Verraria 01 - Necromancer's Match

"With what kind of punishment?" Ascylla finally spoke in a breathless fear.

Rhys stood. "Come here, Hallie. Let's demonstrate for our guest."

At that the priestess burst into a sob. "No, Your Grace, please! Please, I've done nothing wrong! I've obeyed through all the modifications!"

"I'm waiting, Hallie."

*Ascylla POV*

Ascylla stared. The priestess seemed in a state of real petrified horror. She quivered all over. And Ascylla would like to imagine that the only emotion she felt in the midst of the nightmare of the Necromancer Lord's kingdom was horror and fear. But there was so much fascination there too. Rhys' imagination was pure wicked and he had an odd little sadistic smile at the sight of his priestess' distress. The smile widened as the terror of displeasing him won over the terror of what he demanded of her. She stepped to his outstretched arms and Rhys guided her to the front of Ascylla's cage. He looked up and met her gaze. "Attend, little trespasser. You will learn to appreciate that word from my lips. It is the first command you will learn. It means to observe."

Hallie shrieked and Ascylla couldn't have turned her gaze away even if she wanted to. Hallie's face grew mottled, the lips turned gray, and the skin seemed to turn to dust. After a moment she opened her mouth and no sound came out, although it was quite clear why. Her tongue was halfway disintegrated and Ascylla could only imagine what the decay of death was doing to the inside of her body.

Rhys waved his hand and the door to Ascylla's tiny cell opened. He guided the tortured priestess through and smiled at his captivated audience. "A close enough look then? This is how a Necromancer punishes. With death and decay. You see how well it works. I've stopped the process partially through. Some of her insides should be mummified, some won't be. The nervous system I always keep running, however, in the most perfect condition. No feeling is escaped." Hallie stared at nothing through sightless, decayed eyes.

Suddenly, Ascylla felt a new emotion. She felt fury.

The only power he had lay in the terror he commanded at the depravity he could imagine. All of his little toys were just so damn scared of his modifications, of his twisted delights.

She stared at Rhys and raised her head in defiance. "You think to terrify me with fear of your corruption, Necromancer Overlord?" She walked closer to him and the priestess even while he tilted his head, eyes furrowed with curiosity. "What if I'm not fucking scared of corruption?"

With that she did either the most stupid or the most brash thing she'd ever done. She grabbed Hallie's horrible face and stopped and stared at the sight of her decayed visage for a moment. And then she pressed her lips to the partial remains of the girl's mouth.

A thrill went through her in a rush at the feeling. She'd kissed before but nothing ever felt like kissing this partially mummified, hairless, sexless creature. With ever movement sinew and bone brushed against Ascylla's cheek. She raised her hand to stroke the back of Hallie's rotted head in curiosity. There were still bits of smooth skin, but there was the rough feel of exposed muscle and even the smooth bone of skull as well. The priestess seemed to try to writhe away in response but was either too weak or simply too broken to truly resist anything anymore.

Ascylla drew back to stare at Rhys whose eyes were wide in a mixture of astonishment and blatant pleasure. She smiled at him and ran her tongue up the strings of exposed sinew in Hallie's cheek.

"Well, Necromancer? Dominate me then. Hurt me. Make me into a modified shell of a creature. Make me perform for your lecherous necrophilia. But you won't do it against my will. You'll find that you can't slake your thirst for rape on the willing. I dare you, so I hope you're willing to play your game through to the horrible end."

Rhys stared at her and grabbed her wrists roughly in his ice cold grip. For a moment she tensed, if only for the temperature, but then she smirked up at his gaze and drew closer to him. Rhys chuckled and stroked her hair in wondrous affection. "Well, little librarian, I underestimated you. You dig your own grave then. It's time for a nice long bath for you."

Ascylla smiled. "Good, I would rather start before starvation sets in."

Rhys chuckled and steered her out of her cell with an arm wrapped securely around her waist. As a casual afterthought he flicked his wrist behind him so that Hallie started to regenerate. Before they left, Ascylla heard sputtering gasps of breath and pain as the girl's throat and tongue reknitted with magic.

"Out of curiosity do priestesses have the art of necromancy?"

*Rhys POV*

Rhys was caught off guard, if he were being honest. It had been an age before he found someone who didn't react to his fetishes and entertainments with horror or unwilling crying. He had gotten used to taking what he wanted from the unwilling, had gotten used to playing with toys who didn't care for him a bit. And he didn't miss companionship when those toys were forced to obey.

But the girl at his side asked genuine curiosities. Granted, she hadn't studied his decorations very hard and she didn't yet know the entirety of what was in store for her. When the pain set in she would inevitably squirm away and fight but that was in every creature's nature.

Lost in thought, he nearly forgot to answer her question. "It's been known to happen. The black arts are gifted to the faithful. Serve the gods well, sacrifice to them, work in their will, and you will earn rewards. My gods are old and cruel. They do not forgive or forget. They will take their dues and they will give nothing for free. But when they do give..." Rhys closed his eyes and imagined his first rush of necromantic power all over again. It had been a flood of sexual ecstasy, of death and pain. Many called it hell or torture. He called it heaven. "When they do give, it's delightful. It's eternal youth."

Rhys smelled that scent again, stronger this time. Gods, but it pleased him. He opened his eyes and blinked at the little would-be priestess with a sudden burst of realization.

"You are aroused, little trespasser. That's what that scent has been."

She tilted her head curiously. "Scent?"

He inhaled, nostrils flaring a bit. "Yes. I can smell many things. Your flare of anger lingers from before, the tang of adrenaline from an underlying pumping of fear, and all of this time even since you first laid eyes on me there has been this other sweet scent. Arousal. I smell sex from my priestesses when I play with them, of course, but yours is a scent of a different kind."

The little minx still had enough innocence present to blush, no matter her crude display from earlier. Rhys had to chuckle at that. "Does my mutilated little Hallie arouse you? Do you like what I've done with her? The sight of the stitching between her legs and the way she still grows excited with the ghost of feeling I've left where her sex used to be?"

Ascylla started walking again in the direction he'd been leading her and Rhys followed. "You can smell the truth on me. Maybe if you give me the chance I'll show you all about how aroused your toys make me."

Rhys felt something he hadn't felt in a long time at those words. He felt a tremor of real excitement. He practically vibrated with something almost like life when he stopped her at a door.

"Through this door lays your fate." He practically purred the words. Now he just couldn't wait to have her transformed and beneath his power. He couldn't wait to feel her mind brush against his, couldn't wait to have total control and to modify her to his pleasures.

Most of all, he couldn't wait to share all of his twisted delights with someone who might, just might, be able to understand.

Ascylla opened the door and he watched her face while she took in the sight of the vats.

They were not pretty. And they weren't meant to be. They were massive, intimidating sarcophagi filled to the brim with acid. To their sides lay great stone lids that would lock into place while the subject inhaled liquid pain and burned alive to the end of their life. The same acid would reignite their bodies into a reanimation. Many parts of their life didn't survive the change. Acid was far from kind.

Ascylla swallowed and bravely held her head high. Before his eyes, she removed her clothing one piece at a time. Rhys watched while she revealed her breasts first. They were smaller like the rest of her stature, but they were full and the nipples, he noted with delight, were large. He took pleasure in distending the nipples of his toys at times, weighting them until they were permanently stretched. Ascylla's could become something lovely if he wished. She ignored his attentions and continued removing her clothes, showing him her sex as she removed soft leather pants. She sat on the floor to do this and made to stand up afterwards, but...

"Stop." Rhys placed the full weight of command in his voice and watched her look up at him with amusement. She obeyed with that small sensual smirk again.

"Yes, Your Grace?" There was a slight mocking emphasis on the words and Rhys had to smile.

"Spread your legs." She didn't just obey. She lay back and lifted her knees, spreading them wide to make sure he got the fullest view. Rhys' breath quickened. "Use your fingers and spread your pussy open." Again, she didn't just obey. She used both hands with a smile and splayed the lips wide. He noted they were swollen with her arousal and her clit was enlarged. Even with her lips splayed, though, and her arousal blatant her entrance looked so very tight.

For a moment Rhys just studied the girl and she silently lay, unembarrassed, under his attention. Finally, she broke her silence. "Well, Your Grace? Are you pleased?"

He took a breath. "Yes. Get up. I normally have to force my priestesses beneath the stone into the acid. I want you to lower yourself in. I will slide the stone over your head and you will stay there for a good few hours, but I want to watch you submerge yourself willingly before me."

Ascylla approached the acid. She smelled of terror so strong that Rhys was shocked she didn't piss herself with it. But she didn't show a bit of it. She merely climbed onto the side of one of the three great stone sarcophagi and perched on the edge of it, staring at the hissing, viscous fluid inside. She turned to meet his eyes once. "This is going to hurt."

But then she smiled and before Rhys could even open his mouth to answer she flipped herself gracefully inside. She didn't so much as touch the acid beforehand. She went for total submersion instead and Rhys flicked his hand, sealing the stone lid over her. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

He felt her die within minutes and felt her mind stir on the edge of his Necromancer's senses. He undid his robes and let them drop to the floor, leaning back against the wall. The sensual delight of a mind unfurling against his own was a treasure. The feel of a priestess being born under his will was like fire to blood he no longer had. He stroked his cock absently and stood by Ascylla's side the entire transformation.

He was nearly feral with desire by the time he felt her total enslavement finish in his mind.

*Ascylla POV*

Ascylla had been shocked with the sudden burst of pain of the acid. She had screamed in the liquid and inhaled so much of it that hell unfolded within her body. She had thought she'd known pain before, but she'd been deluded. She hadn't known a thing.

The acid was pain.

But in the midst of it she focused on the thought of Hallie's sex removal. She thought of Rhys' toys. She wanted to play with them and watch the Necromancer's shock as she pushed the bounds of his depravity. And she would. She was determined to see the worst of him, to see him pushed to whatever dark edges even he hadn't yet explored. These thoughts saved her sanity to some degree, the promises of corrupting while in the depths of her own private hell.

Time seemed eternal, though, in the stone vat. Every second was an agonized fury of pain and even death did not bring release. There was a moment where she knew she was dead. She felt the absence of her heart beat, but even so...

Even so she continued to feel and she inhaled the acid. Rhys had called it the liquid fire of the gods and she understood why. She felt bathed in agony and heat, even while there was no fire. Her insides felt as if they were being ripped apart or like hot irons were burning away her intestines and rib cage.

It was an eternity before she acutely felt the stone above her moved away. The great sarcophagus rattled and shook with the effort but even if it had been silent her body would have been very aware of the sudden chance of freedom from the pain. She burst through the surface of the acid and gasped her first breath of air through dead lungs. The effect was stunning. Her body no longer needed anything. The air was a luxury, if one that felt like heaven at the moment. Even though she was still partially submerged she let loose a mad cackle of laughter at the tiniest break from pain she was given. She grabbed the edge of the sarcophagus and lifted, acid clinging to her skin as if it refused to release her from its grip.

In her head, she realized she was not alone.

She felt him. Rhys Loveless, he had called himself, and the gods had deemed him her new master. He was near her now and that thought filled her body with an instant reverence. He was the most loyal servant of her new gods, she realized. She could see why other creatures would turn that feeling into terror of him and his blatant power.

She turned it into desire. Like a daughter who sexually desired the strength of her father to punish her, she desired the strength of the Necromancer who was to be her guidance and teacher, her lord and master. She suddenly understood beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rhys had earned every last ounce of his massive reserves of power and energy. He had bought and paid for that power.

Ascylla blinked through the acid blinding her and turned her head to where she felt her master. "Your Grace." She meant to say it reverently and with feeling, with desire for him. Instead all that escaped her lips was a raw scraping sound.

She heard a chuckle and realized it was in her head. "Hush now. Your bath is not complete. Besides, I have access to all of your thoughts now, priestess. You can describe your worship of me in due time. First you must clean the acid in the pure black water that harbors death and sin."

Distantly, she felt herself lifted carefully into his arms. She couldn't see enough to notice anything so she merely let herself exist in his arms. She explored his mind instead, brushing her thoughts against his. It was like trying to pull at a locked door, however. He had full access to her and she could feel his presence, but she had no access that he did not allow into himself.

But he could feel her. She thought of her other fantasies of playing with his toys and brushed her mind against his again with the full, vicious force of her desire. A gasp of sex responded against her mind.

This pastime was quickly interrupted, however, when she felt what had to be the waters he described. A sudden burst of ice against the clinging acid crawled up her body as if she'd been laid in the waters.

After a moment she realized this was not exactly the case. Rhys has carried her and waded into the waters with her as well. He held her under, baptizing her in the blackness of hate and death, of pure devastating sexual torment. This had to be the feel of hell, but it was a hell she wanted oh so very badly. She pushed away from Rhys with a burst of hate and rage fueled energy, propelling herself deeper into the waters, bathing herself.

She felt a push back through the waters, felt arms tangle around her and grapple with her. Rhys' mind dominated hers and she felt his excited energy, here in the darkness of purest corruption. He clawed at her skin and she gasped beneath the waters. She felt herself pressed against a floor of soft silt and imagined it to be ground up bones. Likely it was. Rhys gave her affirmation to this against her mind and pressed her harder.

Her sex was icy, but oh so painfully, terribly sensitive when he pressed his cock against her entrance. He did not hesitate, he was not nice. He gave no foreplay. This was not to love or slake his sadism. This was nothing more than to dominate in the midst of terrible excitement. She was forced to accept his thickness and gods, but he was not small. She cried out beneath the waters with thrill and pain, though, and gave herself up to him.

Rhys' mind screamed his triumph and his fingertips searched, lifting her hips, seeking the pleasure button of her clit. His mind howled with power when he found it and she felt fire burst into the point.

The agony was almost as bad as the acid. Ascylla tried to pull away, but then forced herself to reach around and pull Rhys tighter against it. He could hear her thoughts, right?

"That's it Necromancer! Assert your control over me more. You take that away because you want your priestesses to burn in unsated pleasure while you torment them, don't you? You want them brainwashed in confusion while you overload their unsuspecting bodies with pain and they pair it with all that heat and sex, isn't that right? And you want me addicted to your sadism, addicted to the feel of rotting flesh, and horror. Go ahead then. Addict me until I'm a monster with it. Addict me so I'm like you."

The answer was a snarling, feral mind against hers. Rhys punished her with his hard sex, pounding into her and brushing his fingers over the sterilized area that once held a sensitive point of pleasure just to tease her with the fact that she had had her first modification. She didn't give him a thought of horror. She only gave him more desire and need, only fueled him in the circle of control he had started.

He wanted to play? She fucking loved games.

*Rhys POV*

Rhys pulled himself from the pool of the ancient, nameless gods, crawling and gasping on the shore bed of ground bones and glittering black sand. He rolled over onto his back, panting, stunned, and cut by the edge of the double edged sword of his desire.

Ascylla surfaced beside him, crawling weakly and he quivered at the very sight of her. The gods had given her hair on her head, a rarity. It was bone white, a contrast to her gray eyes. Her skin was ghastly pale. Her eyes were shadowed and ghostly in appearance. Her small body, though... That was covered in cuts and bruises from his attentions. He hadn't intended to go so far with the girl, but he hadn't maintained control when she'd challenged and teased him. He'd just lost himself to the desire and the chase instead. It had been so long since he'd had a real priestess to train, one that showed promise of adopting the arts of a Necromancer. So very long.

And he just hadn't been able to stop himself.

"Fuck. Holy fuck." She gasped the words, revitalized and reformed by the waters. But she didn't say it as a curse. She said it in wonder and in desire. And he had felt all of her delight against his mind at every cruel touch he'd given her.

He stood, catching his breath. "Spread your legs," he whispered.

Ascylla arched and moaned just at the simple command. She obeyed immediately and just as she had before. She didn't just spread her legs. She lay on the sand bed and lifted her knees to be sure his view was flawless. And, one step ahead of him, she spread her sex with her hands. "Your Grace." She drew the sound out like a snake purr. "I love obeying your commands. Tell me, does the opening gape a little wider after your use of my cunt? Does it please you like it pleases me when you dominate and I obey, even at the smallest commands? Does it please you seeing how I burn with a need that you will not sate? Is it thrilling thinking how every touch of the dead will be partnered with this torturous pleasure, how even sex will be a kind of torment and hell?"