Chapter 3: The Ritual

The rain fell hard in sheets across the lush green and red plains of the Penumbra borderlands, the sky a deep bruised purple of roiling clouds lit only by the occasional flash of unnatural red lightning. Here, on the southern fringes of man's frontier in Tierra Muerta, arcane storms like this were common; a side-effect of the proximity to Penumbra, the dark realm ruled by the Sorcerer Queen Nomeni. The Sorcerer Queen was considered by those who knew of such things to be the significantly lesser of the evils of the four Dark Powers of Tierra Muerta. It was rare that she extended her authority beyond her realm through force, apparently content to send arcane storms to harass the settlers close to her borders.

There were those who believed Nomeni's storms were, in fact, a gift; the heavy rain and crackling energy made the soil of the Penumbra borderlands more fertile than most of the regions of the human frontier. Lush grassland and palm forests lined the border, breaking up the otherwise inhospitable red sand wastelands, and fields of wild red berries and poppies dotted the landscape. Freshwater springs and rivers snaked throughout the region, and life thrived. Little wonder then that here, in the southernmost tip of Tierra Muerta's human frontier, there were groups of men and women who not only tolerated the proximity to The Sorcerer Queen, but worshipped her as a benevolent goddess. The cult of Nomeni was tolerated here by the other settlers; seen as mostly a bothersome inconvenience at worst, and members were known to inevitably make the pilgrimage into Penumbra itself sooner or later anyway, never to be heard from again.

However, Nomeni was not the only goddess worshipped here. In the small township of Extasis, six miles north of the Penumbra border, the Church of Mother Night held sway. While most of the fractured remnants of humanity in Tierra Muerta worshipped The Divine Radiance, the God of Law and Light, or Pan, the intersex deity of Nature, the Land and the Harvest, there were still many who gave their worship to the third deity of man; the unknowable Goddess of Night, The Moon, Feminine Power and Lust: Mother Night. In the Chapel of Dark Ecstasy, on this stormy night, seven new devotants were being inducted and into the church's ranks... Or rather, six new devotants, and one hunter.

The black stone chapel's interior was warm, dry, and lit by sweet-scented candles and braziers of acrid flame. Soft, ethereal music chimed from an ancient brass music box, barely audible over the hammering thrum of rain upon the tiled chapel roof. Seven braziers of black stone, each carved and shaped like a spread vulva with a small, orange flame glowing softly where the clitoris would be, arranged in a seven pointed heptagram shape, lined the stained, deep red carpet of the ritual chamber. In this chamber, Vanity kneeled, naked, part of an inward-facing circle with six other women ranging in age from eighteen to fifty. At each woman's knees were two small marble bowls; one empty, one filled with a warm, sweet-smelling oil. A tall, pale woman, the priestess of the chapel; naked save for a black veil, her large heavy breasts and wide pink areolas shining with oil, slowly walked the circle, stopping at each of the kneeling devotees in turn. Her puffy, freshly shaved pussy, prominent labia already slick, hovered inches from the womens face as she recited an incantation over each one. As she finished, each woman bowed respectfully and kissed her cunt with a long, wet kiss of thanks. Once the blessings had been given and each devotee had kissed her, the priestess stepped back from the circle and clapped once.

From the shadows, a number of figures emerged in deep blue, hooded ceremonial robes; seven in total. Each bowed before the veiled priestess and disrobed, revealing themselves; all men, naked, some with cocks semi-erect, some already fully hard, pre-cum dripping from the tips onto the already stained carpet. They were the male order of devotants to mother night; local men who offered their services in sex magick rituals, some in exchange for blessings, some for payment in silver, others for sex. Whatever payment they received, each man knew it was a great honour to contribute their part to a ritual of the church.

"Give your seed willingly, my brothers in night, so our sisters may be safe in the darkness" the priestess said, her heavily accented, seductive voice from beneath her black veil seeming louder than it ought to in this chamber. Each man bowed reverendly again, and took position in front of a woman...

Vanity had come to Extasis for aid. She had been hunting monsters for two years at this point, since she was sixteen years old. And she was good, despite her youth; she was damn good. As much as he hadn't wanted to, her father had trained her well, and even though he had tried to no avail to forbid her from going out to the world to follow in his footsteps, he could not stop her from leaving; even he could not deny her prowess and ability. She carried a preternatural speed and strength; a gift her parents understood all too well, but one which they had never explained to her. Vanity's skill as a hunter was as impressive as her thirst to kill monsters, but it was neither fortune or glory which drove her.

It was revenge.

It was the disappearance of Vanity's older sister, Chastity Hellsong, which had driven her to this calling. When she was twelve, Vanity's eighteen-year-old sister had been taken from their ranch in the night; violently, screaming, as roiling shadows had filled the farmhouse and her parents, even the retired-but-powerful monster hunter Rudolf Hellsong, had been helpless to stop whatever malevolent force dragged Chastity away.

For over a year, Rudolf had stalked Tierra Muerta relentlessly on a violent crusade against any monsters unfortunate enough to cross his path, hell-bent on finding Chastity; but he never did. He returned to Vanity and her mother Charity a near-broken man. Vanity still recalled, one night, aged fourteen, finding Rudolf slumped in his chair by the fire, drunk, reeking of whiskey; his face in his hands, mumbling, sobbing.

"It's my fault. All of it." He gripped Vanitys shoulder in a strong hand, a desperate grief in his voice. "First you, and now Chastity... It always comes back to me. Years fighting the darkness..." he sobbed, voice cracking with the strain of a year of pent-up self-loathing coming crashing apart before Vanity's young eyes. "What is the point of it all? I spent years, gods-damned years fighting it, and it always finds its way back to avenge itself, to hurt us... Your mother never asked for any of this. Radiance help me what have I done to us..."

Vanity had kneeled by her father; sixty years old by this point, still ruggedly handsome, a once well-trimmed goatee now straggly and unkempt, eyes rimmed red, sunken and framed with deep crows-feet but still a sharp steel-grey; and asked him what he meant by "First you...". His voice cracked as he opened his mouth to reply to Vanity, but instead he grimaced, pulled her close to him and hugged her tightly. "You're my daughter, Van. You're our girl. Nobody's going to take you from us, I'll keep you safe, I promise, I promise, I promise..."

Vanity had held him tight in her arms, breathing in the scent of whiskey on his breath and the musk of sweat and exertion on his skin, and swallowed back tears of anger; her father had always seemed so strong, always the very embodiment of the living legend. For the first time in her young life she saw him as a man; vulnerable, and afraid. It shook her to her core, enraged her. Whatever or whoever had done this to her family, to her father, to her, would pay.

"You want to protect me, daddy? Then teach me."

Rudolf pushed Vanity back, eyes wide in horror.

"No. Vanity, this life... it's too much. It's already taken so much from us, I cannot ask you..."

Young Vanity's purple-blue eyes shone brightly, defiant.

"You're not asking, daddy. I am."

His face crumpled again, his resistance to her faltering.

"I... Can't, it's too much."

"Try me."

Vanity would not be dissuaded. Rudolf relented, faster than he knew he should, but he could not deny Vanity this, or anything she had ever asked; and so, reluctantly, but without holding back, he began training her in the ways of the hunter. Vanity was an eager student, brilliant; a burning desire for vengeance within her drove her. Rudolf, for his part, was not surprised by Vanity's talents as a hunter; it was a path he had hoped desperately to keep her from, but ultimately he could not. His pride in her aptitude and skill was blunted by the shame he felt, and the accusatory looks he would sometimes catch from Charity while he was training Vanity struck him like a dagger of ice in his heart. Charity had lost one child to Rudolf's calling already, and she could not bear the thought of losing another.

Regardless, after two years of intense training, Vanity felt ready; and against Rudolf and Charity's wishes, she left the ranch at sixteen years old to pursue her calling, to slay the darkness which had taken her sister from her...

She had spent the last brace of weeks at the Chapel of Dark Ecstasy in Extasis. She may have been damn good, but she was still mortal, and the monsters of Tierra Muerta were dangerous. The life of most monster hunters ended violently, and Vanity was no fool; she knew she had to reach out for whatever aid she could find. And so, in the Chapel of Dark Desires, under the tutelage of the Priestess Myranda, she learned prayers, runes of evocation to enhance her weapons, and finally, sex magick. Now she kneeled in the circle with the other six women, all but her initiates into the Sisterhood of the Church, about to experience the sex magick ritual of protection.

The man standing before her was heavy set, a once-muscular body now heavy with middle age, barrel-chest dappled with wiry hair over a thick belly, arms muscular, hands rough and calloused. Despite his size and girth, he had a gentle expression on his weather-worn, bearded face, as he looked down at Vanity with kindly grey eyes and spoke softly.

"I give you my seed, my sister in Night, so that you may be safe in the darkness".

Vanity's eyes were locked on his thick, veiny purple cock, standing proudly from an untamed, wiry bush of thick dark pubic hair. His hairy balls hung low and large, swaying and slapping his thighs as he stroked his stiff member in Vanity's face. Around the circle, all of the men were following suit; each one masturbating over the kneeling women. The man stroking his cock for Vanity began to breathe rapidly, shallow, ragged breaths, face reddening as he stroked faster and faster, the squelching of his pre-cum as he gripped and tugged faster filling the room. Vanity felt her cunt grow hot and tingly, her nipples aching with need as they stiffened; her whole body feeling like pins and needles and waves of warmth flowing over her. She looked up into the mans face, her eyes wide and wet, lips soft and eager.

"Please cum for me."

Her mouth grew wet, as did her pussy, as she watched the man fuck his hand faster and faster, his eyes locked on her lithe, curved young body. She didn't notice that every other man in the room had turned to face her as they masturbated too, the women in the ritual chamber's gazes also fell on her. A palpable, electric feel of need filled the air, as Myranda the Priestess watched the ritual unfold in a way she'd never witnessed before, eyes wide, pussy wet with desire.

The man before Vanity dropped to his knees, the beads of sweat visible on his forehead, trickling down his hairy chest. The storm outside howled louder, lightning crashed throwing flashes of red through the windows of the chamber. Vanity felt a wave of sensation wash over her unlike any orgasm she'd ever felt, building from the pit of her stomach and expanding out over her until her whole body felt like it would explode. The man gripped her shoulder with one slick hand.

"Now... fuck, now," he gasped. Vanity caught her breath and reached for the empty bowl, directing the man's cock to it with her own hand as he let out a long, guttural moan of pleasure. His cock throbbed, his balls tight now against the base of his rigid member, as he shot stream after stream of milky-white cum into the bowl, until finally his orgasm ended and he sat back on the carpet, drained. Vanity carefully set the bowl aside, kneeled forward, and kissed the man, her tongue sliding into his mouth as she caressed his slick, spent balls.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear, before returning to her kneeling position. The man nodded, getting shakily to his feet, and picking up the robe, made his way unsteadily out of the ritual chamber, cupping his shrivelling cock in one hand.

The other men came soon after, each woman receiving their tithe of cum in their bowls.

Myranda stepped into the centre of the heptagram, eyes fixed on Vanity for a moment, before clearing her throat.

"Take the seed, sisters, and with it, trace the mark of protection across your heart."

Vanity, without watching the other women, dipped two fingers into the bowl of semen, feeling it's thick, slippery texture on her fingertips. She traced a seven-pointed heptagram, the symbol of Mother Night, in cum across her breasts; touching her collarbone, tracing to her stiff nipples, down across her solar plexus. The scent of it mingled in her nostrils with the smell of the braziers and incense.

"Now anoint your entrances with what remains. This will ward spirits from finding a way within."

Vanity dipped her fingers once more into the now cooling cum. She closed her eyes and dabbed a little on each eyelid. Then around each nostril, and traced it across her lips. She knew as it dried it would crust away and harden, but she also knew the second phase of the ritual would be done before then. She dipped her fingers once more, scooping the last of the cum from the bowl; she ran her fingers over her labia, tracing her smooth pussy; spending a little longer than necessary caressing her swollen clit, before sliding her hand under her, between her legs, her fingertips finding her anus, as she massaged the last of the cum around her tight hole, allowing a single fingertip to gently slide inside herself.

Myranda recited a short passage in an ancient, long-forgotten tongue of mankind, and the seven women responded.

"Now the oil, blessed here by me and given willingly to you. Cleanse and protect your skin from the diabolical."

Still kneeling, Vanity lifted the bowl of oil and poured it over her body, her hands sloshing and sliding over her naked, slick body as she massaged the oil into every curve and crevice of herself. She felt her nipples growing harder, her breasts aching, her cunt on fire. Every inch of her body was shining in the brazier light. She could barely contain herself; the few moments felt like hours until the Priestess spoke the final line.

"Finally, bring your power from within and mark yourself without, so that no evil may place its mark upon you."

Vanity eagerly plunged her fingers inside herself, one hand furiously rubbing her slick, engorged clit as two, three fingers slid wetly and noisily in and out of her pussy. She looked around the chamber; the six other women were in a similar ecstasy, exploring their pussies, fingers sliding and rubbing across their oiled bodies, the air thick with the scent of lust and sex. At the centre of it all the Priestess Myranda stood, hands gently tugging at her nipples as she watched them, eyes locked in particular on Vanity. As the crescendo of orgasm built within her, Vanity locked eyes with Myranda, as a thin, clear trickle of liquid began to leak from between the Priestesses legs, her naked body flushed with arousal as moans and gasps filled the ritual chamber. Vanity felt her pussy contract and spasm as her fingers curled inwards, rapidly stroking her sweet spot, the intensity of her cunt muscles contracting around her fingers almost painfully strong, until with a shuddering cry the sweet heat and pressure of relief exploded as she came hard, spraying onto her hands and the stained carpet in a powerful squirting orgasm. The intensity of the storm outside seemed to reach a crescendo, the vulva-shaped braziers bursting into large, furnace-like red flame as she came, their fire and heat filling the room. The other women gasped in shock as Vanity's cry of orgasm filled the chamber, the red flames roaring with an arcane intensity until they suddenly died back down. Vanity barely had the clarity of mind to catch as much of her cum as she could in her hands, but she did. Sweating, with heaving breaths, she traced the heptagram once more across her body in her own sweet release, before rubbing her hands across her body and face, breathing in her own scent and licking her fingers.

As she kneeled, sweating, Myranda kneeled unsteadily before her, taking Vanity's face in both hands. The heavily accented voice came in short gasps as her eyes locked on Vanity.

"Child of night... you have a power I have not seen in a human before. Your Mana is so very strong. I must taste it."

She lifted the veil, revealing a beautiful face of a woman in her fifties, and leaned in to kiss Vanity. Their tongues intertwined as their lips met; Vanity caressed the priestesses heavy, luscious breasts, pinching her stiff pink nipples as they explored each others mouths. Myranda tasted Vanity's own cunt on her tongue; the taste was sweet, musky and electrifying, unlike any pussy she had tasted before. It sent a thrilling jolt through her body, her breasts aching as her nipples hardened, her plump, puffy pussy dripping. The Priestess broke the kiss and pulled back, gasping. "As I thought. You are something more, child. Something other. Something..." she smiled, for the first time, her eyes lighting up with joy as tears formed at the crows feet. "Something beautiful and magical."

Vanity looked at the Priestess, confused.

"I'm just a woman."

"There is no such thing as just a woman," Myranda gently scolded. "But regardless, you are more, Vanity Hellsong. I would ask you to stay with us, to commune with us and protect us. For my own selfish pleasures I would beg you to stay and fuck me all of the hours Mother Night sends us. But I know you have a calling out there. Our gift of sex magick is yours. Know that whenever you need sanctuary, our Chapel is yours."

The Priestess Myranda bowed before her, body still shining with oil in the brazier light. Vanity looked around the chamber, body thrumming with energy and the tingle of the ritual, and saw the other women were following suit, bowing in reverence to her sexual power. She stood, still confused by what had transpired, and bowed in response, before leaving the chamber. She had found the protection she had come to seek, but had left with more questions than ever before...

In room six of the Dirty Pickle, Vanity breathed out, body slick with the ritual oil and the mix Rhys's and her own cum, the black candles dying out as the ritual came to a close, the bare wooden floor a mess of her climax, and the memory of that night in the chapel clarified her mind. She was ready to face whatever diabolical creature was in the mine.

She pulled the short, frilly black skirt up her smooth legs and fastened it in place, then strapped suspender belts on each thigh. Each belt held a small ornate scabbard, each containing a petite but razor-sharp stiletto knife. She wrapped her studded leather corset around her torso and laced it with practised ease at the back, her perfect breasts pushed together and out in a soft, plump cleavage. Next, she loaded her gun, the double barrel sawn-off pistol she carried in a hip holster; each shell was a flat-ended explosive, designed for brute-force damage over finesse. She slid the pistol into the holster, and looked at the last two items laid out on the bed; her sword, and a silver dildo. She smirked; probably wouldn't need the dildo for this one. She sheathed the sword, pulled her light duster coat on, and slung the sword over her back. She filled one pocket with spare shells from her bag, and tucked a vial of blessed holy water in another, and pulled on a pair of rugged leather ankle boots and laced them tightly, the pointed silver toecaps gleaming in the morning light. Finally, she slicked her hair back with oil, applied a little rouge to her lips and dark eyeshadow around her blue-violet eyes, and admired herself in the smudged, cracked full-length mirror on the wall. She looked every inch the badass monster hunter, ready for anything.