The Quest of Deimos Ep. 03

Nausicaa lapped, looking upward for approval and direction, and loving the taste of her friend.

Soon the two slaves were scissoring, their bodies interlocked, and rolling together like one crashing wave. Cassandra, invisible to the squealing girls, was in the corner pleasuring herself. The room was hot and breathless.

The two slaves noticed the third. The pale elv thrusting her fingers into her sex didn't faze them, only spurned them on. They smirked, tongues open and panting. Soon they would taste her and she would join their coven.

Like sultry kittens, they crawled over. Surrounding the princess on both sides they began to lick and nibble her trembling body. They pulled her into an embrace, their wet lips pressing against hers. She began to moan and to squeal as they played with her body, their new toy.

The pleasure was an obliviator of memory. For a second, as Nausicaa dived between her legs, she forgot about her past. She felt the redhead's hungry mouth against her pussy. Cloeia nibbled at her breasts and ran her tongue across her lips.

Cassandra let herself get lost in pleasure.

3.2

Above in the cockpit, Deimos stared out the window at the phlogistonic waves. Sarpedon sat beside him in the co-pilot seat, with his pet Sephora lying at his feet.

The Infernali curled up in a ball with a contented expression on her face. Shiny gold bijoux bedecked her body, gifts of her master. Possessive of her, he laid his reptilian foot across her back.

Sarpedon was Baskilian and Deimo's trusted companion. They had fought together as mercenaries in the chieftain's horde. A long time ago, Sarpedon claimed the Tiefling as his pleasure slave. She was now inseparable from the feathered and scaled fighter.

Her skin was burgundy. Her horns were onyx black. Her eyes were serpentine. Her body was beautiful and voluptuous. Proportioned like an artist's sculpture. From every angle, her aesthetic brought pleasure.

"We're going to have to split up," Deimos told his friend.

"Are you sure that is wise," Sarpedon asked. "Would she not be more formidable if we faced her alone."

Deimos turned the chair to look Sarpedon in his one bird's eye. "She only wants me. The smart thing for her to do is to return to the inner spheres and report that I exist. But I am too dangerous. She won't want to risk us getting lost in the wind again. She's going to follow us."

"I see the wisdom in what you said," Sarpedon said. "Night Elvs are formidable tracers. She will not lose our scent again." He turned some dials on the Encyclocosmica.

"The closest planet on this route is Calypsos. There is a skyport there. Neutral. No Accordium presence."

"I remember that one. Sarpedon put the database entry on the photosculptor."

Sarpedon's foot rubbed Sephora's belly, and the slave rose. Stretching out her taunt stomach, she exposed her breasts to him with a smile.

Sarpedon's birdlike claws traced down her body, brushing against her nipple rings. He stroked each piercing, which began to glow with computerized energy. Light gleamed from her horns and formed itself into a spherical shape.

It was a brooding planet covered in storms. Each storm was like a pinwheel spinning one way or the other. Cyclones punctured the planetary storm, revealing calm seas. On one of those seas was the spaceport. It rose from the waves on pylons and from those pylons ship docked on perpendicular spokes.

"I could lure her into those storms. Might be a good trap." Deimos mused. "With a storm at my back, I would be almost her equal."

Sarpedon moaned. She loved to have her body stroked by her master. He had built the ship controls into her body so that his hands could always be on her.

"We will have to ditch this ship and find another one." Sarpedon added, "we'll not be able to lose her in this."

"Ship traders will be the first thing she investigates though. She'll be able to follow us unless we give her another scent to follow."

Deimos picked the photosculp up and turned the orb around.

"Focus here." He asked Sarpedon, whose hands massaged Sephora's body.

The shape twisted in Deimos's hand and metamorphosed into a Buoy shelter, hanging on the edge of a storm wall.

A long thin pylon like a needle rose from the seas, at the edge of the storm wall. At the top was a tiny docking station, not big enough for an interplanetary vessel.

There was a small cabin, likely with emergency supplies. A heading next to it stated it was a beacon and emergency shelter for the local ships, Windskimmers.

Deimos leaned forward, staring into the blue orb. "I see a plan here."

3.3

It was a small fishing village on pylons above an angry ocean. Spanning the horizon was a great wall of storm clouds. Locked in perpetual motion, the brooding wall hung in the sky, billowing grey clouds bubbling into what looked like shrieking faces.

Trawling blimps were floating in and out of port, carrying their day's catch in hanging nets. The salt spray would cascade down the streets as they released them into great production bins. The smell of tentacled squidish coated everything.

Deimos led Cassandra behind him to the shipping market. The elv drew envious eyes wherever she went.

He had placed her in a slave harness, then threw a shawl over it. The shawl semi-transparent, and hung down to her ass. A chain ran from her collar to his belt.

The news that an elv slave was being led through the streets spread quickly. Elvs were rare in the outer rings, and Elv slaves were unheard of. The accordium races forbid the sale and ownership of their races as slaves. An Infernali, Dwarv, Elv, or

Draconic slave was a dangerous and prestigious possession simply because to be found with one was a death sentence.

With an indignant huff, Cassandra tried to ignore the reaction. She, a clone princess, and priestess of the inner moons was being paraded like a pleasure slave for sale.

Deimos had yet to touch her, but he seemed unconcerned about humiliating her by displaying her like a piece of meat. Far different from the red-headed strumpet who he had bedded shortly after getting ownership of her.

They walked into a ship bartering shop that looked more like a garbage heap. Junkers, rusted from salty spray, collapsed on the cluttered tarmac like standing rust giants.

A ratling came sauntering out of a small trailer. He wore a pair of mulchy chest-waders, and a utility front back, filled with bits of broken wires. His eyes were hidden behind cracked goggles. He rubbed his oily hands on his overalls.

His nose twitched, smelling the scent of elv, and he leered at the princess.

"I need a windsurfer, big enough for me and this one." growled Deimos, "a sporter craft."

"Got one of those," growled the ratling still staring at Cassandra. She inched behind Deimos and the ratling grinnedwickedly.

"She's a shy one, isn't she? Got fancy manners she does. What's the matter slut to shy to let me have a good look at you?"

"The windsurfer." Deimos growled.

The ratling thought about it. "Like I said I got one. A sporter. Salvaged it after an adrenaline junky sailed too close to the storm wall. Pretty and Shiny thing. It'll cost you though. Nicest thing on this fish-gut refinery."

Deimos tossed him a portable photosculpter. A diagram of a trireme emerged from the light emitters. "War-class. After-market fusion engines. Better than anything you got here. "

"How am I supposed to sell something like that," snarled the ratling. "No one wants a warship here. Look around. You see any operators here, any warbands. I'll tell you what." His tongue slathered across his lips. "I'll give you my fastest skiff for five minutes with that tasty thing behind you." He hissed.

Deimos grabbed him and lifted him until even his tail hung above the floor. The ratling was like a helpless babe batting at Deimos's massive arms.

Cassandra shivered. Her master was so strong. He held up the ratling like it was a child's toy doll. The ratling was squirming, trying to breath with the great clawed hands of Deimos completely enclosing his throat.

"You'll trade me your fastest skiff for my Triremic," Deimos growled. "And you'll keep a civil tongue when you fucking talk to me."

The ratling calculated. He had seen the trireme land in the jerkwater docks. It would be worth more than every skiff in his inventory, worth more than this entire seaport.

It became obsequious.

"Of course, Master, let me---show you the vessel. My pride and joy---it is. A skiff only for the most daring---." he gasped.

He led them to a pint-sized skiff, spoilers of shiny chrome jutting from every angle. It was a rich aristocrat's son's toy. Deimos thought it a strange miracle to find it here in this place.

He walked around the ship inspecting it. A few small anti-gravity generators kept it buoyant, and nano-thin sails to catch the wind was how it flew. He looked beneath at the pontoons. It wasn't built for long trips, but it would get them there. More, it modified the plan.

The photosculpter printed a hard light contract.

The merchant inspected the document with caution. Even without the girl, the beast was overpaying.

"One more thing," growled Deimos, his tone deadly. "If someone should come asking for me."

"Yes, yes. I never saw you---"

"You did see me. Tell them you saw me take this ship and headed east to

Buoystation one. Tell them it looked like I was going to hold up there. Share it with everyone in town."

"And I suppose that will be the one place you don't plan on being."

"No, that's exactly where I'll be."

3.4

They had shuttered the windows to keep out the salt spray, leaving the tavern dark and humid. A few damp-haired regulars shuffled amongst the clientele too drunk to grope at them.

The local watering hole was so generic that Deimos never bothered to learn its name. It was a home for those who had already given up on life. Sarpedon sat at a booth in the back, Sephora at his feet. On the other side of the table, kneeled Cloeia and Nausicaa.

"It's done," muttered Deimos as he sat down in his chair across from Sarpedon. Cassandra kneeled next to the other slaves. She opened her ears and listened.

"An amphora for you," Sarpedon poured red wine into Deimos's goblet. "Cheap stuff. Fermented Sea Eel. Indigenous to the area."

Deimos sipped it, winced, and kept drinking.

"Were you able to find berths?"

"Yes, one for me, and stabling for the slaves."

"Cloeia. Up here."

Cloeia scrambled up. It was rare that she was allowed to sit at a table like an equal. She looked around from her new perspective. Some bored dancing slaves swayed on tables. A waitress gave her a look of disgust like she was a dog on the furniture.

"I'm rescinding your slave contract. You are now free."

"Master, did I do something wrong?"

Nausicaa gasped under the table.

"Cloeia I never bought you. You were given to me, and you've served me well. But where I am going, I won't be able to protect you. And right now I need you for something. Now that you're free you can say no, but I could use your help. I got some extra Tripodium to leave here and find yourself a home planet."

"Boss, I don't want to leave you. I've spent my whole life in a slave kennel, and you've been the best master I've ever had, you're the only home I got."

"Slave, you don't have a choice. Take the freedom."

Cloeia looked at her boss. As a young maiden, she wondered what freedom would be like, born into the kennels with a litter of sisters raised for servitude, but she had soon realized it was a foolish fantasy. Deimos was the best master she would have. He was strong, powerful, both gentle and violent. She knew that her fate was tied to his, could sense his gravity pulling her in. With him, she had seen the galaxy, had known that she had served one of its great heroes and avatars.

"Boss, I will do anything you want. Don't abandon me."

"I'm going to need you to go to the planet of my birth, Terra. I'm going to need you to sneak into a chattel slave ship. Five hundred slaves contracted out to a Tiefling plantation. I'll need you and Nausicaa to blend in on that plantation and learn everything you can until I get there. I'm also going to need to contact someone for me. My wife."

"I won't let you down--"

"Deimos."

"Deimos."

"Oh, and Cloeia, in reward for your service, I'm giving you Nausicaa. She's your slave now."

Nausicaa stared at Cloeia. They had bartered her like a beast of burden. She had a new master now, a mistress, a central spoke of her universe. In a blink of a nanosecond, her fellow sex slave had advanced to being her owner. Nausicaa moaned. It turned her on.

Deimos handed Nausicaa a hard light contractdetailing her freedom and other details and a bag of tripodium.

Sarpedon nodded his head. He was familiar with his role in the plan. There had been many years of discussion with his friend about his his central ambition.

"I will go to the pre-arranged destination, Deimos. May the Immortia find pleasure in your cunning."

Deimos nodded and drained the swill from his cup. "Were off then. We all know the next stage of the plan. If I survive I will see you later Sarpedon. If not, save my wife for me."

Deimos left. Walking out into the grey mash of light, he felt rain splattering against his fur. Cloeia followed, confused. What was this beast after? What did it want from Terra? The planet was nebulous. She recalled a recently annexed Infernali colony, and a new slave race entering the market, but the Accordium's annexing of new primitive planets had introduced all sorts of new and strange chattel into the markets. Deimos was nothing like how she had heard any of them described.

For a moment, curiosity overpowered anger. Then a vision popped into her head. Deimos was falling. Scattered burning metal all around him. A raging sea swallowed him. She smiled. She knew the vision well. The Immortia had doomed Deimos.

3.5

She entered the lot while his back was turned and, like a shadow, rose behind him.

"Excuse me, merchant, I wish to speak to you." She whispered. A low throaty whisper.

The ratling's hairs rose on the back of his head, as the sound sent shivers of pleasure through him.

A beautiful voice must belong to a beautiful woman. He turned. His eyes widened in terror. She stood in front of him cloaked in a Nyx cloak, her gold prosthetic eyes scanning him. She was a dark Elv. A feared assassin of the Accordium. Her skin was a dark onyx that seemed to absorb the light around her. Her hair were strands of silver.

"Yes, mistress." He gasped, losing his voice.

Her purple lips rose in a sardonic smile.

" I have been investigating this town. Picturesque. Someone insisted that a couple came to visit you. A large beast. And an Elf, pale skin. Blonde hair. An aura of nobility filth like yourself could not help but notice."

"Yes, Yes, mistress. He stole a ship from me. He said that you would follow. He said to leave a message for you."

The ratling bowed his head low in supplication.

"A message. He is full of himself, isn't he? It's rare to see the mouse play back. Out with it then, Rodent. What was the message?"

"Mistress, he said he was done running. He said if you wanted to find him, he would be waiting for you at the emergency buoy. He left coordinates for you."

The rat scurried over to a filthy box and pulled out a hard light projection scroll.

"Here, Mistress, I swear that was all he said." He handed her an optical scroll.

The darkling Elv handed moved subtly to her blade.

"Leave it on the table, please."

He bowed his head in submission and placed the scroll tenderly on the table. She took the scroll and unrolled it triggering the light array which projected the map and trajectory.

"Do you have a skysail on the premises?"

"Please Mistress, yes, it is my private vehicle, but I would be happy in providing it to you to capture this dangerous man."

"Excellent."

She nonchalantly unsheathed her sword.

"Mistress please I've done everything you asked, I have been a faithful servant. You wouldn't harm me?"

"Tell me Rodent, do you know what I am. A sister of Dead Star?"

"Yes, Mistress, of course, mistress!"

"Then what a silly question to ask."

The blade curved like a scythe in an arch. The shocked ratling stepped back on trembling legs. A fine mist of blood sprayed from a serrated artery. He fell to the ground gurgling.

3.6

Deimos and Cassandra left on the new ship, soaring over the planet-wide storm. Deimos kept the ship low letting its rudder make wakes in the cloud cover.

The berth was small. Cassandra had to sit in Deimos's lap as he mastered the rudder. This was the closest Elv had been next to the creature since her capture.

She could smell a pheromonic musk wafting off him. Her body chemistry responded to the cologne. She suspected it was a genetic adaption meant to pacify his captives. She was starting to piece together what he was from myth and folklore.

All elv aristocracy knew tales of the apostate planet of Borea, the planet of the mutagenic race. The lykens of Borea were formidable warriors merged with a maladaptive organism. Their armies were unstoppable. Soldiers fell before them, the wounded would return in their image and join them. An army and a plague in one.

The Accordium vaporized the planet of Borea. Glassed the surface. All mutagens were purged and eventually, the Elvs developed a vaccine that prevented exposure. The spread of the vaccine to all life in the galaxy was one of the greatest achievements in social engineering the Accordium ever accomplished. The lykens went extinct.

But Deimos was one of them. An extinct race of monsters. He shouldn't have existed. Yet he was also an adaption. Bigger than your average Lyken, less feral and more cunning.

If the royal courts knew he was alive, systems would burn.

Like a needle sticking up out of swirling clouds, the buoy station sat on the horizon. The swift raced towards it.

Cassandra wondered why Deimos would want to go there. She had a vision of Deimos falling into the maelstrom below, surrounded by falling debris. Whatever the plan was she knew it wasn't going to work. She smirked to herself. For once, her ability to prophesy catastrophe filled her with confidence.

"Where are we going," she asked. As yet, he had not hurt her.

Deimos looked at her, calculating. She felt diminutive under his gaze. "Emergency Waystation buoy. Should be a small cabin there for us."

"You want to wait for the Dark star Elv to find you? You can't stop her. No one escapes a dark elv hunting."

Deimos shrugged.

She thought for a second. "That was why you made the scene before wasn't it. You wanted to make it easy for her to track you. That's why you paraded me around outside in the square in a flimsy slave cloak."

Deimos was silent.

Cassandra was furious. She had been humiliated. Her half-naked body was exposed in a thin slave shawl, and all just to be bait.

"You think you can beat her? You're insane. She'll kill you and my father and my sisters will be avenged."

"I'm sorry about your family. Aganon shouldn't have done that."

Deimos didn't believe in the Immortia's curse, but he knew enough to know that the killing of an Elv in a temple sanctum would have repercussions, whether these mythical gods and furies existed or not.

The ship parked by the buoy. The steel girding floated over the planet-wide storm, salt slick. Up a ladder, there was a cabin. Glass looked out at all sides, exposing a sea of clouds. Another ladder leads down into the guts of the base. From the egress, Cassandra could hear the murmur of an anti-gravity generator holding them in the sky. It swayed in the wind.

"Come on. Up the ladder," he said. "There will be emergency rations in the cabin. I need to feed you."