The crowd lapped it up as I butchered yet another song. Or at least they weren’t adding marks to the wall behind me anymore, with knives. However, I must admit my wonderful patrons seemed to be a fair hand at throwing coins to harm.

Is it worth the waiting for?

If we live for eons and four

All we ever get is blood!

Every day we spit our curses —

Will they change to rough delights?

Still, we get the same old blood!

There’s not a fuck, not a brawl that we won’t fight.

Can we con, can we steal, or cadge?

But there’s nothing to stop us from grinding for thrills

When we all close our eyes and imagine

Booze, glorious booze!

Hot sex and muggings!

While we’re in a feud —

Stab bellies and crush them!

Flay bendings and bindings

What next is the question?

Lush companions have it, boys —

in their endings!

Gore Glorious gore

We’re eager to try it.

The song was approaching a grand finale or the time to duck; when a force smothered it into an early grave, the patrons and I groaned under the pressure of it. The presence of these patrons, I could stand against, but as the Demons fell silent, my heart strained. And yet I press onwards with the song, a true professional as always. A Succubus who I had held inspired bouncing for a generous tipper grasped tight to what she’d claimed. Her legs clamped around their torso as their eyes and hers went wide in that rare sight on them, fear.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Boot heels striking stone rang out, demanding the attention of all within. The flickering light of flames lit up the archway as death strode within. Hips swaying in a provocative grace, she glided and with every glance owned all within. Her presence struck like a physical force, and I’m not ashamed to say, I may have sighed. Furlong hopes that should never be, yet part of me craved it. To linger between those long fair limbs, to press against those wondrous breasts.

Her heart-shaped face and flowing locks cascading down onto pillows of silken white delights. Those redden lips so dark, so lush, curled with delightful promises. Carnal pleasures all about seemed but hollow memories in the shimmering of her presence. Flames shimmered from red to black and their contrast, black flames to ivory flesh, made the temptation of her lush form all the greater still.

I was sure I had continued to sing till her gaze pinned me in place. As she graced me with a bold stare, I could but bow my unworthy head. The world staggered as the sweet huskiness of her voice reverberated through me. The words not even directed to me, but the Succubi behind the bar. Yet the delight of each sensual sound rubbed against my skin and purred within me, feeling unworthy even to register their meaning.

Her heels struck the stonework, echoing in the quiet of the not so grand hall. With each echoing strike, she drew closer still to me, seduced no doubt by my charms no matter the form I now wore. Delicate fingers traced the side of my face, showing her apparent desire for me to shower them with pleasure.

“We’ll come together, Pet; your song aroused me,”

Wait, not aroused, amused me. Though her voice is indeed working me over. What was the first part? Come together or come with me? Isn’t it the same?

Lady Bast, if this is how you call me home, I do approve.

A voice growled in anger as I strove to keep myself composed, and she spat a harsh reply in sensual tones. The harsh familiar odour of Demonic blood splashed against my nose. The poignant scent a sharp, not unfamiliar, slap to my sense as its bitterness tried to make me gag. An affront worse than a cheap local brew after a night of singing bawdy ballads, for tips made lighter by an innkeeper’s sticky fingers.

“May I serve mistress?” asked a grunting voice in Abyssal.

The words echo across my awareness as I watch the heading rolling away, and voices grew strangely distant. The mane faced fellow that had dared growl at her, now short a vital piece.

At least it wasn’t the worst head to lose, and such over quick. Though apparently, he was a one pump chump.

Tiny bitty beetles come skittering out of the wall, quickly chewing while others sort to drink from the expanding dark pool. Words swim off, singing into the distance like a bird trill before something brings me back. A hand. Her hand pulling at my clothing, is she wanting me undressed already?

“Walk,”

Not the case, alas, but at least we’ll get privacy for my demise.

An effortless hand raising with grace almost lifts me to my feet, and I find myself forced into stumbling off-balance steps. So unsteady with the barely contained excitement, I’m trembling with it, wondering where she’d like to go first. Or how? Maybe both? My thoughts are whirling. The flames do not burn, yet the lustful heat of her flesh sears through the linen of my shirt. Her every touch burning, sending a searing ache deep with my Soul, piercing my heart with desire and dark, wonderful thoughts. Every passage from my tiny little cubby through the den of desires’ corridors had daily thrilled and terrified. Now I could merely wonder which room this pale, dark, wondrous lady would use to consume me.

When the Succubus guiding the way paused by Klipyl’s door, I began to speculate who would kill me first. To be smothered between the sensual steel and the iridescent ivory. Or would the Succubi put on a show?

No. They’re talking business?! Profit shares? In a room of sensual delight.

Can’t I at least try out the rug with someone?

Was this how it was to be? Death by ardent desire delayed?

It is a ferocious, torturous end as I watch the fine Klipyl’s figure battle with valiant vigour against the most meagre of constraints. Liken unto the thin line of life, a most slender cloth did conceal her delights. So ecstatic, I had thought, so teasingly delightful, so close yet so far removed. Not till this new arrival clad in the tightest of flame wrapped leather had I the true meaning of teasing desire. Her very presence pulsating over me as she made Klipyl’s eyes inflame with lust, yet with so much skin hidden from sight.

A negligent gesture as one might shoo a flea-bitten hound sent me to a chair by the door. A hurtful dismissal for a performer like I, shooed away as a typical mutt. I ought to sit down before I get myself beheaded. Strangely, some part of me had already moved my feet, not noticing till I had already taken a seat. Could it be? The strength of her wanton will could force my mortal flesh? What delight might that involve? Or was it merely that part of my brain that wished to live had forgotten to marvel in the pale dark beauty evident before us?

Her voice snaps with authority as she commands Klipyl; the sensual rapture disappears from within my mind.

“I’m going to tell you something, and you will heed it. If I’m not impressed when next we meet, things will need to change,”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You will surrender your will to me so I can force you to Ascend. When you go through the inferno, focus your increased energy on your mind and will. Beauty makes you but a toy, if that is all you have. I need useful assistants to run things here and in other places. If it is not you, it will be someone else,”

Ascend? I so need to learn more about Demon sex? Was that a position? Though Inferno didn’t sound promising,

She could be a toy for me any day of the year.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Klipyl, lust shining in her eyes.

“Stand there,” the dark succubus snapped, her fingers flickering in a dismissive gesture for Klipyl to stand before her.

Yet here I was with the centre stage as she ordered Klipyl before her seat. What lascivious acts was I to see? Would she kneel in homage as seemed so fitting? In which case, how does she remove all that leather? Can I help?

Klipyl submitted to her command without pause and stood, her full breasts thrusting forward. Her sensual poise further straining the fabric and my self-control. A red light gathered within her linen white flesh as the other seemed to focus on her. Little flickering motions in her face, giving away the intensity of her concentration. As the white skin shone with inner flames, the Abyss swallowed her from existence. Shock stole my breath, and as she spoke, I jumped from surprise.

“Come here, Mokilian.”

The words left no room for questions, and I got to my feet with haste; hoping whatever she'd done to Klipyl wasn’t her intent for me. It was an effort to move out into the stage of her attention, but I stepped forward with measured pace, feeling the rug give softly under each step.

“I wonder if the soundproofing in here goes both ways.”

Could it be that we'll get to try the rug?

“Why, Mistress?” I asked. Calmness was hard to come by, wanting to stay away from whatever had occurred, yet aching for her.

“Because we need to talk.”

“Talk?”

Why in Bast's name would she need to talk to me? Is that a position code? What had I missed while swept away in dreaming desires?

“It doesn’t matter, and the Coven likely put the spells in place. Speak no further unless I ask you direct questions, little Cambion.”

With that order, I felt my nerves lessen slightly, glad she’d made no move to focus on me as she had Klipyl.

“That yowling was appalling. Why were you singing that?”

The question was oddly curious, her tone softening from the inflections of steel desire every word till now had possessed.

“It's popular here; the patrons give coin for it. You said it amused you.” I said, not wanting now to dwell on my original translation of her words.

“I lied. You will wait here. If you aren’t here when I get back, I’ll hunt you down. If anyone tells you to leave this office, you will tell them you are under my orders to remain. Is that clear?”

The steel blossomed in her voice so intense it stole my breath, every bladed syllable nicking along my spine. Bloody images came seeping up within my mind.

“Yes, Mistress,”

The reply was all I could manage as my tongue flicked against dry lips, and I wondered how my mouth had gotten so suddenly parched. When she vanished an instant later, I looked for anything to drink before settling empty-handed on the couch, trying to still my nerves.

Those nerves sat me upright from a nap, as death whispered in my ear, the click of the door sounding like a blade against my neck.

“Time to talk.”

The words were like a pronouncement of doom. Though steel laced her voice, her presence didn’t overwhelm me as before and left me able to think.

“What did you wish to talk about?”

Code for oral?

“Nothing here,” She said, and a hide bag appeared in her hand without so much as a flourish. “Put your hand in this bag.”

“What?”

Is she going to cut it off?

“I can’t teleport with you unless I have you stored in something to reduce weight. So put your hand in here. I’ll get it to store you and take you somewhere to talk,”

Magic storage bag, but is there breathable air in there? What about where we’re going?

“How will I breathe? I’m a Cambion. We need to breathe,”

“Some of you do. Fine, I’ll store you and then draw you back out. Take a breath when you’re within, see if there is air. If not, we’ll go outside before I tuck you in the bag."

So regardless, I’m going in?

“Why can’t we just talk here?”

“Idiot Cambion. Put your hand in before I shove you in it headfirst,”

The words pressed against me like an armoured fist; her steel will was sheathed, impatient but oddly given the words, feeling not unreasonable.

What is more dangerous for a Demoness?

“Alright,”

When I placed my hand within the bag, I could but hope I’d still be able to use it to play when done. Even at that moment, though, Klipyl’s office vanished around me, and metallic soaked air seeped into my nostrils as I took a hopeful sniff. The utter darkness weighed on me and bringing a spell to mind. I shaped its form and let mana flow through it. With light now shining on my hand, I peered about the darkness of the cavernous space. Suddenly, I was again within the office with a light still glowing, oddly as she had promised.

“Dark in there, was it?” she asked, amusement in her voice. Yet it felt as the words meant something far different to her than a simple query.

“Very. The air smelt metallic and musty, but I could breathe it.”

She accepted the explanation I provided with the barest of nods as she presented the bag to me again, strangely relief edging across her features.

Would it have inconvenienced her? I’d say something is odd, but how do you understand a Demon’s behaviour.

“Well, you won’t need to breathe it for long. Now get back in,”

Her voice sounded like a whip, and I felt the force of her decision crack against me. I stuck my hand within the bag, and the office vanished again. After a long wait, I found myself released within a dimmer light that matched tunnels I had previously travelled. Even as I took in the broken rock of the tunnel, pain like knives twisted deep within, and stone crashed against my side. Even knowing I had fallen against that broken floor couldn't stop me from thrashing at the pain, the sound of my cries gasping loud in my ears.

Peaceful, blessed musty darkness returned, and the pain vanished as suddenly as it had come. Limbs still trembling with the memory, I slowly sat upright and wondered what torment she had in mind for me next. The pain so swift, now so absent, my mind reeling in its release. The darkness swam around me, yet the absence of pain left me unable to care. When dim tunnel light returned, I could make out the Succubus gazing at me with the strangest of emotions for them - concern. The beauty of her features etched with emotion so strong I would but hope I could kiss the feeling gone.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Your curse and Abyssal blight reacted to the song,”

Oh, by Bast, she knows. How does she know?

“What are you saying? I’m not cursed. I’m Cambion. What region of the Abyss did you take me to?”

“Moke!”

When she snaps my name, the word hits like a punch to the ribs. All breath was trying to escape me in despair. Still, I force myself to speak and try to regain my feet.

“That’s not my name. It’s Mokilian.”

Strips of linen so white they gleam even in the dim, cold lighting about suddenly hang silken from an extended arm. Before I can see what holds them there, they’re suddenly in her out-thrust hand.

“Use these to bandage your wounds. I don’t have healing magic. Are you using an item or a spell to protect your mind?”

She knows. How do I get away? Where are we? What wounds?

“I don’t know-how,”

I manage the words as my gaze takes in the rips across the only shirt I currently own. Already patched and beaten by its stay within this place, it now gasps open and blood swirls.

“Take off your shirt and sit down. You’ve gouged right through the cloth. I hope you didn’t get crap in the wounds,”

Her velvet words pour forth, concern rather than anger clear in her voice, easing the words' cold appraisal.

“Take me back to Zôhma. I don’t know what you are talking about,”

Desperation pulses within my chest, and fear gives my swift blood wings as it thunders in my ears.

“Moke, Bard from Thebes, cursed by a High Priest of a Dark Power, which you had better not name here. Take your shirt off and sit down. I need to bandage your arms and chest from the looks of things.”

Words have always been my friends. Now with frozen tones, she seals my fate, yet the firmness of her speech stills my fears. Would I still be alive if she wanted me dead?

“Where would you run to? Do you know where Zôhma is? Plenty of things to kill you in these tunnels. Take your shirt off and sit down so I can tend your wounds,”

“How did you know?”

The words sound stupid to my ears. Yet the sudden rush of stark truth in this place of desperate lies comforts.

“I know. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be Abyss bait. Now, remove your shirt and sit down, before you fall,”

Her words brush against me, and in their soft touch, they breathe across something I had thought lost. Hope.

I lower myself to the floor again, and looking up; I find her crouching close. Her silken white pillows were so close before my eyes. Actions as liken to a lover, she removed my shirt and tended my wounds. More and more of the pure white cloth appears to bind my injuries, and I wonder wordless and surprised from where it comes. Every strand seems to start against the lovely tight leathers enfolding her form, and I do not recognise the magic that creates them.

“Do you speak this tongue?” she asks her words in Norse unaccented by this place's brutal tongue.

“Yes, but why are we using it?”

“Not everything in the Abyss speaks or can understand human languages, and I don’t speak Egyptian. Do you have any spell that can guard against scrying?”

“Yes, it’s intended for matters requiring discretion.”

“Fine, cast it then.”

“First, we need to be intimately embracing. I designed the spell form to protect the privacy of lovers. There are restrictions on it that make it easier to cast and maintain,”

The words come forth with practised ease, so quick even I don’t remember the lie of them till too late. Sure, I was inviting trouble. I wonder where my mind went. Why would I want a Succubus, knowing of me, to be so close? Her eyes lower with such demure grace, I feel I should be blushing at my boldness, yet as I move and go to explain, her fingers grasp on uninjured shoulders.

“Stop moving—great, typical bard. Of course, your spell forms make it safer to get a leg over.”

That may be fair. What a puzzle that I would find a Demon's judgements fair.

Her words are a grumble of apparent embarrassment as she keeps me sitting and moves about me. She sits, the warmth of her easing so wonderfully against my skin and her legs wrap themselves about me. As my mind recalls other legs recently seen gripping, desires stir against the pain of flesh and within.

“Hold my leg and cast your darn spell already.”

Surprised at the grumbles, and the coquettish shifting from the one beside me, I set desire aside and let my hands sit upon the leathers. The softness of the hide wrapped around her form, calling up questions I’d prefer to avoid.

Please let this not be flayed from a human. It feels as soft as the curve of her breasts should be.

With the heat of her sex pressed against my hip, I set my focus to place the mirage about us.

“It’s prattling about the local crap,”

Her words sound judgmental, but that sweet embarrassment still lays within. Her voice sounds calm and might fool one not so practised at seeing what an audience desires. Yet cold judgemental hands don’t sit so hesitantly upon another's flesh, nor do their eyes shift about as if unsure where to land. Even without the speeding of embarrassed breath, the cues are so strange given what she is and behaviour within the Hollow’s walls. Her poise has vanished as she fidgets against me, clearly uncertain by our closeness.

“It’s so you don’t have to concentrate on anything besides your lover,”

Or learning of a noble’s scheming plan.

“Right, let’s talk fast. This spell is just saying we have something to hide. You need out of the Abyss. You’ve already got Abyssal blight digging into your Soul.”

“What sort of trick is this? You’ve discovered me. I know I’m doomed.”

As I say the words, fear ripples against desire, and I find it easier to focus. Her latest so innocent gestures alluring far within my heart.

“It isn’t a trick, but I don’t have a safe way to get you to the material plane, and ensure you’ll come out somewhere safe,”

“You want to send me home looking like this? So you can scry across the planes and delight in my family killing me themselves?”

I lean close to feel the delicious heat from her breasts upon my upper arm even as I speak. The line of her leather-clad form beckoning desire from deep within again, the force of it pummeling fear away.

“You are wasting fucking time you might not have,”

“We could do that. I know I’m doomed. I might as well have a nice send-off,”

My words I had set to tease as fingers trail up her calf, the Succubus reacts as if I’d pinched a blushing maiden’s bum. A fist clenched tight rises fast and is ready to match the words I was sure she’d speak.

“If you fondle me, your face is going to break,”

“But you’re a Succubus? Aren’t you supposed to be dooming mortals via temptations of carnal lusts?”

Why does she act like a shield maiden intent on her chastity? What game is this?

“Don’t get me started. Now options, I can let you use a conduit and best of luck. If it goes to the right place, or at least remotely, you’re out. Then you can try to find someone to remove the curse. The second option, we could go to the grey fields and find a Patrol of a Light God to help you.

“I want revenge,” I say before she can start the next option clear on her lips.

My surprise at my own accurate words matches the shocked look on her face.

“What?”

Her question comes out a startled breath, matching the surprise about her, and her fists unclench. I admit the truth I now know.

“On the priest that sent me here. I want revenge. His church caused the disappearance of my friends and other groups from the Charter house. Even before that, a whole township died due to them. I’m alive, but my friends are likely dead. Can you help me get revenge?”

Sorrow weighed my gaze, and pain drew my lids to shut. Yet to avert my gaze from the beauty shining close would even deeper cut. The energy and life about her, the sorrow, and compassion all aimed at me. The blackest of orbs regard me, but the lines of her face schooled to convey such depth in acting, music and song it rings so true. Her eyes controlled, yet the lush grace of her mouth curves in sadness and shared pain. Her fingers were flexing against my shoulders as if fighting not to draw me into a comforting embrace.

How does a Succubus know of sorrow?

“Fuck.”

I can tell from her tone it's spoken from anger or frustration, yet I can not help tease this beauty. To dispel the mood I’ve set now between us with my words.

“Why do you say that you already threatened to slap me?”

“Darn, I said that in Norse.”

“What does it matter the language if you wish to fornicate?”

“I’ve been to Eyrarháls, and I can get you there. However, I can’t open the conduit to the material plane; and can’t get there without a summoner or someone with a Pact calling me.”

“Form a Pact with me then. I’ll agree as long as revenge is on the table.”

I speak the words knowing already what restriction lies upon her yet craving her aid to pay back those who’d doomed my friends.

“It corrupts your Soul with Abyssal energy. Why would you want that?”

Her words said with such sweet confusion, near make me smile, but well-practiced stagecraft lets me calm my face.

“Why would you not want that state? If I can get revenge, and if you’d allow it, leave behind a few poems about my victory. I would consider it well spent.”

“You’re crazy,”

“I’m in the Abyss, talking to a Succubus who has her wondrous legs around me and doesn’t want sex. Of course, I’m the crazy one,”

As I speak, I let the hand resting on her thigh squeeze slightly tighter and watch the lids of her eyes twitch wider still.

“Fine, whatever. Stop the spell.”

With those words spoken, she vanishes from my lap faster than a daughter nearly caught kissing by an angry father. One moment sitting, the next standing well out of arm's reach, a cat having leapt to safety to avoid a child's hand reaching for its tail.

Her act makes no sense. Why is she playing me this way? I know what she is, but she persists? Is she practicing a part? If I hadn’t seen her before, I’d swear she was a virgin. Not wholly innocent of men, but no comfort with closeness.

“So how do I use this conduit? Or form a Pact?”

As I asked, her gaze looks down on me, and the posture changed from discomfort to sorrow brushed with confusion. Yet as her posture changes, I feel pressure there in the darkness with myself and know it comes from her. A hand wrapped in the filth that has laced every breath here, offering hope, though I had believed I would surely die. With a prayer on my heart to Bast, I reach inside and touch it with knowledge of what I intend. With that focus, a link between us forms, and know even with my eyes shut, if I spun in reckless abandon, I would know wherever she stood.

The conduit is amusing, a squirming phallus-like eel, the uncomfortable way she handles it is clear as she explains its use. The strangest of climbs with the soft warm walls rippling against fingers, not unlike a lady’s place of pleasure. When I step between its outer lips, I look up and feel my heartbreak. Is this why she brought me here? Does it not open as she said? Did she give me instructions to make it bring me here? Is her Pact letting her feel my pain right now?

I look towards the conduit path, ready to curse her out. Yet I could see no pleasure on her lips, nor gloating in her posture—only concern in every line of her graceful form.

“Eakcï come quickly,”

With the words said, I look back upon what my gaze had found and step towards the sight that makes my heartache—the tales of my ancestors. The Temple’s murals had shown them clearly, but yet now their grace was but broken stones. Pain enfolds my heart as I compose the sight in sorrowing words, a vain hope to convey the pain and ease the loss that my people should know.

“What happened?”

I do not know how long I stood there watching the dawn’s light wash over that awful sight. Yet her words so softly spoken at my shoulder drew me back again. The history lesson so patiently heeded, as she gave me time to mourn what I’d never known. An uncertain hand fluttered repeatedly close but never came to rest while we spoke. The warmth of its presence comforting. When I asked to leave, she did but softly nod. Her hand holding forth the now-familiar bag. A simple question answered before I reached within.

Darkness led to Darkness, set to match unto my pain, till she did with laughter bid lightness, and set the pain adrift. Her form blurring and changing so swiftly in the moonlight, to a subtle form. A petite shape that the moonlight gave a surer grace and beauty than the unworldly lushness she had previously possessed. The fineness of her features and the air about her spoke of kindness, no longer looming over me; it was tempting to tilt her chin up and gaze upon her beauty. Yet as I praised her, the eye roll and shoulder set was clear. Whatever her form might be, she was still the same within. The form she wore seemed no act, and it was flesh wrapping more than empty malice within.

With her words, she tried to slip strangely from the subject of herself, Eakcï, a name so strange, and stranger still the one who carried it. Questions led to places I had not expected and revealed the truth I had thought I'd known to be a lie—a Demoness could speak the name of Bast. I sat in the moonlight and smelt familiar breezes and wondered if she really went for the purpose she said. Wrapped in a cloak and blankets made, I’d learnt from her own flesh. The essence of their warmth comforting me. Still, I found my gaze tending toward the link’s line, towards what I thought would be the east. Gone as she said to deal with one who had earned her wrath.

I must admit I dozed, sung to slumber by the poems nature composes with my flesh and poisoned wounds within eased. Sonnets of Owl songs, wind rustling with applause, eased my flesh and Soul to sleep.