For My Ascension, I Ordered My Commanders to Stalk Me
Copyright© 2025 by Palescript
Chapter 14: The Face of Hell
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 14: The Face of Hell - Choose your own adventure. Black Flag: (least spoilers/you want the darkest ride): Libby's life as a small-town librarian is brought to an end the night two monsters masquerading as men drag her through a portal into Hell. Subjected to public humiliation and ritualized depravity beyond comprehension, Libby clings to one certainty: none of this is random cruelty. What purpose does it, and will she, ultimately serve in this terrible new world? Red Flag blurb is in the Preface.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Slavery BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Horror Paranormal Magic Demons BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Oral Sex Voyeurism Public Sex Royalty Violence
For a breathless moment, Libby could only stare.
The approaching figures swayed in perfect synchronization as they glided across the moonlit flagstones. Their quiet, feminine steps moved with the fluidity of water, a hypnotic grace that seemed to slow time itself. Fitted cowls clung to their heads and covered their eyes, the bridges of their noses, and left only their lips and chins exposed. Crimson horns grew from their temples and arched over their ears, their sharp ends coming to a point just above their collarbones.
It wasn’t until they drew closer that Libby realized both women, demons, were completely soaked in blood. They left two parallel lines of dark footprints in their wake, each step carving a wound straight through the center of the courtyard.
Their red skin was glistening a shade of oxblood so deep it gleamed like wet garnet. Rivulets streamed from their elbows, their fingers, dripping to the ground only to dissolve into trails of mist on the wind.
The two demons came to a stop before the cart. Their covered eyes brushed over the drow, then over Libby, before they gracefully inclined their heads. They folded their hands together, brought them to their waists, and sank downward, their crimson gowns clinging to every contour of their lithe frames.
“Blood Maidens,” Galen said without inflection. “Is your sovereign prepared to receive us?”
As one, they rose. Their lips did not move, and yet Libby could hear their overlapping voices as clearly as if they were speaking directly into her ear.
’Yes. Our master is ready to receive you now.’
“Fucking Asmodeus,” Fenrow muttered. “Can’t pass up an opportunity to turn everything into a fatesforesaken spectacle.” He turned to the Blood Maidens and made a vague gesture towards the arena. “Lead on, then. We might as well get on with it. Hell forbid we keep his majesty waiting.”
The Blood Maidens bowed their heads in acknowledgement before they clasped their hands in front of them, turned, and began to walk towards the looming expanse of the arena.
Libby’s stomach dropped out from under her as the entire structure lurched forward with a metallic screech. They were moving; she was moving.
No! No, she wasn’t ready!
She shot to her feet, her arms lashing out to clutch at the bars.
She whirled to see Fenrow and Galen stalking on either side of the moving cart, their long strides easily matching the pace of the rattling enclosure carrying her across the cobblestones.
The Blood Maidens walked about ten paces ahead, and Libby’s eyes went wide as she got a look at the two long handles in front. Swirling strands of blood were twined around each one, an invisible, inexorable force pulling her across the courtyard and towards an opening in the arena wall.
Libby suddenly recalled Eldra Vorn’s warnings. About Wrath’s war-hardened marauders. That the witchdoctor could still reattach her head to her body if there was enough tissue left.
The stakes had never been more brutally clear.
Whatever was waiting in that arena could rip her limb from limb.
Which meant that death, her death, was a very real possibility.
Desperation suddenly clawed at her with vicious talons, and every bit of dignity, every bit of resolve she had left, began to fragment into pieces.
She turned to Fenrow, to Galen, the defiance in her eyes guttering out and misting over with a veil of defeat. Her spark of courage from earlier was gone, and in its place was a fear so acute it felt like her insides were on fire.
“Please. I c-can’t do this,” she rasped to the dark elves. Her terrified voice had cracked on every syllable. “Please don’t make me go back out there. I can’t fight. I don’t know the first fucking thing about combat.” Her gaze darted between them “Come on. There must be another way. There has to be. You know I won’t survive this. I am begging you. Please don’t send me in there to die!”
Hot tears burned shameful trails down her grime-streaked face. The taste of her own weakness festered in her throat, a bitter, caustic poison. In that moment, she didn’t know who she hated more: them or herself. All she knew was that she didn’t recognize the desperate, groveling creature wearing her skin.
“Please,” she pleaded again as the cart approached the scarred threshold of the arena. “I don’t understand what I did that was so wrong. I just want to go home. Please, just let me go home!”
She sank to her knees, her fists still clinging to the bars. She pressed her forehead into them, her breaths coming in shallow, hitching gasps against the metal. “You’ve already erased me, took everything from me that made me who I was!”
She beat her fist against her chest, as if she were trying to restart her long-dead heart. “You have made me nothing! You have made me no one!”
Slowly, she raised her head. She searched their inhuman eyes for a sliver of mercy, for a shred of the compassion she’d sworn she’d once seen in them.
Galen had gone two shades paler, and something unguarded and raw distorted his cold demeanor. She twisted toward Fenrow in time to see him muttering to himself and sinking a shaking hand into his hair. His lips had peeled back from his fangs, and his jaw was clenched so hard every tendon had drawn taut in his neck.
In that room, they’d done something worse than hurt her: they’d made her doubt everything. Galen’s consuming intensity, the almost reverent way Fenrow had touched her. As if she’d mattered. It had all contradicted their cruelty so completely that she couldn’t tell what was manipulation or what was madness anymore.
Neither of them answered her.
Then Galen’s face shuttered entirely. He fixed his eyes forward, his face smoothing into an impenetrable wall of stone. Fenrow had turned his body away, and she was met only with the cold line of his shoulders.
“Well, fucking Hell. Would you look at the size of that goddamn thing!” came a husky feminine voice from only a few paces away. Eldra Vorn stepped around the curve of the stone wall and into the firelight of the two sconces that marked the arena’s entrance. “Makes you think he’s gotta be overcompensating for something, but that shameless bastard will show off that monstrosity to anyone with eyes.”
Her hood rested on her shoulders, and her heavy mane of navy blue hair curled in loose coils down to her waist. “Hey, Libby. You look, well ... no. You don’t look so good, actually.”
The witchdoctor came closer to the cart, which had paused at the arena’s edge. She squinted up at Libby and crossed her etched arms across her chest. “You do look badass in your armor, though, I’ll give you that. A very nice touch. Under normal circumstances, I’d tell you how good your ass looks right now, but this just isn’t the time. But I won’t lie, the drow blood on your chest and your wild, matted hair is really giving ‘feral war goddess,’ and I will admit it’s working.”
Libby opened her mouth to beg for her help, to make this insanity stop, but the shale blue demon held up a filigreed hand, her face twisting with something distinctly resembling regret.
“I know what you’re going to ask me, but my answer is still the same as it was earlier. I can’t stop this. None of us can. We’ve worked too hard—you’ve worked too damn fucking hard, Libby—to give up now. You’re right there. Right on the edge of getting everything you’ve wanted, everything we’ve been fighting for. So please, just hold on a little bit longer, and we fucking win.”
She didn’t wait for Libby’s response before turning to the drow. “I have a lead on our missing vitalis that I need to investigate, so I won’t be able to stay and watch the trial. Summon me if anything happens. I’ll drop everything and return as fast as I can.”
A clear, haunting melody began to rise from the arena floor. It started as an ominous drone, a wavering deep bass with somber, resonant strings. The sound crested into intertwining waves of foreboding intensity, making the very air itself feel heavier and overfull.
Her cart was at the mouth of the arena, perhaps a hundred feet from the colossal steel columns, and Libby could see exactly where, or rather who, it was coming from.
A full orchestra of demons, at least a thousand strong, were seated in a many-layered spiral around the diabolical construct. They guided their instruments in a low, thrumming, melody: strings, woodwind, percussion, and brass coalescing into a sound that reverberated through her bones and swelled with the roiling layers of a gathering storm.
“Look at me, Libby,” Eldra Vorn shouted over the music.
Fraction by fraction, Libby woodenly turned to face her, her expression frozen into a hollow, distant mask.
The witchdoctor extended a clawed hand through the bars.
Libby stared at it, her entire focus lasering in on that single offer of comfort. She didn’t know why she did it or what came over her, but she shifted closer, and slowly extended her own hand towards her. The woman’s long blue fingers curled around her hand and nearly swallowed her fist entirely.
“I won’t lie to you,” Eldra Vorn whispered. “It’s going to be chaos in there. You have to trust in yourself. Trust the defenses we’ve camouflaged into this crazy, badass getup. Between the enchantments, Auric’s self-preservation instincts, and your well... you, you’ve got far more protection than you think.”
“She won’t fail,” Galen said, still staring straight ahead. Then he angled his face toward Libby, meeting her gaze for only a moment. “For death has not yet spoken your name.”
Fenrow stood beside him, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when he flashed her a roguish grin. “He’s right. You’re much tougher than you think you are. Besides, you didn’t make it this far just to die on us now, princess.”
Libby opened her mouth, but whether it was to plead with them one last time or to hurl a string of obscenities and spiteful condemnations, she never got the chance.
The cart suddenly lurched forward, and Libby’s hand was wrenched from Eldra Vorn’s grasp. She pitched into the bars, and only barely caught herself against the rails, her hands coming up to clutch them in a white-knuckled grip.
Galen and Fenrow strode past their retinue without another sideways glance, walking ahead until they fell into step in front of the advancing Blood Maidens. The drow led their procession into the arena, their eyes scanning the sands, the dark rows of horned musicians, their hands never leaving the broad, heavy sabers at their belts.
The drone of the audience built until it erupted into an ear-shattering roar. Libby slowly rose to her feet, using every splinter of her weakening composure to stop herself from covering her ears.
She couldn’t do this. How could they have the gall to stand there and tell her she’d be fine? None of them were in this cage. None of them had thousands of demons screaming for their destruction, a trial that would probably kill her, or a malevolent sovereign currently stretching them to their limit.
The braziers bathed Libby’s body in a shifting amber light, turning her plated armor a molten gold. It took every ounce of self control to resist the overwhelming urge to retreat into the corner of the cage, curl into a ball, and shut out the world entirely. She held her shoulders back by force of will alone, staring at some distant point, fighting to still the tremor in her hands.
Hundreds of thousands of stares crawled across her skin like a swarm of insects. And she knew it wasn’t just the horde of demons seated in this amphitheatre who were watching her, either. There were the others, the countless wretches watching her from the lightless places this broadcast reached.