angry.

“Get my weapons,” Bazk snapped at the elf, who nodded, and whimpered his response while the helot donned his armour, feeling the leather lining the inside of the steel against his flesh. Within a few moments he was dressed for war, sword in hand as he pushed his way out his door and into the town.

Outside was chaos. Slaves running to and fro, desperately trying to quench fires that had sprung up amidst the homes, helots lashing out at whoever they could find, desperately searching for the attackers. Bazk saw a glimmer of steel from the corner of his eye. Three knights and something else scurrying up the road towards the castle. But elsewhere he noted humans in dark cloaks. Wielding knives and crossbows and torches. Flitting through the darkness they used the confusion to strike against the disorganized helots.

Bazk strolled forward and grasped the nearest helot who had a slave pinned under his boot, sword raised.

“You, start getting the others, form a shield circle at the crossroads,” Bazk commanded, pointing towards the centre of town. Anger flashed across the helot’s face for a moment, and Bazk drove his unhelmeted head forward. The edge above the helot soldier’s brows cut into Bazk’s scalp, blood immediately  welling up in the wound and running down his features. But the officer ignored it. Instead he pointed again to the centre of town.

“Now,” he demanded of the helot shaking his head to get his senses back.

“At once sir,” he said, finally lifting his boot from the slave’s chest. The woman coughed heavily, blood streaming from her nose. Bazk looked down at her, and she averted her eyes.

“Get these fires dealt with. Or spend the next two days on the post,” Bazk said, memorizing her face, before storming off towards the centre of town where armed and armoured helots was getting themselves in a tight circle. Swords and shields aimed outwards they broke ranks only to let their comrades in. And Bazk himself. He wasn’t sure where Kaln or Lorth were; likely at the castle. So this fell to him now.

And to good service went reward.

“Form two files, down each road. Rear file ready javelins,” Bazk commanded, and for a split moment the helots looked at each other, each desperate to spill the blood of those daring to invade their home. Then they quickly began to move, getting in their formations as per their orders.

“Try not to kill any slaves, but do not let any of the attackers live. Spill their blood, and cover the ground with their guts. Advance,” Bazk commanded, taking personal command of the group marching away from the castle.

Their boots made a steady thump against the ground as the four groups moved in their given direction, weapons gripped tightly, shields raised. From the darkness the occasional crossbow bolt whistled before sinking into shield or flesh. Whenever a helot fell, they quickly closed their ranks.

The rear ranks with javelins threw their missiles in return to the crossbow shots, occasionally earning a scream from the darkness. Figures flitted through, searching for an opportunity. These were not warriors; these were desperate insurgents. A rebellion against the rightful masters of this place.

“No mercy!” Bazk screamed out, stepping on the corpse of a fallen slave.

 

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The shouted commands took Viviane by surprise. As she made her way up the road to the castle, she glanced back, beyond her two companions and the Wolfkin that followed. The refugees turned guerrilla fighters were striking against the enemy less and less as the helots organized themselves. Her heart pounded within her chest as she watched their window for success shrink. Never before had she seen helots organize themselves so efficiently. Like a true military force. Never had she seen anything like it. She started to think that she may not return from this mission alive.

Turning forwards again she steeled herself, inwardly clutching to her faith. If Lillium died, then her own life was of no matter.

“Faster,” Kira whispered harshly, picking up her own pace, leading the heavily armoured knights ahead.

Castle Volgras loomed  above them now. The portcullis was still raised before them, letting the gate yawn empty and black, leading to the halls and corridors within. Viviane glanced to Kira, saw the woman’s face hardened and twisted with rage. This had been her home, and now it was a beacon of all they fought against.

“Where are the guards?” Duncan hissed as the four of them slipped into the gatehouse. Above them were the murder holes that Viviane could not tear her eyes from; expecting at any moment for spears or oil to come tumbling down over them.

“Distracted; out looking for blood to spill. They’re only helots,” Morris responded quietly as he pushed through the gatehouse and into the small courtyard. Viviane was not convinced by the statement. Not after what she saw in the town itself.

Kira looked around the courtyard, at the gardens of wilting and dead flowers. It must have been beautiful once, for the wolfkin’s face was one of sorrow.

Boots clapping softly on the cobblestone path that led to the two oak doors of the keep proper, all four kept looking to the battlements, to the towers, expecting to see guards, slaves, anyone. But the place seemed deserted.

Opening the front doors, they all entered the great hall of the keep. The dual thrones of king and queen at the head of the tables replaced with a singular seat, decorated in a very Kazdruk manner. Kira had told them that the throne room itself was a few stories above them, and that the royal’s own bedchamber could be accessed from a stairwell in that room.

“This way,” Kira whispered, wondering why all the torches were unlit. Had this place been abandoned? It didn’t make any sense.

The wolfkin led her knight allies up a side stairwell, walking upwards in a circle around a central support pillar. Their boots echoed off the stone walls, stealth was no longer a concern. Lillium was sure to have guards there until she woke up. If she woke up. Sarya had said it could take some time, but it would eventually happen.

As they emerged into the throne room, they all stared at the throne. Sitting there, red eyes staring at them, lips curled in a fang filled smile, was Lillium. Her claws tapping at the ends of her arm rests.

“I’ve been waiting. Since the bells rang. Disappointing how long it took you to find me sister,” Lillium’s sensual voice said, seeming so loud after all the silence.

“And you’ve brought friends. A shame,” the succubus said, rising to her feet, heels clicking on the steps of her dais while the long skirts flowed around her legs. Glimmers of pale thigh showed above her tall boots as she stepped downwards to the middle of the room. Slowly she drew her sword, the dark metal etched with strange runes down the centre.

“We’ve come to end you,” Viviane said, getting over her shock at seeing this… monster, awake and moving. Lillium’s smile only growing wider. More menacing, more alluring. Viviane glanced towards the succubus’s perfect cleavage, and saw no scars, no marks that she had even been hurt. Much less on the verge of death.

“You’ve come to try,” she said, and Duncan, having heard enough charged forward. Morris shook his head was just behind his comrade when the crack of a whip sounded out.

While Duncan moved to clash with Lillium, their swords meeting with a loud ring, Morris was pulled off to the side. The long lash of a whip wrapped around his forearm, his loss of balance sending him to the ground with a crash, sword clattering from his grip. In the shadows stood an elf woman, clad only in bands of black leather, smirking.

Kira glanced between the two targets, even as another two women came out from the darkness.  Viviane gasped at the tattoos and mockery of a nun’s garb the one wore. Kira turned her head downwards at the sight of the other.

“Rania. What has become of you?” Kira said softly, though her hands were curled tightly around the two daggers in her hands.

The woman Rania said nothing, just hissed as the elf began to drag Morris towards her. Viviane took a step forward when she heard Duncan cry out. She spun on her heel in time to see Lillium pulling her blade from the man’s thigh, blood already flowing down his leg. Another look to Morris, and then Viviane was charging to Lillium.

Each thundering step seemed like an eternity as she ran, watching the scene before her unfold as she left Morris to the mercies of the three vampiric slaves, and Kira’s skills if she could shake herself free of whatever remorse had taken hold of her.

But their main effort was here, flicking Duncan’s hand out wide, opening his entire body to her next strike. Viviane was screaming now, point of her own blade aimed to Lillium’s chest. If she could only pierce the heart again.

Lillium’s next swing hit Duncan’s wrist hard, denting the metal of his armour and causing his hand to open. As the sword clattered to the ground, blood dripped steadily from within the gauntlet. Then Lillium had grasped him by a pauldron, forcing the knight to his feet. Duncan screamed, and Viviane had to bring herself to a sudden stop, lest her blade punch through him.

Spun around to face his companion, Duncan was at Lillium’s mercy. The succubus had herself pressed to the knight’s back, sword pushing up the visor of his helmet slightly, the blade against his throat. Her free hand slowly worked free the gorget that covered much of the man’s neck.

“Come now Knight of Oan. Strike me down. What is the life of one knight to all those I will end if you do not,” Lillium taunted, the gorget coming free and hitting the ground. Behind her, Viviane could hear Kira fighting, could hear a sensual groan coming from one of the slaves, a wet gurgle from Morris. But she dared not look.

Panic was filling her mind, her heart pounding. Her sword was aimed for Lillium’s grin, and she thought of thrusting it home as the succubus let that free hand slide downwards over Duncan’s armour, claws scraping at the metal, until she was reaching under his tasset. Blood still streamed down his thigh heavily, dripping over his boot to pool on the ground. His leg was shaking, threatening to give out, and if not for Lillium holding him up, he would have.

A reluctant groan of pleasure and pain spilled from Duncan’s lips, his eyes widening, and Viviane knew that Lillium was grasping his cock under his armour. The slight motions of her wrist told the knight that the succubus was stroking him. Whether through the pants, or if Duncan’s cock had been pulled free, Viviane didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.

“He’s getting hard for me knight. All those vows crumbling with the touch of a pretty woman. You could hold this power too. To feel someone else giving away everything they held dear, for just another touch.”

“Damn you Kazdruk,” Viviane shouted, as Morris’s gurgles finished behind her. He was dead she knew, and the grunts of pain behind her told Viviane that Kira at least was still fighting. She had to get herself together now. Plunge the blade home. She looked to Duncan’s eyes, his pleading eyes.

And then Lillium’s fangs sank into his neck, piercing his flesh, the arteries that ran just beneath the skin. A gasp spilled free from his lips, the act so spell bindingly sensual that Viviane felt a humiliating flash of envy. Then Lillium turned it from arousing to horrifying with a quick jerk of her head.

The growing arousal turned to fear as Duncan felt his life suddenly gushing out from his torn neck. Torn strips of muscle dangling from within the gaping wound. A cough had blood spraying from his mouth. A rough shove had the knight hitting the ground, and Viviane could not wait any longer. She rushed forward, bringing her sword down to Lillium’s shoulder. The succubus slid smoothly out of the way, the flat of her blade smacking against Viviane’s gut.

Viviane spun, weapon swinging with her, but Lillium met the motion. The succubus spun her sword in an arc above their heads, Viviane’s strike go wide. The sudden reverse swing from Lillium had that black sword crashing into the side of the knight’s head. Her ears rang and she stumbled, the helmet shifting and cutting off her vision.

She felt like a mouse. Being toyed with by a cat. Catching her own stumble she clawed at her head, ripping her helmet free, tossing it to the side. Eyes wild she regained her balance just in time. Lifting her blade she deflected a blow from Lillium and punched towards her gut.

The succubus dodged it though. Full of grace and skill she seemed to dance around Viviane, who let out a roar of frustration, her hope being crushed with every moment of this fight. She rushed towards her opponent, hoping to tackle her to the ground, to crush her to the ground.

Lillium moved aside again, sword slicing out. Pain flared in Viviane’s cheek as steel split flesh. Blood streamed down the left side of her face as she crashed into the ground. Desperately, clutching her sword, she flipped onto her back.

And felt the sharp edge of Lillium’s blade beneath her chin, the point just touching her throat. Panting, staring up at this creature of perfect beauty, Viviane felt her hopes wither and die within her. Lillium smiled, almost a smirk, legs spread to give the knight a peak behind her skirts. To see the flesh of her thighs.

“Yield,” Lillium said, and Viviane wondered what answer the succubus hoped would come. For a moment the two stood in silence, and Viviane managed to look past the succubus to spot Kira, bleeding from a few cuts along her face and arms. She was breathing heavily, above the body of Morris, the three brides of Lillium fanned out around her, staring at the wolfkin. She wouldn’t survive this either.

How could Oan let something like this happen? How could he let his people suffer and wither and die? This was no test of faith. How could faith withstand such a force as what stood above her. Viviane looked again to Lillium, at her beauty, the flesh pulled taught over muscles, the breasts pushing against their confines.

 

Viviane opened her fingers, and dropped her sword, and Lillium replaced her blade with a single foot, the bone of her heel pressing into the plate of the fallen knight’s armour. Viviane let herself be pinned, knowing death would not be coming soon for her. Inwardly she despaired, as her faith began to crumble around the beacon of darkness above her. With a swift move, Lillium kicked the dropped sword away, sending it spinning across the floor. For a split second her entire weight was one Viviane’s chest, and the knight was thankful for the armour lest that stiletto heel dig into her ribs.

“Sister. Why?” Kira said, limping forward then, and Viviane could see the cut along her calf. The wolfkin stopped to pick up Viviane’s sword, but she did not move towards the knight and the succubus. Instead she was moving towards the balcony.

“Why what Kira my dear?”

“Why do all this? Why let yourself become corrupted?”

Lillium laughed then. Like everything the succubus did it was sensual, with a tinge of dark menace beneath it.  For Kira, she wondered how far the succubus before her, was from the woman she had grown up with. For all the changes, for all the dripping sexuality, the woman still seemed so very much like Lillium.

“Corruption. It’s freeing sister. A breaking of the shackles of modesty and morality. Snapping the chains that have enslaved me to the will of masters as sinister as the Kazdruk are claimed to be.” Lillium said her foot sliding up Viviane’s chest until the toe reached her chin, resting against the blade still poised there.

“Without such bondage holding us back, we are free to be what we truly are. You call it damnation. I say liberation. And it is only through such that will humanity perservere,” Lillium purred as she looked upon her sister.

Kira glanced over her shoulder, a quick look at the three brides of her sister. Sexual servants enslaved to her will. But, from the looks upon their faces, they seemed happy. Which worried Kira more.

“Come sister. Stand with me now. Let us be sisters proper once more,” Lillium said, holding her hand outstretched towards the wolfkin who returned her gaze to the succubus.

“You know I cannot. I cannot let what’s left of my people fall to your advances.”

A short bitter laugh coursed through the room, and Viviane whimpered as Lillium pushed her toe upwards, forcing her head back. She was powerless beneath her strength. Oan had abandoned her in her greatest moment of need. In the moment that could have helped turn the tide. He had abandoned her, or worse, had been helpless himself.

“Cannot let them? Our clan is gone Kira. I am forging a new one. One that will let us prosper once again. Rise up and finally hold firm against the enemy that have taken everything from us and so many others. Join me sister, do not continue your foolish crusade, but take a proper stand. With me,” the succubus seemed almost desperate, her expression pleading. Kira stood still a moment, digesting what she’d been told. Slowly thinking it over. Eventually she shook her head slowly.

“No Lillium. I was chosen to defend our people. I’ve already failed at that. I will not fail the ones your masters have made homeless, on the run and hunted.”

Lillium’s hand dropped, and for a moment she looked regretful.

“Then I will break you my dear sister, and make you kneel, despite my love.”

Kira nodded, and lunged forward, slashing at Lillium’s gut. The succubus easily deflected the blow and raked her claws across Kira’s face. Flesh split beneath those black talons, splashing blood across the floor, but the succubus was off the knight on the floor. Viviane could escape if she wanted.

As the wolfkin and the baroness of Volgras fought, Viviane watched, curling herself into a ball, armour scraping against the floor. Utterly defeated. The three brides all hissed as one, starting to circle around the fight. Kira swung with a blade she was not used to, the long steel’s balance throwing her off. She could not win. Even if she somehow managed it, she would die here.

Leaving all those under her care to the mercies of those without any.

Grasping the taken sword, Kira threw it like a spear. Lillium’s eyes widened in surprise, the blade whistling past her as she ducked out of the way, the weapon cracking into her throne. She looked back at her sister, weaponless save the sheathed daggers. With one move she could fell Kira now. End it all. Sever the so called saviour’s head from her shoulders. But, she hesitated.

Kira took that moment of hesitation and turned, sprinting towards the balcony. Shouldering her way through the doors she found herself in the night. Without waiting for Lillium to catch up, or any of the brides that held no sympathies for the wolfkin, she leapt over the edge, keeping hold on the ledges.

Downwards she scaled, moving from outcropping to ledge all the way downwards. Into the night. An animal once more on the loose. The three brides howled at her escape, but Lillium just stared into the night sky through the open door.

“I wish it would have been different sister. I would have preferred you at my side, but you will be at my feet at the end of all this.”

Lillium turned to her new captive, curled upon herself, and smiled. With a few steps she was straddling the knight, running her hands over her armour before cupping her chin gently, forcing her to look upon the succubus. Lillium saw fear there, and also, awe. Slowly she let her tongue slide across her lips, and down her fangs in turn.

“As for you knight of Oan. I will show you a new Goddess, and I will break every pillar of your faith. As it comes crumbling down, you will want to kneel. You will want to serve. And you will give everything that was you… to me,” the succubus leaned down until their lips were just inches apart.

The two stared at each other for a moment, and then the succubus let her tongue run slowly over the knight’s lips.

Viviane knew then, that the succubus’s words were true. And she was ashamed that despair did not consume her.