Page 45 of Unholy Bond
I returned to the throne, spread my legs slightly, and gestured to the kneeling Lucifer. “Come here.”
The audience watched as his body betrayed him. First one hand, then the other, crawling forward on all fours, red skin splotched with sweat and humiliation. The runes on his back now throbbed with every beat of his heart.
“Show your court who truly rules now,” I said, low and intimate. The words hit him harder than any spell.
He hesitated at the foot of the dais, head lowered, shoulders shuddering. Then, with the inevitability of entropy, he hauled himself up to the space between my thighs. My fingers found the base of his horns, massive, curved, the perfect handles, and I pulled his face flush against me.
He snarled, hissed, and tried to bite, but the binding spell forced his tongue to obedience. The first touch was rage, the second despair, and by the third, he was rutting his face into my cunt, desperate to deny me the pleasure even as he was compelled to give it.
I moaned, loud and unashamed, arching my back and digging my nails into the flesh of his scalp. The court gasped as one. Some averted their eyes; others stared with the feverish awe of zealots witnessing a miracle. Aziz, Levi, and Ian watched, no longer kneeling, but crouched on their haunches like wolves ready to pounce.
“Is this what you wanted?” I taunted. “To be on your knees for a queen?”
He growled, and tried to pull away, but the runes burned his skin in punishment. I clamped his horns tighter and ground myself against his mouth, using his face for my pleasure. I looked out over the assembled court, locking eyes with every noble, every monster, every would-be rebel.
“Look at your king now,” I said. “Look at the fate that waits for those who try to leash me.”
The air thickened, each breath a struggle for the weak. I rode Lucifer’s tongue, each stroke more desperate, more frenzied as the Void inside me grew. The cracks in the dais widened, black veins racing outward, slithering up the walls and across the ceiling. Every living thing in the room seemed to vibrate with the feedback, some dropping to their knees, others tearing at their own skin in the throes of submission or envy.
Lucifer’s hands clawed at my thighs, gouging furrows that bled black, but I just laughed and forced him deeper. The more he fought, the more the spell coiled around his heart and genitals, squeezing until he could do nothing but service me.
Aziz prowled closer, his cock already hard, hands idly stroking himself as he watched the greatest tyrant in creation reduced to a sex toy. Levi and Ian pressed against the sides of the throne,their bodies vibrating with the hunger of creatures who knew the food would never run out again.
I threw my head back and shrieked as the orgasm hit, a raw, wild thing that reverberated off the bones of the chamber and up through the layers of Hell. The Void seized the moment, billowing out of me in a pulse that dropped a dozen courtiers in their tracks. Lucifer’s own body convulsed, spilling him to the floor, where he lay trembling and ruined.
I wiped the slick from my thighs, then used his horns to lever his head up. His eyes, those famous pitch-black wells, now bled a new shade. The color of defeat.
I stood, towering over the court. Aziz, Levi, and Ian took their places beside me, flanking the throne in a formation older than time.
“The reign of Lucifer is over,” I announced. “I am your queen. Those loyal to me will prosper. Those who resist…” I let my gaze fall to the heap of flesh and fury that had once been the terror of angels.
The first noble dropped to her knees, eyes wide and shining. The rest followed, a waterfall of genuflections, each more frantic than the last. Even the children at the gates wailed and writhed in ecstasy, knowing at last whose leash they wore.
Lucifer whimpered. It was a soft, pitiful sound, but the court heard it and shuddered in delicious terror.
I took my seat on the blackened throne and watched as Hell, entire and eternal, bent to me.
Chapter 25: Lucifer
The floor beneath my cage vibrated in slow, arrhythmic pulses, each tremor a drumbeat in the funeral march of my once-immaculate dominion. I pressed my forehead to the obsidian bars, staring through the haze of shadow and Void that now saturated Hell’s every molecule. Not even my breath steamed in this new cold, and I amused myself by counting how many times the freshly-dead above would trip and fall on the crack that split the dais from the main hall. Sometimes I imagined the bones of the weak embedding themselves into that crack, a macabre grout for the foundation of my old world.
The cage was a joke, as were all things now. I could shatter these bars with a flex of my tail or swish of my hand, but what waited outside was worse than the confinement. My former throne room had become an exhibit. Me, the legendary rebel, left to rot in a cell barely large enough for a grown dragon, directly beneath the seat of the new Queen’s power. On the days I wished to draw attention, I could rattle the bars, let my laughter echo through the stone, remind the courtiers above that every party eventually ends in blood and tears.
But even the impulse to entertain had faded. The Void above had deadened everything that made suffering worth inflicting.
I watched the motes of black drift through the cage, each one a silent reminder of the world’s entropy. They didn’t even sing to me, anymore. It was all absorption, all hunger, all nothing.
I knew something was off when the temperature dropped by another ten degrees and the hair on my forearms prickled straight up. Even the Void liked a routine. Disruptions meanttrouble, and there was only one creature in existence that found pleasure in disrupting Hell’s monotony for its own amusement.
She announced herself with a flash of motion in the far corner of the cell. I tracked the outline, she was always an outline, never a form, and watched as the shadow condensed into something human-shaped.
The Seer did not so much materialize as she did overwrite reality. A shimmer of black feathers, an afterimage of a woman’s jawline, and there she was, perched on the back of a petrified cherub like a taxidermist’s fever dream.
I clacked my teeth, baring them, just for the sound. “Come to gloat, witch?”
Her gaze cut through the dark, slicing with an icy calm that had always annoyed me more than all the howling, writhing threats in the pit. “If I wanted to gloat,” she said, “I’d wait until you were reduced to a husk, too stupid to remember why you ever mattered.”
I grinned, wider. “I’m touched. Can’t bear to let me go quietly, can you?”
