Succubus Inquisition Ch. 01

She had liked the monk back then and really enjoyed playing with him, but now she wasn't sure if it was just the magic overwhelming her senses or if she was really developing feelings for him. She hadn't noticed his torment back then, his struggle with the demon in his head. Yet she quickly learned how easy it was to submit to the succubus, losing herself to those lustful promises.

All those sexy things she whispered to me in my sleep, getting me to interrupt Ysh just as his spell would have sealed his control of Meridiana... That red skinned beautiful woman, curves in all the right places... Oh!

Her tails angled his cock to rub against her wet pussy, as he kept bucking she couldn't help but grind herself back into him. Her tails continued to twist and twirl, his body was close she could feel it. Her thoughts were filled with desire and a will to obey. Such feelings she had been fighting to control now flooded her mind.

How could she ever think of disobeying her mistress, that angelic face made her melt as she imagined it in orgasmic pleasure. The book fell from the makeshift bed of cushions unnoticed as she grinded into his pole more urgently. She needed more and never wanted it to end, more, more, more it was all she could think about!

Yshomatsu cried out as his orgasm hit. His pulsating member closed the deal for Bree and fireworks exploded within her, squealing with delight she wrapped herself tightly around him. In moments she was panting for air, her mind a pleasant fog of post-orgasmic bliss.

Lying atop him exhausted she leaned in and weakly kissed him upon the lips before drifting off to join him in much needed sleep.

Unaware as she slept his fluid absorbed into her tails and a subtle itch caused her to scratch at the base of her tails.

*****

It was dark and wet outside as Sir Blake stared out the building's window. He had been cooped up for the past few weeks tending to his wounds. The couple that owned this house was kind enough to offer him shelter. Blake knew better however, the couple just couldn't risk bringing the Horadric's wrath upon themselves. He imagined the whole town would have been in celebration from that day had he died along with the rest of his men.

The memory of Sir Blake and the Horadric Legion conquering the people of the villages was too fresh on their minds to forget. They were simply too scared to do anything when the few Horadric stationed in the area vanished in the mountains just as they were too scared to leave the knight to his death under the rubble.

Sir Blake was left in charge of keeping the peace in these parts while the main eastern army focused on the surrounding areas. His wounds have healed enough for the journey. Soon he would be off to acquire the aid of his General, Titus. He was a great and honorable man who sought to unite the world rather than consume it.

Over the past few weeks those few remaining men under Sir Blake were scouting in search of the monk's people. They have since been reporting the activities of one ancient monastery. Sir Blake had become convinced that this old sect had become corrupted and practiced some form of foul, dark magic, for he saw the glowing eyes as a sign of evil.

Even though the Horadric believed in many gods, they still feared anything unknown or otherwise unnatural. Sir Blake was determined to put an end to what he saw as nothing else but a threat to the newly conquered land. He had intended to hang the monk in order to solidify his command, and had almost succeeded.

The knight let out a deep breath before returning to his temporary bed chamber. At first light he would meet up with his General and return with the entire legion.

He quickly fell into a deep sleep, but this was no pleasant deep sleep, for he twisted and turned all night. His dreams were dark and gloomy, filled with hate and fears of meeting an army of glowing eyes. Thunder clashed outside and echoed within the house. Sir Blake woke, as he jumped up in bed, covered in sweat. He looked around and quickly realized it was just a storm aided by a bad dream, wiping the sweat from his brow before lying back down. After a moment once he calmed down and drifted off to get a few hours of decent sleep before the sun would begin to rise.

Shortly after, the knight mounted his horse and rode off towards the sunrise, having prepared his things the night before. For hours he pressed on, pushing his loyal horse harder than he ever had before. The animal was starting to slow down, panting and foaming slightly at the mouth. Sir Blake took pity on his steed and pursued a detour in search of water. Soon he found a shady creek a few minutes out of his way.

He dismounted and led his steed to the water. The horse drank quickly, desperately needing nourishment. However the knight pulled back on the reins.

"Easy there fella, drink too much too fast and you'll be worse off than you were before."

He tied the reins around a nearby tree and removed his helmet, crouching down he filled the makeshift bowl and placed it on the ground for his horse. Kneeling down, he cupped his hand into the water and took a drink for himself. Once he was done he walked back to his horse and retrieved some food from his pack, ripping off a small piece for himself and offered the rest to his horse.

As he sat down against the tree, he took a moment to savor the dried meat and enjoyed the feeling of cold shade upon his skin. About an hour later when his horse looked well rested he got up and stretched.

"We'll take it slow the rest of the way boy," As he scratched the animal's neck, "The General can't be far now. Wouldn't want to lose my head again and put us in any danger now would I." Sir Blake joked as he climbed unto the saddle and patted his horse's neck again before they set off.

The sun was now at their backs as they returned to the path and continued eastward.

*****

Life at the monastery went on as it normally would. The Order's Elder sat meditating with many other monks. Outside members went about their business tending to outside crops and daily chores.

Athanatos began each day with a stretching routine. He believed that the Elder took too much stock in the Dream state. It was useful but to indulge anything too frequently never works out in the end. Even though he longed to reach out to his mentor for advice Athan withheld from entering the Dream, in light of everything happening.

In time their paths would cross. He hoped.

He calmed his mind and began to practice his favorite form of martial arts, taking deep breaths he waved his arms around and spun as if in a dance. It wasn't long before he had an audience. Elpis had become quite amazed by the monk. He moved with excellent skill and grace, spinning and flipping through the air to fight some unseen foe.

His focus shifted, even with his eyes closed, Athan sensed someone watching him. He spun around to face whoever it was and leapt into the air, twisting his body to land behind the presence. He kicked out with his foot, bending Elpis' knee out from under him. With one swift, yet gentle swing of his arm, the monk backhanded the boy's chest and sent him to the ground with a thud.

Athan opened his eyes and smile, "Never wise to sneak up on someone."

The boy looked up at him in shock, "That was amazing. I didn't make a sound, how did you know I was here."

"Just a feeling, besides if I was wrong it would have just looked like part of my routine," he busted out laughing before extending an arm to help the boy up. "Care to try your luck with a sparring match?"

"Against you, not in a million years, I wouldn't last one minute."

Athanatos walked over to a stand and grabbed a cloth, "I'll blindfold myself and won't attack, only defend myself." Before waiting for a reply, he walked into the center of the room and tied the blindfold around his face. He took a deep breath and waited with his back turned to Elpis.

The boy smiled and moved off to the side as quietly as he could. Athan entered a defensive stance and acted as if he was lost. Quickly turning from side to side waving his arms back and forth before his blindfolded face; Elpis believed Athan had lost his scent and rushed forward in attack.

His footsteps made soft, yet audible noise, just enough for Athan to spin out of his path and trip the boy with an out stretched leg. With a loud crash the boy landed hard onto the ground before rolling to his feet and swinging his arms.

Athanatos opened his senses to the world around his and felt the air shift. He moved faster than the boy could think and blocked each attack before rolling backwards and reentering his defensive stance. A slight smirk on the skilled monk's lips went unnoticed by Elpis. The boy grunted in utter frustration and charged forth screaming out as he launched attack after attack. Only to be countered at every turn, Athan would move to block before Elpis even knew where his limbs were going.

"Calm yourself, your anger deceives you and announces your every move. Take a deep breath and think before you act, move one way only to cut short and strike from another." Athan lectured.

The boy paused for a moment to catch his breath and watched as the older monk demonstrated. Athan moved for an attack to the right and pulled back, spinning to a low kick. And he feigned again with a mid-strike turned into a throat jab with his other hand.

"Pay attention to your opponent's body, you can see the power behind each movement. Sense the air flow and react." He leaned forward and swung his open palm in front of the boy's face. His hair waved as he flinched back slightly.

"Balance your soul, until you can fight with the same calm sense as if you were resting under a tree watching the sun set on the horizon."

Their sparring match went on for another hour as the teacher introduced new tactics into the young mind before him. Elpis got close to landing a few blows, yet tasted dirt more often than not.

*****

It had been a long and bloody battle in the tight quarters of the cavernous trail. There were many injuries but surprisingly no deaths, most of the injuries were from cuts along the cliff walls and falling rocks. The king used the untimely disadvantage of the tight space to his favor with just a few well-placed and held shields. The tribesmen truly acted like savages, flailing their weapons like untrained animals. Their shouting caused a few rock slides; with raised shields the Arcadians avoided major injuries besides a few concussions.

Later the mountain caverns were wiped clean of living tribesmen and the Arcadians returned to their camp. A long and challenging campaign was coming to an end, yet it seemed odd, the shamans kept retreating and regrouping in stronger numbers than suddenly, like their endless supply of troops ran out, it ended at the mountain. Something didn't seem right to Athanatos. The king ignored his warnings and advice, allowing his men to celebrate the victory. Despite everything Athan found himself agreeing that a little down time could do them all some good, if only for a moment.

Athan retired to his tent. Even though he agreed to it, he didn't want to be a part of it. Drinking wasn't an activity the monks partook in, wishing to keep their minds and bodies alert and clear. Moments after entering his tent Athan noticed a parchment out of place on his bed roll. At first glance it just looked like one of his scrolls that belonged in his shoulder strapped bag, until he reached for it. This wasn't an old scroll that has been read hundreds if not thousands of times, it was new. He picked it up, opened it and read the strange lettering that only monks would recognize.

"You have hereby been recalled from your duties of overseeing the young leader known to his people as a shining beacon of hope, for a mission of the utmost importance. You are to meet your former mentor at the location of your first training exorcise."

There were no marks or signatures as a secret group normally would leave. The cryptic message in an unknown language to the unskilled eyes was all that they needed. Athan let lose a deep sigh and headed out to speak with the king.

At first light the next day he was off to meet with his mentor with every intention of declining the mission, whatever it was, and returning to his duty. He had no idea that after that first step out of camp his life would never be the same. The very fabric of the world depended on it.

*****

Meanwhile, on a dusty road the knight and his horse approached a large hill; Sir Blake could hear the drums of war. Shouting and loud crashes filled his ears while the sky flashed. Sir Blake kicked heels into his steed. The animal bucked up on its hind legs and kicked out with its front before bolting forward. The knight gripped his sword's hilt, ready to join the battle.

Once he reached the top of the hill he abruptly stopped the charge. These weren't the drums of war after all, it was just a nightly drill, and the camp was awake and kicking with activities. Tower shield lines marched in formation all over, while archers and siege weapons practiced their aim. Orders were shouted out, chants and other sounds roared up the hill to the knight's ears.

Sir Blake would have looked like a silhouette painting to anyone that looked his way. A beautiful sunset cast an array of colors upon the horizon behind him. He had been heading west in search of the camp. Yet it stood wisely between large hills under the mountains. Sir Blake had to circle around to the smaller hill to get to them.

Sir Blake remained there for a while as he enjoyed watching the true legion at its best. Marching tower shields practiced forming the iconic turtle defense. Those in front kneeled with their shields side by side while the line behind them raised their own shields up over the front lines' heads.

The Horadric weren't the first to come up with the phalanx idea, but Sir Blake believed they were the ones that perfected it. The formation was great for surviving many things including arrows. The Spartans used to raise their shields over their heads and fought in the shade so to speak. Those brutes used to be the top dogs in the world, but times change.

He caught sight of the General's signature white furs. Slowly he urged his horse down the hill into camp as he placed his sword back into its sheath. The camp's guards began to close in on him before they recognized the knight and stepped aside with a salute.

"Strength and Honor," they both said with a slight bow. Sir Blake returned the gesture and continued on into the camp until he came up to a block of wood. He dismounted and tied the reins to secure his horse. A young stable boy came up a moment later with food and water for the animal.

A marching group of tower shields slowly passed by as Sir Blake waited for a clear path to reach the general. Many of the men ignored the knight's presence, obviously eager to finish the march and enjoy some rest at their tents. A few, however, glanced at him with curious looks. He could only wonder what they were thinking about. Perhaps they were wondering who he was, or they recognized him and wondered why he was here. Or worse yet maybe they all heard of his failure and were judging him, thinking he wasn't fit to overlook the land he was charged to care for.

As they passed by Blake's mind returned to the task at hand, those insecure thoughts had no place within his mind and were quickly pushed away. He strode over to his General and offered a salute while admiring the man's custom armor.

Unique white fur was sown into the plates of metal, his boots and leggings were made of the animal fur and leather with plates covering vital points. His chest plate had a design of two lions fighting, the wild cat from a land far to the south on the other side of the sea. His gauntlets were also made of the leather and its plate had the design of an animal's paw. Over each knuckle a small pointed blade extended that served two purposes, one as a deadly hand to hand weapon. And two, part of the design to resemble the paw's claws.

Blake imagined the furs and designs were all from the same animal. The General's shoulder's consisted of layered plates over one another up to his neck where a plate on each shoulder extended up to protect his head and neck from side swipes. The man preferred those shoulder pads over a helmet as he liked the free movement and greater sight range in combat. Rather than be limited and have a disadvantage in battle.

The General heard the knight approaching with his mail armor loudly announcing his arrival for him. The General turned as he gave an order to a scout next to him. The scout quickly gave Sir Blake a nod as he hurried past to carry out his orders.

"Ah Sir Blake Barbatio to what do I owe the pleasure of your company my friend?" Blake saluted him and cleared his throat. The General smiled as his thinning, grey hair and thick, grey beard waved with the wind.

"Titus Herminius Aquilinus, I wish I could say I was here with better tidings, however, I am in need of your help."

"Ask away my friend. But be quick about it, these men get cranky if I keep them out for too long."

"Yes sir, I have discovered a group of monks unlike any I've seen before, practicing a form of dark arts. One lone monk with glowing eyes managed to nearly wipe out my entire company of men," Not realizing he had stopped breathing he quickly took a deep breath of fresh cold air.

"Did you provoke this man?

Blake shook his head in answer, "The monk had come out of the shadows and attacked us with expert skills. I had wounded him before he ran off. I later tracked him down to a cave and captured him while he slept. He managed to bring the mountain down on top of us. Only a few of my men survived, yet he didn't escape. I locked him up and attempted to get answers and was witness to his wounds healing overnight. Once it was clear I wasn't going to get any answers, I strung him up upon the gallows when a stampede of horses came through the town and he escaped."

Titus looked on with concern, noticing the scars and freshly healing wounds upon the knight's face.

"I wouldn't be standing here if the townsfolk didn't take me in and mended to my wounds."

"And you think this monk wasn't a loner?" Titus asked.

'No sir, I have reports of a monastery in that area. I believe he came from there."

"Interesting, glowing eyes can't be a good omen," He gave the order to cease the night's drill and for everyone to get some rest. "Come with me and we'll discuss this further with my war council, we'll decide if this corrupt group of monks is a threat to holding these lands." Blake hoped they would be on the march soon, he feared the idea of facing an army of strong monks with glowing eyes.

"So you said this man's wounds healed before your eyes?" Titus asked as they walked towards his tent, he gestured for someone to get his war council. A gesture he had done frequently over the years they're been at war.

"Yes. I had struck his face with my sword the first night before he ran off. By the time I caught up with him the next night the wound was healed. All wounds I gave him the second night healed right in front of me when I had him locked up."

"I wonder what God these groups of monks worship. It can't be good, I've never heard of any God that causes the eyes to glow. However, I have heard of plenty that aid in healing." He reached out and raised the flap to his tent, allowing his knight to enter first.

Blake bowed slightly and entered.

General Titus offered Sir Blake some hot tea from his fire as they discussed the events the knight had been through. The old man wanted every detail, good or bad. Before night fall they would decide if these so-called monks posed any true threat. If they did the War Council would act accordingly.