Sisters of the Mists Ch. 19

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Darkniciad
Darkniciad
1,236 Followers

Such was quite out of the question at the moment, however.

****

Zoraster tossed aside the wizard's notes in disgust. The early pages were written in an even, practiced hand, carefully notated. The later pages revealed without any doubt that the man had descended quickly into madness upon betraying his nature. The use of blood magic in his desperate quest to regain his dead bride had warped him into a shell of a man grasping at every straw.

It was the fruit of those labors that Zoraster took up next. He held the locket aloft by its delicate, braided chain, listening to it thrum in tune with Godsbane and wondered aloud, "How did you accomplish this in your decrepit state?"

The magic of the locket connected to the woman's soul, wherever it had drifted upon her death. Godsbane rejoiced in the magic, which defied the gods. The gods were also ignorant of it; else they would have surely taken steps.

If the wizard's notes were accurate, the locket could confer all that the woman was, mirroring her soul without drawing it from whichever heavenly realm she now dwelled. Of course, that required a proper body to house that mirror soul. In his madness, the man had barely started on the path to cloning, and would have never accomplished it in his surely shortened life.

There were few who could have guided him, because Zoraster had long ago seen to the death of most that possessed the knowledge, taking their research for himself.

Study of the locket would require time and resources he could ill afford to spare. It was beyond frustrating to be no closer to the knowledge he sought when he had the results of the magic in his hand and its creator held in stasis within his inner sanctum.

Then, it dawned on him. The mad wizard was not the only asset connected to the locket within his abode. There were risks, of course, but as he contemplated them, he noticed that Godsbane was reacting to his line of thought. Whenever he considered the risks, the artifact's humming song dimmed. When he thought of proceeding, the song intensified.

There was little more he could learn from the locket or the notes. He needed the knowledge of the man who had created them, and it was behind a thick wall of insanity. Ebonar's report of the man's capture offered a glimmer of hope.

Zoraster stood and left his study, the sound of his footfalls on the stone floor echoing through the quiet complex. No sound emerged from behind the door of the madman's room. After attempting to question the wizard and probe his mind, Zoraster had put him in a deep sleep to stop the incessant rambling and screaming. Upon opening the door, he saw the magic was holding firm. The man lay as still as death, barely breathing.

On the bed next to his, his bride lay in true death. Zoraster studied the beautiful, still-nude corpse, fascinated by the results of the demon's powers. She did not breathe. The heart beneath her full breasts did not beat. Despite that, the only evidence that she was dead was her pale skin. She was little more than a slab of meat, and yet she did not decay. Not only could the demon's power reverse the ravages of death, it appeared to make the corpse immune to them as well.

A thought summoned one of his clone servants. The empty-eyed man entered the room a minute later.

Zoraster pointed at the blonde corpse and ordered, "Take this one to the cloning room and place her in one of the empty creches."

The clone did not answer, nor did it need to. Its only reason for existence was to obey Zoraster's every command to the letter. The woman's body hung limp in his arms when he lifted her from the bed.

"Quickly," Zoraster added only a few steps outside the door when the clone was walking too slowly for his liking. The nearly mindless servant complied, and they soon reached the cloning chamber.

Zoraster held up the locket above the creche and looked down at the woman's body within. Once he placed it around her neck and spoke the command word to activate it, the item's enchantments would be spent.

He had already made his decision. The reassuring weight and hum of Godsbane within his robes further strengthened that resolve. The spell he had cast to hide himself from the gods should serve to conceal his actions, but should the magic attract the attention of the god to whom her soul had ascended upon death, he was ready with the artifact.

Reaching into the creche, Zoraster lifted the woman's head and slipped the chain around it. He then centered the locket in the valley between the woman's cold breasts.

"Milove," he sneered, the command word to activate the locket.

The magic worked. The woman within screamed in despondent terror as her soul — or at least a mirror of it — was torn from the heavens and thrust back into her flesh. Zoraster quickly activated the magic of the creche, causing her to fall silent.

A combination of his magic and nature would calm the woman in time. Whether it was a safeguard of the gods or the mind's own need to deal with the shock of being resurrected, those who returned — and didn't go mad — forgot most of what happened once they passed beyond the veil. The length of time depended upon how long the person had been dead, how they had died, and more. Zoraster had studied the phenomenon thoroughly even before Danica and Celes had forced him to experience it first hand.

He turned to the clone servant standing nearby. "Go to Ebonar. Tell him I wish to have information about this woman and her husband. The nature of their dwelling, their clothing — everything."

The clone left, setting Zoraster's plan in motion. Compared to the ravings he had experienced, Ebonar's recounting of the man's capture painted him as positively lucid. In the proper environment, with his life's work fulfilled in his returned bride, perhaps he might regain enough of his mind to reveal the secrets of the locket.

Until the creche did its work, all he could do was prepare that environment and wait.

Crossing the room, he looked into another creche and a twisted smile spread across his face as he beheld the clone growing within.

With this one, the wait was nearly over.

****

C'seka snarled in irritation as he held his hand over the nude elf maiden. She had not yet recovered sufficiently to provide him the sweet nectar of her lifeforce, or even the pleasure of her body.

The sense of maleness he had acquired upon being pulled from the Hellgate was as insatiable as his hunger for power and flesh. It was the sweet bliss of her horror as he took her virginity that had stopped him from draining her dry that first time. Though she no longer had her innocence to surrender, the pleasure of taking her was only slightly less satisfying — and far more satisfying than any other.

In time, her horror would fade as she grew despondent. When that time came, he would follow through on his original plan and suck her dry. Then her soul would be his plaything, and he knew her horror would surge anew. With any luck, he would find another unspoiled elf maiden to take before that time came.

The gifts he had provided to his devil master placed him firmly where he wanted to be. He was favored enough to avoid menial tasks, and insignificant enough that he didn't immediately come to mind when Meckataur wanted something more difficult or dangerous done. It freed him to pursue his own pleasure in this new, wide world he'd been given.

C'seka reached out with his senses, searching for elf maidens or interesting sensations from other Hellgates. Almost immediately, one of the latter caught his attention. A thought was all that was required to bring his personal realm into proximity of the other. He was shocked and intrigued when the two realms joined.

It was not the same as when he claimed the Hellgate of another. When he took a wizard and a Hellgate as his own, their realm merged into his. This new pocket of hell was still separate, akin to another room in a dwelling.

Curious, he crossed over and took the shape of that Hellgate's demons — fair-haired, leanly muscled, nude, and well-endowed. He knew the reason for the odd joining of realms the moment he breached the veil between the two. This one's mistress was beholden to Meckataur as well.

Instruments of torture lined the cold stone walls. Blood decorated every surface. Three demons wearing forms similar to C'seka's held a woman down on her knees. Two pulled her arms behind her at what was certainly a painful angle. The third sat on her bent legs, holding her feet off the bloodstained floor.

The woman's clothing was in tatters, revealing her breasts and hair-shrouded sex. Bruises, welts, and cuts marred her flesh. She wept, though her simpering was weak and barely audible.

C'seka sneered, recognizing the foul taste of a white witch the woman exuded, despite never having faced one.

Camilla sat sipping wine and running her fingers through her dark, curly locks, enjoying her prisoner's pain. Two of her realm's demons caressed her. One had droplets of wetness running down her thighs, while the other was at full and impressive erection.

It was a sign of corruption that the demons were so familiar with her, but C'seka knew that corruption had happened long before even her servitude to Meckataur. She was a rare mortal whose soul was so tainted that the temptations of the demons in her realm were nothing compared to the humanity she had already surrendered of her own free will.

More intriguing was her servants' memory of the Hellgate collapsing upon them. Just before it vanished, sending them into the void, it had exploded back into being — though in chaos for quite some time. Having experienced such a collapse himself, he knew this woman had died and been resurrected before her Hellgate could completely fade into the void.

Camilla put down her wine glass and sighed theatrically. "I'll end your pain if you only tell me where to find a witch with powers. Useful ones, mind you. A few words, and you'll be free."

"Y-you... You lie," the white witch responded between ragged breaths and sobs.

Camilla grinned, and through her servants, C'seka knew the witch's words were true. Camilla planned to trap the woman's soul and use it in a dark ritual she had discovered — but only after using every bit of blood and flesh she could for other black magics first.

The demon wearing a female form cooed and giggled when Camilla ran her fingers through the curls on the creature's mound.

"My pet makes you uncomfortable, doesn't she? The way she touches me. The way I touch her," Camilla said. She then slipped a finger into the demon's sex, causing it to moan in approval.

The white witch closed her eyes.

Camilla stood. "You will tell me what I want to know. If pain won't make you talk, maybe something else will."

The black witch shed her robe, revealing heavy, rounded breasts and a toned body. She then pushed down her panties unveiling the thicket of dark curls between her legs. Her prisoner's eyes remained closed, though her whimpering grew louder.

"It's a simple spell. A trick apprentices play on each other to make them fumble their spells. I've made it better, of course," Camilla said as she sauntered toward the other woman. "I can make your tongue do much nicer things than fumble your words."

Camilla stepped in front of her prisoner, her sex only a few fingers' width from the woman's face. She paused, letting the white witch smell her arousal. When the prisoner shuddered and fresh tears welled up in her eyes, Camilla began her spell.

The sobbing woman's mouth dropped open and her tongue slipped out when Camilla's chant ended.

"You could have used that to tell me what I want to know. Now, you'll just have to wait until I've finished using it."

With that, Camilla grabbed a handful of the white witch's hair and shoved her pussy into her prisoner's face. The horrified woman could do nothing to stop her tongue from lapping her captor's folds. The female demon Camilla had called her pet approached as well to fondle the white witch's breasts and sex.

C'seka could feel the emotions streaming from both witches as Camilla took her pleasure from the woman's revulsion and her tongue. He was also connected to the demons of Camilla's Hellgate. He experimented, and found that he could control those she hadn't given specific orders to.

The woman's Hellgate was particularly large and thrumming with power as a result of her harmony with the demons that inhabited it. It reminded him much of Danica's, though the size and power of hers came from cowing the demons, rather than giving into their temptation.

He had little doubt that attempting to subjugate Camilla would prove just as impossible as his failed attempt to invade Danica's. It would also invite the wrath of the devil who was her master and his.

Furthermore, it would also raise the ire of another.

That any mortal could fear another mortal more than Meckataur the Destroyer was almost unfathomable to C'seka, yet Ebonar and Zoraster Arias inspired such terror in Camilla. Even more improbable was some magic which hid the memory that Zoraster was alive from the powerful devil that had his claws dug into Camilla's soul.

That was information that could prove quite useful.

Camilla neared a peak, and C'seka focused on the emotions washing over him like a raging river. Camilla screamed in climax, and another river cascaded down the white witch's face, body, and the rags that clung to her. The prisoner's tears mingled with her captor's gushing eruption. The sensations were so powerful and exquisite that C'seka teetered on the precipice of an ejaculation. His erection throbbed, bouncing in the air, but he found no release.

Camilla laughed between gasps for breath, grinding the stiff hairs between her legs into her victim's face.

The aching need of his maleness forced C'seka to leave the Hellgate, though he could still sense her pocket of the hells even once within his own domain. The experience had given him much to ponder, but for now, he needed satisfaction.

One of his pawns stepped into the Hellgate that had once been hers, her hair disheveled and her eyes heavy from being awakened early by his summons. He shredded her nightclothes with his claws, seeking her flesh.

****

Danica stretched and yawned in the dappled morning sunlight peeking through the trees. Despite renewing their shielding spells, calling home, and taking a bath, she still didn't feel quite awake.

Marlena stepped out of the tent, her hair still slightly damp, and shivered. It wasn't all that cold, but fresh from a warm bath, the illusionist was feeling the effects. The pair had decided that if they were going to get an early start, they should take separate baths. Any time they would have made up by sharing would have probably been lost twice over when they shared each other as well.

"Got everything?" Danica asked. When Marlena nodded, Danica caused her magical tent to shrink. She picked up the tent totem from the layers of leaves on the forest floor and stowed it safely in her bag of holding.

Marlena asked, "Do you want to use the same illusions as yesterday?"

"Let's go with invisibility for now. I want to get a feel for the people in the village and what the Emperor is thinking before trying to talk to him."

"Easy enough," Marlena said, and then worked her magic.

The road to the village seemed to be rarely traveled by anything other than foot traffic. They met no one until they were on the outskirts of the village, and all but one of those were out in their meager fields. When Danica used her powers to hear their thoughts, they were almost entirely focused on the need to finish as much of their work as possible before the Emperor arrived.

Danica held up a hand as they neared the cluster of one room, mud brick dwellings. Marlena's mastery of illusion magic meant that she had no fear of breaking the invisibility spell by speaking.

"The only thing I'm getting so far is fear. They're deathly afraid of the Emperor — even though most of them are at least distantly related to him. They're also afraid that his visit is going to keep them from getting their work done for the day."

"A lost day's work could mean the difference between living and dying this winter," Marlena guessed.

Danica nodded toward a crude cemetery, where there were numerous fresh graves. "No markers, flowers, or anything on the new graves. I'm feeling touches of grief and anger, but the fear is drowning it. Let's circle around the village. I'll see if I can pick up anything else before the Emperor shows up."

"How long do you think?"

Danica pointed at the road near the marble statue. "I doubt he's going to walk, so he'll come in from there. We should be able to see him long before he reaches the village, unless he comes in on a horse at a gallop."

The two women skirted around the fields, wells, and pastures where the villagers were rushing about. Despite the obvious need to perform everyday tasks, there were still several people cleaning up dung, pulling weeds, and cutting away branches that stuck out into the main road leading in. Marlena helped to guide Danica's steps, as she was in deep concentration, using her mental powers. It took only a half hour to circumnavigate the village despite their roundabout route.

Once they stood next to the road, Danica shook her head and pulled back her thoughts from the frantic people.

"Anything?" Marlena asked.

"Not really. They're not taxed quite as much as neighboring villages. It's hardly noticeable because they barely get by, just like all their neighbors. The Emperor was a toddler when he left the village. His father led a coup on the former Emperor, but installed his son in his place when he won, and served as Regent for a couple of years. That's all I could pick up other than worry, fear, and the mundane."

Marlena asked, "Should I conjure up some disguises so you can talk to people and get them to think about things that might help?"

"A couple of strangers showing up today is probably only going to make them more afraid," Danica surmised. Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look up the road, where she saw mounted warriors cresting a rise on the horizon. "Looks like there's no time, anyway."

The men were dressed in a form of scale armor, though it looked different from what was common across the sea. The armor was brightly colored, forming patterns that appeared to be unique to each man, but could very well represent divisions of men. Each wore a conical steel helmet ending in a long point topped by a plume of some kind. Some were more elaborate than others, but all had a plume. The powerful war horses were armored as well, with their color scheme approximating their riders.

At the center of the column rode the Emperor. His armor was constructed in much the same manner as his men, though it glittered in the sunlight. It was painted primarily in gold, with a few deep purple highlights around the edges. The plume atop his head was long and black as night. About all Danica could see of the man within the armor was a long, thin mustache that drooped down well below his chin.

The villagers had noticed the approaching warriors as well, and everyone scrambled to line the road where it passed between the houses. There, they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. One older man knelt apart from the rest, facing the oncoming horses. A quick probe of his mind revealed him to be the village elder, who had spent the last several hours in prayer.

"He looks rather full of himself," Marlena observed. "I guess an Emperor has to look the part, though."

"I was thinking the same thing. Let's see what he's thinking and find out."

Danica had barely brushed the edge of his consciousness when she got her answer.

Darkniciad
Darkniciad
1,236 Followers