“Goddess of All, Mother of Light, we call upon your sacred hammer of judgement to bring redemption to the wicked! GAVEL OF SALVATION!”

The thirty-four War Priests chanted the spell in a choir of devoted voices and unleashed a massive collective pulse of magic and the cathedral’s front doors were thrown open as a giant hammer made of Light Magic impacted the entrance. All as one, they filed into the large stone church and made ready for the feeble counterattack of the parasites. Seconds passed as the armored battle clerics gathered together and awaited the inevitable onslaught of fangs and claws.

And yet, no attack came.

Slowly they inched forward, following the traces of dark magic that seeped from behind the pulpit. As they reached the place where the evil energy emanated from, they removed a large and ornate carpet to reveal of a trap-door that covered a staircase. The leader of the War Priests ripped the metal-reinforced wooden door off of its hinges and tossed it aside, giving the signal for the rest of the Battle Clerics to follow. The assembled team of seasoned heretic hunters descended into the hole in the ground that opened wide like a massive maw to swallow them up. None of the militant ministers realized the poetry of their actions. They, pure and saintly people, were descending into the dark and evil depths that created monsters of depravity and lust.

Their march through the dark and dank dungeon that that stretched out beneath the city was one of silence and eventual unease. Every time they reached another crossroads, they were forced to choose a path, and yet with each choice they only seemed to get both farther away from the last source of light and closer to the heart of darkness that sent throbbing pulses of black magic through the tunnel network. The lack of natural light was not normally a problem, as they had both torches and magic to illuminate the way, but the foul magic that filled the vein-like channels rendered any light that shone, magical or otherwise as a twisted mockery of what it should have been.

Shadows cast by the torches and flickering magical lights seemed to hide just about anything that could haunt the imagination. Rats that scurried in the dark seemed to be ten times their true size and spiders in their webs looked big enough to bite a man’s head off. This led to many a spell being slung at creatures not deserving of being hit with such powerful magic and resulted in more a fair bit of fear to set in among the combative clergy. With every step that they took deeper into the twisting chasm of madness and magic, the minds of the hardened hunters grew more supple and easier to manipulate.

By the time they reached the heart of darkness and blood deep beneath the city streets, the once unbreakable War Priests were now shivering in fear and barely able to keep their desire to throw off their armor and rut in check. Yes, the mix of Dark Magic, Blood Magic and Curse Magic that had flowed like fluid through the arteries that rushed out from this place had truly eaten away at the minds, bodies and souls of Lumina’s faithful. Now they were overwhelmed with a cacophonous mixture of fear and lust that only needed the slightest push to send them all tumbling over the edge and into oblivion.

The first tentative steps into the bath-house of blood seemed to be enough to cause some of the War Priests to start softly sobbing in fear, while others tried to fondle themselves through their heavy armor. Only the eldest and most hardened were able to endure the feelings of lust and terror that now pressed down on them with the pressure of the deep sea. However, even they could not withstand the force that revealed itself before them.

Sensual and feminine laughter echoed throughout the stone room and the countless corridors. This was followed by the sound of sultry footsteps and the nearly audible popping of hips as the figure of a woman more beautiful than any they had ever seen passed into view. Wearing nothing but red and black lace lingerie and with a bust that would make any human man’s jaw hit the floor in arousal the goddess-like beauty stopped in front of the petrified mortals and uttered one word that sent them all careening into the abyss.

“Come.”

All at once the Oaths of Celibacy that had kept the thirty-four maidens who served Luminas meant nothing and the sounds of moaning and panting filled the room as the pure and chaste battle nuns fell to their knees and let the extasy wash over them. Their armored bodies quivered in delight as every time they had ceased their experience the single word spoken earlier was uttered again and sent them back into the arms of Asmodeus. This process repeated itself far too many times, and by the end of the last cycle the once pure and devoted servants of the Goddess of Light, Lumina were begging to be taken by their new goddess who towered over them with the look of a dominatrix queen upon her face.

“That armor looks stuffy. Why don’t you remove it and free yourself from the shackles that bind you?”

Two sentences, and arguably only one were all it took for the formerly devoted members of the Church to begin stripping themselves. A few moments later and the thirty-four maidens were now naked and begging like drug addicts for their next fix. Their eyes were glazed over and the only thing that could be said to reflect from within them was a mix of passion and hedonism. As the Founder of House Carmilla sauntered over to the chair that still sat in the center of the pool of blood and other liquids, the mind-fucked throng of naked mortals crawled on all fours after her.

Once seated, the second most beautiful being in the world sat with her legs open and let her new pets lick and rub her body with feverish abandon. This made the seventh group of ‘battle nuns’ that had been sent, and the seventh group to fall before the powers of the ‘Embodiment of the Primogenitor’s Lust’. As the sixty eight surviving members of the previous incursions joined in the new orgy that was taking place, Elileth Carmilla gazed through the eyes of her pawns on the surface and beheld the arrival of the eighth group of repressed battle bitches. Stroking herself with joy, she chuckled and waited for the cycle to start again.

“Isn’t it lovely when the repressed members of backwards faiths discover the power and freedom that passion can create?”

Elileth asked this question to the mass of bodies that squirmed around her, but, like the last few times, there was not a single coherent sound that could be taken as an answer. The cycle of lust would continue, and no foolish and bottled-up member of that antiquated faith would be able to stop it.

The night was young, and the limits of passion were far away; the cycle would need to continue for several more weeks before the ‘Princess of Passion’ would be anywhere near sated.