tagErotic HorrorSuccubus Summoning 207

Succubus Summoning 207


"One of the most important traits a warlock should possess is ruthlessness."

The Scrote pounded his fist into his other palm for emphasis. He was getting wound up this lecture, building up steam like a firebrand demagogue seeking to win over a crowd.

"Put aside any notions of good and evil. You are a warlock, a summoner of daemons, and daemons represent the basest of desires given flesh. To the outside world we are evil and this will never change. Ignore their simple-minded morality. There is no good and evil, only power. And power only exists if it is enforced. Don't be afraid to enforce power, but also learn to acquiesce in the face of greater power.

"A warlock must be merciless. When challenged it is not enough to defeat an opponent, they must be crushed and removed permanently. A defeated opponent will grow stronger and return to challenge again. A destroyed opponent cannot come back. Remember this.

"As you advance your careers as warlocks you will need to be aware of the various hierarchies governing the world around you. If you wish to climb within them will need to become adept at gauging strength and knowing when to challenge and when to stand down. In the world of daemons second place does not exist. Make your move only when you can be sure of success."

"Is this man suitable to be teaching novice warlocks?" Verdé whispered up on the back row. "He seems very aggressive."

"There is some truth in what he says," Nÿte said.

"Hmm, I suppose. He does seem very adept at contracting with daemons from the Dominion of Lust," Verdé said, referring to the pair of black-clad succubi standing next to the bottom entrance.

"Bedmistresses of The Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures," Nÿte sniffed.

"They are devoted to the arts of pleasure," Verdé said. "They're continually discovering new and more exotic techniques."

"Feh, one-dimensional thinking. Limited. Pleasure alone is just a single axis of sensation. If they ever thought to incorporate pain..."

Nÿte reached down between Phil's legs and squeezed his balls so hard he felt sure the crack must be audible to the whole hall. He doubled up as an atom bomb of pain went off between his legs.

"...they'd see the benefits of context."

She turned Phil's head and pressed her soft lips against his in a gentle kiss. The vice grip on his balls was replaced with a blossoming sense of relief. Nÿte's hand rose up on that wave as she lightly stroked an erection that surged, swelled and finally spat its contents into her hand. The succubus finished the kiss and continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

"Light shone in darkness shines brighter to the eye than light shone in light," Nÿte said. She brought her hand to her mouth and licked Phil's semen off the palm.

"True," Verdé said. "It's not for everyone though."

Phil's body couldn't decide whether it wanted to throw up or give out a relaxed sigh of bliss. He slumped down to the floor instead.

"He's got good discipline," Verdé said. "Not even a single yelp."

"It is one of his better qualities," Nÿte said.

* * * *

Phil was slightly bow-legged as he walked out of the lecture theatre. He was expecting his balls to hurt; instead they felt a little weird. Not bad—weird. He was still gingerly trying to return to a normal walking posture when Darvill called out to him.

"Where's Gary?"

Darvill was casually leaning against one of the walls of a little-used side corridor. Outwardly he looked as cool and collected as he normally did. His many-eyed daemon was perched on his shoulder.

"Dever?" Phil queried.

That was Gary, right? The one that dressed a little like Darvill and was always following him around. Walked with a slight stoop. Had that creepy green-eyed daemon that always wore a mask.

"I don't know," Phil said. "I haven't seen him."

"I'm not talking to you," Darvill said abruptly to Phil. "I'm talking to her." He stared directly at a rather bemused Verdé.

That was when Phil noticed Darvill was far from his normal cool and collected self. There was a strange kind of tension thrumming through him that put Phil in mind of a snake about to strike, or a previously friendly dog about to bite. Phil recognised it from the times he'd frequented town centre pubs. It was a cue to leave before trouble kicked off.

Darvill stared at Verdé.

"Where's Gary?" he asked again.

Verdé looked nonplussed. She looked to Nÿte. The other succubus shrugged.

"He went off with you yesterday," Darvill said. "No one's seen him since." It sounded easygoing enough, as if he was talking about a friend picking up a round from the bar, not someone who'd gone missing and might never return.

"He did?" Verdé's puzzlement increased.

Phil suddenly understood, and it was followed by a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Nurse Honey. Darvill thought Verdé was Nurse Honey. Oh fuck, she hadn't, had she?

If Darvill saw Phil's expression change, he didn't show it. He was still staring at Verdé in that odd laid back way that predators tried to affect as they manoeuvred into striking distance.

Verdé showed her teeth in her sweetest, most innocent smile. "I'm sorry. I think you're mistaken. I had nothing to do with your friend's disappearance."

Darvill stared intently at Verdé. His brow furrowed and he gave his chin a thoughtful rub.

"You know, I don't think you did," he said.

And just like that, the ugly atmosphere, thickening around them like storm clouds piling up in a summer evening sky, dissipated. Darvill relaxed and his loaded smile was replaced by his usual carefree one.

"No sense jumping to hasty conclusions," Darvill said. "Gary's a big boy. He's no mug with magic. I'm sure he'll turn up later. After all, you did," he said to Phil.

"I hope so," Phil said.

"I don't think he will," Nÿte said, quiet enough to only be audible by the three of them as they walked away.

Phil didn't think so either. It felt like a heavy slab of concrete had settled in his guts.

"No, I don't think so either," Verdé said. "I take it he was mistaking me for Nurse Honey, or rather her for me."

"That was my understanding. With Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān involved I don't think we'll be seeing that young man again," Nÿte said.

"Very foolish to play with her, especially when so callow a warlock."

"Foolishness is in plentiful supply here."

Phil glanced over his shoulder. Darvill was watching them with a thoughtful expression on his face. He must know.

"I think he realised I wasn't her," Verdé said, following Phil's glance.

"That one is sharper than his fellows," Nÿte said. "Worth keeping an eye on."

Maybe, but it was all moot as far as Phil was concerned. He'd already made up his mind. First opportunity he had, he'd go to Stine, or maybe Dahl, and confess. Maybe they'd know how to break this contract. He wasn't a warlock. He couldn't control his succubi, would never be able to. They'd already killed four students, five if you counted Jake. Going back to the McRestaurant would suck, but at least there would be no more deaths.

He'd go see Dahl. The Praetor Quivocat would know how to stop this.

"You're not responsible, you know," Nÿte said. "There's no need to blame yourself."

"Who else?" Phil said. "You're my daemons, my responsibility."

Nÿte paused and arched a pencil-thin eyebrow. "Are we?" she said.

It was spoken lightly and her black lips were turned up in amusement, but Phil sensed the rattlesnake rattle behind her words. He felt a sudden chill, like a shadow over his grave.

"The only ones culpable are the students foolish enough to have sex with us," Verdé said, breaking the moment. "It's their fault not yours."

Nÿte's smile widened and became warmer. "We tempt, but we do not instigate," she said.

"Especially here," Verdé said, "where warlocks master or are consumed by their natures."

"Verdé!" Nÿte said sternly.

Verdé put a hand over her mouth and feigned an expression of wide-eyed innocence to Phil. "You'll understand later," she whispered in his ear. She playfully nibbled on the lobe.

"Does this mean you will or won't eat more students?" Phil asked.

"You can hardly expect us to turn down a tasty morsel if it steps into our mouth."

Phil was less than reassured by Nÿte's answer.

* * * *

The room resembled an old-style classroom. There was a blackboard on the back wall and a teacher's desk sat in front of it. Arranged in rows facing the front were plain wooden desks. The walls were covered in children's crayon drawings. They depicted gross sexual acts and unsettling images of torture, all rendered in a bright, childish style. One of the desks had a two foot machete embedded into the surface.

"Class is in session," Cέrμləa said, dropping a couple of dusty tomes onto the teacher's desk.

A casual observer might have mistaken her for the pupil and Phil the teacher, even though it was the other way around. Cέrμləa might have looked and sounded like a child, but she was anything but.

"I think Nurse Honey might have killed one of the other students," Phil said. He was still moping over the news he'd heard that morning.

"Oh? They probably asked for it," Cέrμləa said as she wiped a disturbing chalk picture of a man being graphically tortured with hooks off the blackboard.

The board rubber was attached to a pole to allow her to reach the top corners.

"How do I stop the succubi from killing more students?" Phil asked.

"Tell the other students not to have sex with them otherwise they'll have their souls pulled inside out and sucked out," Cέrμləa suggested. "No one ever seems to pay attention to that bit," she muttered to herself.

It wasn't the answer Phil was hoping for.

"Anyway!" Cέrμləa slammed a cane down on the teacher's desk for emphasis. "Class has begun. Take a seat, but not at that desk." She pointed to an otherwise unremarkable desk two rows back. "I think it ate my last student."

It looked like any other desk. Phil still looked at it warily as he picked a desk in the middle of the front row.

"Let's start with basic geography," Cέrμləa said. "The others tell me that's what your lectures have been about lately. Describe the basic topology of hell to me."

"Um, okay," Phil said. He recalled what he'd been told both in his previous Wargsnouts lectures and then the special lectures from Lutwidge. "It's a separate plane. There are seven concentric circles, each corresponding to a primal sin. Satan rules the whole of hell from his throne located in the seventh, innermost circle of hell."

Cέrμləa put a hand over her face. She turned around and, with a piece of chalk on the end of a holder, chalked a large F on the blackboard.

"Most information on hell comes to humans from daemons," she explained.

She added embellishments to the F she'd drawn on the blackboard. She added fangs to the two horizontal lines, making a mouth. She added long horns curving backwards to the top and bottom of the vertical line. Then she drew a pair of batwings coming out of the back and roughly level with the bottom horizontal line.

"Daemons are all creatures of deceit," Cέrμləa continued. "The information they give humans is often lies and shouldn't be trusted."

"Um, but aren't you a daemon," Phil pointed out. "Doesn't that mean I can't really trust what you tell me either?"

Cέrμləa morphed into a statuesque, stern-looking dominatrix with long, flowing electric-blue hair and a baroque basque that emphasised a considerably enlarged cleavage.

"Quiet in class!" she yelled. Her red eyes glowed as she slammed her cane down on the desk for punctuation.

Phil quietened up.

In the corner of his eye he noticed one of the other desks was slightly out of position. It seemed slightly twisted in his direction. Wasn't that the desk Cέrμləa pointed out earlier? A chill ran through the hairs on his forearm.

Cέrμləa had morphed back into her usual little girl form. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

"Hmm, that's a good point," she said. "I am a daemon, therefore what I say should be regarded as untrustworthy."

She paused as if considering how to get around this problem.

The hairs on the back of Phil's neck prickled. He had the ominous feeling he was being watched, or maybe stalked. He turned around. Again he had the queer feeling that desk had moved since he'd last looked at it. Had it moved closer?

"I've got it!" Cέrμləa said. "Don't automatically treat everything I tell you as the truth. Keep an open mind and use your own judgment to decide what should and what shouldn't be believed."

"Okay," Phil said doubtfully.

Cέrμləa picked up her board rubber holder and wiped the embellished F off the blackboard. It seemed unhappy with this, as if it had been on the verge of deciding whether to take flight just before Cέrμləa erased it. She stared at the empty blackboard and her little girl face scrunched up in thought again.

"Not enough dimensions," she said after a while.

She turned around and her eyes lit up as if she'd suddenly thought of a solution. She recited one of the most complex spells Phil had ever heard. He caught some fragments—Omnefitum gemnax...nidacor Dominex...Fastupulum rama costipulat—but the rest slipped through too fast for his ear to catch. Cέrμləa ended the spell by tapping the top of the teacher's desk with her cane.

The room darkened and Phil's mouth dropped open. A galaxy was suspended in the centre of the room. Small brown and blue spheres floated amongst clouds of ethereal pink dust. Cέrμləa stood visible through the holographic display, her face lit up from beneath.

"The Dominion of Lust," she said.

"That doesn't look like a circle," Phil said.

It looked like galaxies. Plural. Big.

"Are those planets?" he asked, pointing to the floating balls.

"They're worlds, just like your own," Cέrμləa said.

"Separate planets within the dominion," Phil said thoughtfully. "Which one are we on?"

"On? None of them," Cέrμləa said. "We're in the Dominion of Lust. They're Earth."

Phil was confused. "They're Earth? What, all of them?"

Cέrμləa nodded. "They're all Earth. All the same and all slightly different to each other."

Phil didn't get it. Did Earth mean something different to Cέrμləa?

"Your Earth is around here somewhere," Cέrμləa said, moving the display to a particularly dense pink cloud. "Magic is strong on your world as it lies on the intersection of multiple dense regions of dominion."

"My Earth? How many are there?"

Cέrμləa remained focused on the magical holographic display. "I don't know," she said. "I did try to count them all once, but my head started to feel a little funny and I had to go and lie down for a bit."

"And they're all the same? All Earth?"

"Similar, but not all the same," Cέrμləa said. "Positioning determines their physical laws."

She pointed to a world floating in a particularly dense pink cloud.

"Earths close to dense regions of dominion have weaker barriers separating them from the rest of hell. Magic seeps in. It's easier for daemons to cross over, and for humans to do the same. The fantastical is commonplace.

"Other worlds are further out. The influence of hell is less. Warlocks and daemons appear rarely. Magic is weak.

"And some..." She pointed to a little brown and blue bauble stuck out on its own, far away from the pink clouds. "...are so far out that magic and daemons are nonexistent. Their people only get to know about the likes of you and me by reading about us in stories like this."

Phil shook his head. It was a little too much to take in.

"Why don't we know any of this?" he said. "Why has no one been able to reach any of the other Earths?"

"Because they'd have to travel through hell," Cέrμləa answered. "To travel that deep into hell is impossible for even the most powerful of humans. And knowledge of hell comes with a price."

She moved the display and showed Phil an odd sight. The pink substance of the dominion had bunched up into what resembled an amoeboid pseudopod and was currently concentrated around one of the planets. It looked like it was trying to engulf it.

"The membrane protecting this Earth has weakened. The substance of hell is flowing in through the barrier. Most likely this planet will be broken down and reabsorbed back into the Dominion of Lust. This is the fate of all Earths. They learn of hell and in trying to learn more they damage the membranes keeping their world separate from hell's dominions. Eventually they break down and the planet is reclaimed."

"Reclaimed?" Phil queried. His head was spinning.

"Oh yes," Cέrμləa said. "Earths are accretions formed where the various planes of hell overlap. At each intersection the energies of each dominion coalesce into an Earth. That's what humanity is—a composite of all the various dominions of hell."

"No no no," Phil shook his head. This must be some craziness of Cέrμləa's. It couldn't be true. Hell was part of Earth, not Earth part of hell.

"Yes yes yes," Cέrμləa giggled. "Humans, always believing themselves to be the centre of everything."

"What about outer space," Phil said. "Earth is a tiny planet in a vast universe."

"The void?" Cέrμləa said. "Just another dimensional axis."

She placed a hand around one of the floating planets and turned it like a dial. The pink clouds of the display turned and folded away down an angle not visible to him. The display settled into a familiar vista of stars, solar systems and swirling galaxies.

"Reality. Void. The effluvium spat out from an Earth's accretion. Very dull," Cέrμləa said.

She turned the planet-dial again. The display tilted through another impossible angle and revealed clouds of red dust that swirled and raged like roaring flames.

"The Dominion of Wrath."

Another turn and another eye-watering twist of perception. This time Phil looked upon lurid green clouds.

"The Dominion of Envy."

Another turn and Phil was looking on coils of earthy-brown dust.

"The Dominion of Gluttony."

Phil shook his head. Cέrμləa's actions had left his eyes feeling like they were spinning through more axes than should be possible.

"What about time?" he asked. "Earth was around for millions of years before we appeared."

"Time is just another dimension, and—like the void—runs relative to its own Earth. During the accretion process time is compacted. Millions of years unfold on new Earths in a blink of an eye here within the dominion. It's only when an Earth develops sentient life forms that their time starts to align with our time."

"Uh," Phil said. His brain was starting to feel like it had overworked muscles he didn't know it had.

"See, each Earth is an intersection of hell with each dominion radiating out from it on a separate axis, and through these axes each Earth is linked."

"Cέrμləa gave Phil a questioning glance.

"Didn't they teach you this at school?" she asked.

"They taught us something slightly different," Phil answered.

"Hmm, yes, that would probably be the case," Cέrμləa murmured to herself. "Earths rarely survive long once this level of knowledge filters down to the general populace. I'd have thought your Earth would have known better, though, given how highly attuned it is."

Cέrμləa recited more words and the floating display winked out of existence, returning the classroom to full illumination.

"And that is the basic topology of hell," Cέrμləa said, her red eyes shining. "Easy isn't it."

Phil's brain disagreed with that.

"We'll go over the important regions of each dominion in a future lesson," Cέrμləa said.

She looked at Phil.

"Hmm. It looks like you're having trouble grasping the concept. It's always a problem for minds that perceive a limited number of dimensions."

Her face brightened.

"Ab'ĝalga," she said excitedly. "She'll be able to help you out."

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