For My Ascension, I Ordered My Commanders to Stalk Me
Copyright© 2025 by Palescript
Chapter 19: An Inheritance of Wrath
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 19: An Inheritance of Wrath - Choose Your Own Synopsis: 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
The hooded Marauder came to a stop, and she was fairly certain she heard him sigh, though it was impossible to know for sure over the constant drone of noise. He angled towards her, the series of vertical slits on his mask regarding her in silence.
Libby hobbled a little closer, trying to make herself look as pathetic as possible without overdoing it.
Admittedly, it wasn’t very hard. She could only imagine what she must look like through his eyes. A small human woman with a bloody inscription on her sternum. Her hair an unkempt, matted mess, with streaks of dried semen and Karvesh’s blood still tacky on her skin.
She could feel his gaze trailing over her frame, a phantom blade slowly sliding along her body. She suppressed a shudder, locking her muscles and forcing her expression to remain neutral. His eerie faceplate regarded her for several long moments, and then he turned back around with a snort. He resumed walking, the rope drawing tight and forcing her to scramble after him to avoid being dragged.
“That’s not possible,” he said without looking back, his long tail flicking irritably. It was covered in overlapping layers of plate, its girth as thick around as her arm. “You’re in dendrite. You could fall off a cliff and stand right back up. Your ankle is fine.”
Libby swallowed her frustration. He wasn’t wrong, which only made her supposed injury harder to sell. All she wanted to do was rush him and shout the damn command, but her instincts were screaming at her to be cautious. At least thirty others had already made the mistake of challenging him today, and look where that had gotten them. She couldn’t risk him following through on his threat and knocking her unconscious, only to wake up bound and helpless in whatever dark crevasse he was planning on dragging her into. No, she had to play this smart and make him come to her on his own.
Libby let her knees buckle before catching herself at the last second. The Marauder may not have been looking at her, but she knew it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“That may be the case, but have you seen these ridiculous heels?” They were actually pretty comfortable, all things considered. “This may be some fancy-ass, state-of-the-art armor on the outside, but I’m still very human and very breakable on the inside. So we either need to do something about it, or you’ll have to accept that I’m going to slow us down every step of the way.”
This time, there was no mistaking his long, irritated sigh. When he turned back around to face her, his head was tilted at a sharp, dangerous angle, but he’d already closed the distance in three quick strides.
“Come here,” he said, sliding the double-bladed weapon from his shoulders. “We’ll likely encounter resistance, so I have no choice but to tie you to my back.”
Libby didn’t hesitate. Her tongue depressed the notch, and she felt it react with a faint click. Her lips parted, and she gave the command in a breathless rush.
“First, let me go. Then I want you to hunt down the champions we just evaded and make sure none of them survive.” She was already pointing at the displays overhead, where the elapsed time for the round was climbing toward the twentieth minute. Guilt clawed at her as she spoke her next words, but she couldn’t afford to face someone like him towards the end of the round. “Before the timer hits the twenty-five minute mark, you’re to take your own li—”
The hooded Marauder moved faster than she could track. He slammed into her, driving her to the ground just as a greatsword whistled through the air where her head had been less than a second before.
She barely registered the device clicking to signal the end of the command window as he rolled to his feet, cut the rope from his belt, and then threw her across his back. He looped her bound hands over his head at the same time he levelled his weapon, the curved lengths already whirling in his grasp before her weight had even landed against him.
The greatsword came down again in a brutal overhead arc. The hooded Marauder easily sidestepped it. Before the champion could recover, he plunged one end of his blade into the slender gap beneath the warrior’s raised arm and drove it up into his chest. A strangled scream ripped free from the demon’s throat. Black ichor sprayed across the ground as the cloaked warrior wrenched it free and shoved the body into two champions who’d slid down into the trench with them.
“Should’ve fucking known it was you, Annoth.” A Marauder with a maw protruding from the crown of his helm and a mantle of bone talismans draped over his shoulders stepped forward. He was flanked by five others who were slowly spreading out in a loose semicircle. He slung his massive cleaver over his shoulder and strutted forward with an easy swagger. “I only know one bastard arrogant enough to face the trial alone and think he can take the tribute for himself.”
Libby stiffened as the hooded Marauder, Annoth, looped the remaining length of rope around her thighs several times and then cinched it around his waist.
“Jorgunar.” Annoth didn’t bother to look up from what he was doing, his response flat, almost bored. “Still following me around like a spurned lover, I see.”
Jorgunar’s grip tightened around his weapon. “I’ve been waiting a very, very long time for this. You should’ve finished me off when you had the chance. I’ve had to carry the shame of your pity—” he’d hissed the word, “—ever since, and today’s the day I settle that debt.”
One of the other champions wearing a helmet that only covered half of his rust-red face spat to the side. “Can we just kill this smug bastard already?” Libby instantly recognized his voice. He was the one who’d suggested breaking her legs earlier. “I’ve always hated how he’s always so calm all the fucking time. Makes no difference who he is, ain’t right that a demon like him should stand among us, especially as a male of Wrath. Fucker makes my skin crawl.”
Annoth laughed under his breath, the sound low and derisive. “A pack of dogs banding together against one demon? Tell me, Jorgunar, how does it feel knowing that you’ll never make it out of this trial alive, and neither will any of the mongrels you’ve dragged along with you?”
The rust-red champion stepped forward, snarling.
Jorgunar held out an arm, blocking his path. “Patience, Euriphrides. He’s trying to provoke you into making a mistake.” Even though Libby couldn’t see his face, she could hear the sneer in his answering laugh. “He’s just a reckless fool with a liability on his back. He can mock us all he wants. It won’t change how this ends.”
“That’s funny,” Annoth said. She could feel him incrementally shifting his weight, the tension coiling in his frame. “I don’t ever recall needing to hide behind anyone. However, I do recall making you kneel for me in front of your own men the last time we met. How are those ribs of yours, by the way? Did they heal up nicely?”
“Enough!” Jorgunar bellowed. “Rush him together! He can’t fight us all if we move as one.”
The group of Marauders surged forward, their loose formation collapsing inward as they descended down the incline.
Libby had no choice but to cling to Annoth’s shoulders as he vaulted up the sloped wall of the gulch, her stomach heaving as he twisted and ducked and moved with an agility that shouldn’t have been possible in heavy plate. Every pivot was precise, every step calculated. He wasn’t just fighting, it was like he was dancing, his body flowing from one motion to the next as he carved a path through flesh and steel alike.
A spiked flail suddenly came at them from the side. Annoth caught the chain with his blade, yanked the wielder off-balance, and drove a slim dagger that snapped free from his forearm into the eye slit of the attacker’s faceplate. The demon went slack and dropped to the ground in a heap of limbs.
Euriphrides’ war hammer came down like a meteor. Annoth sidestepped it and drove his elbow into his faceplate with enough force to snap the demon’s head back on his shoulders. Before Euriphrides could recover, Annoth reversed his grip and drove his long blade backward, sinking it into the groin of a champion trying to flank him from behind and severing his leg entirely. In the same fluid motion, he wrenched the blade free and thrust it under Euriphrides’ chin, skewering his skull from beneath and laughing as the rust-red demon’s eyes rolled back into his sockets.
“You’ve always telegraphed your swings, Euriphrides,” Annoth murmured into the dying demon’s ear.
Despite the heady thrill of vindication blooming in her chest, every hair on her body stood on end at the cold malice curling around his words.
“This is where your miserable life comes to an end. Enjoy the empty void of Oblivion.”
He ripped his sword free from the corpse and turned to face the remaining demons. Bones cracked, ligaments snapped like twine. Steel glinted in the harsh glare of the spotlights overhead. One demon fell, then another. Annoth’s obsidian blades found every weakness, each strike faster than the last, his rhythm never faltering, his control absolute. The roar of the crowd swelled with every kill, rising to a fever pitch as the ground slickened with blood beneath his feet.
Champions Remaining: 64
Champions Remaining: 63
Champions Remaining: 62
Champions Remaining: 61
Jorgunar and one other were circling him warily, their earlier confidence bleeding away with every demon Annoth had felled. One of the champions, a broad-shouldered, navy-skinned male Libby hadn’t heard speak once, was backing toward the upper ledge and shaking his head, clearly reconsidering his odds. He took one last look at the bodies strewn around them, and then turned and bolted along the ledge.
Jorgunar snarled, raising his cleaver into a guarded stance. “Xibal, you fucking coward!”
Annoth seized the opening. He rippled forward with explosive speed and rammed his forearm into Jorgunar’s helm with a heavy clang. The demon choked out a grunt and staggered back, his footing slipping on the blood-slick stone.
The second champion came at him with a roar, trying to overwhelm him with brute force. Annoth’s weapon was a whirling blur as he parried, struck, redirected, and countered him with inhuman speed. Jorgunar was still reeling as he lunged to intercept, only to have his sword arm severed at the elbow. He screamed, a high, broken keen that echoed across the wide gulch.
A halberd sailed through the air mere centimeters from Libby’s head. Annoth twisted sharply and wrenched her out of its path, her body striking his armored back with a jarring clang. He used his momentum to pivot on his heel, driving himself forward on a lightning-fast lunge. His weapon speared through the mouth opening of the Marauder’s helm, ending him with a single strike. The demon dropped to the ground like a stone and did not rise again.
Jorgunar clutched his stump of an arm and threw up his only hand, his voice thick with desperation. “Wait—wait! Annoth, please—”
Annoth drove his blade through the defeated champion’s throat, silencing him mid-plea.
The rabid cheer of the crowd slowly bled back into her ears, the world snapping back into focus around her.
Bodies lay scattered across the shale, and black blood pooled in the cracks and crevices of the stone floor, the air reeking of copper and viscera.
Annoth stood at the center of the carnage, his weapon still dripping gore, his breathing even and controlled. He reached up, adjusted Libby’s bound wrists where they’d slipped during the fight, and then continued walking as if nothing had happened.
“That makes seven,” Annoth muttered to himself.
Without bothering to free her from his back, he unclipped the keys from the fallen champions’ belts and added them to his already substantial collection. “Could’ve been eight, but Xibal always did know when to cut his losses early.”
Libby’s heart was still hammering against her ribs, her entire body trembling with residual adrenaline. She stared at the corpses as he strode past them, unable to process what she’d just witnessed.
Annoth paused briefly, glancing up at the displays overhead.
The bright red numbers of the counter had updated.
Champions Remaining: 55
Every level—from the lava pits at the very bottom to the jutting ledges along the rocky cliffsides—were swarming with champions locked in combat. Some were fighting on the central platform, others were balanced on perilous outcroppings, and even more were battling on the flat plateaus of the indigo formation.
Thirty minutes later, Annoth had brutally divested twelve more champions of their lives and their keys. He’d hunted his way through shale, then moved to the wide plateaus of indigo, where he’d picked off the warriors who were gathered there one, sometimes several, at a time. Most were in groups, though there were a few lone combatants who, like him, traversed the arena alone.
From what she could tell, the remaining champions had abandoned the lava pits and shifted the fighting above. The displays were currently showing two groups of four locked in a heated stalemate, their armor dripping with blood and caked in gore.
In the corner of each screen, the counter read:
Champions Remaining: 31
Not once had he shown any sign of hesitation or fatigue. A handful had managed to put up a better fight than the seven Annoth had slain at the edge of shale’s gorge. He overpowered every single one of them, dispatching them in much the same way he’d done with the ones in Jorgunar’s group.
It was clear that none of these demons were strangers. Jorgunar, Euriphrides, the others. These were demons he’d likely fought alongside, competed against, maybe even respected once.
And yet she’d watched him cut down twenty-six champions, not counting the ones he’d already slain, like they were nothing. Elite fighters and hardened warriors who had survived countless trials in Asmodeus’ fighting pits and proved no match for him. She had no idea if he was selecting specific targets to eliminate, or if he was simply killing anyone who made the mistake of crossing his path.
She remained bound to his back throughout, trapped in the world’s most horrific front row seat, her arms mostly numb from maintaining the same position for so long. She knew that if it weren’t for the rope that secured her to him, she would’ve been flung off or slipped off at least a dozen times by now.
All things considered, she didn’t really take up very much space back here. Her knees barely spanned his ribs, and the top of her head didn’t come close to clearing the peak of his helmet.
He hadn’t spoken another word to her since they’d been in the trench, and if not for the fact that he was compensating his center of gravity to account for her presence, she would’ve thought he’d forgotten she was there at all. To him, she was likely nothing more than an insignificant flea, a necessary means to an end he intended to use to secure his survival and the reward that awaited him at the end of the trial.
Had the coin even worked? She’d been interrupted before she could finish the command, but he’d not only not let her go, he hadn’t mentioned it once, which felt more unsettling than if he’d simply punished or rebuked her for the attempt.
The sinking reality of her situation was impossible to ignore. How was she supposed to escape someone like him? How was she supposed to kill someone like him?
Auric had been almost entirely unresponsive, and she was becoming increasingly certain that he wouldn’t be able to help her when Annoth finally turned his attention toward her.
She needed to come up with a plan, and she needed to do it soon.
Because Libby was under no illusions. With so few champions remaining, Annoth could have descended to the lower levels and claimed her in some dark, hidden recess of the arena. He had more than enough keys to unlock her belt and seize Wrath’s prize whenever he wanted to.
But instead, he’d started this harrowing, death-defying climb up the basalt cliffside. Libby had no choice but to shove her face between his shoulder blades and force herself to breathe, trying her best not to panic or look down. Heat from the molten pool below wafted up, and rivulets of sweat were plastering loose strands of her hair to her neck and jaw.
She’d had a fear of heights for as long as she could remember. Standing behind the safety of a guardrail at the edge of a mountain overlook was one thing. Being tied to a bloodthirsty demon’s back as he scaled a wall that was nearly ninety-degrees was something else entirely.
During their upward ascent, one of the rocks shifted beneath his hand and tore free without warning. His body dropped in a sudden, gut-wrenching swing, and their combined weight hung from a single arm over the open drop.
Libby choked out a whimper, her arms reflexively tightening around his neck as her entire body locked around him.
The Marauder chuckled under his breath. He shifted his grip to another handhold, pulled them back up, and then resumed his upward climb. “Don’t worry, little human. I won’t fall.” He said it so matter-of-factly Libby found herself clinging to his words as tightly as she clung to him.
After what felt like an eternity—though in reality it had only taken him two, three minutes tops to scale the twelve-story cliff—they reached the top.
Unlike the shale formation, which had a broad collar that curved around the upper level of its rocky valley, the basalt superstructure had several treacherous paths drawn across its front face. No wider than two men across, they offered egress into its various tunnels.
Annoth had brought them to the highest accessible point. Four tunnels opened along the path in front of them, positioned just below the great statue’s ribcage on either side. Each round hollow was marked by a pair of large stone obelisks with iron torches mounted to their outward-facing planes.
He advanced toward the closest tunnel, entirely indifferent towards the sheer drop to their right. His heavy cloak blew up and curled around her as a draft of crisp air spilled out to meet them, an unexpected, blessed relief from the terrarium’s oppressive heat. If not for the bone-deep fear that came along with entering that pitch-black void, she might have actually been looking forward to a cool respite.
Libby chose that moment to glance down, and her eyes went wide. Karvesh’s armor was a few paces away, discarded on the ground and leaning against one of the obelisks along with his weapons. The verdigris plate was slumped on its side, the interior ominously hollowed out, its exterior soaked with streaks of fresh blood.
She’d noticed others along the way, suits of armor collapsed against blood-slicked stone or half-buried amidst piles of bodies, all empty and missing their original occupants. She didn’t know what Auric had done to them, or rather with them, but a deepening sense of unease had twisted higher with each empty shell they’d passed.
Annoth angled his head towards the empty armor, but if he was concerned, he didn’t voice it aloud. He stepped inside the tunnel without a backward glance, and darkness folded around them instantly.
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