For My Ascension, I Ordered My Commanders to Stalk Me
Copyright© 2025 by Palescript
Chapter 20: A Ticket for the Long Way Down
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 20: A Ticket for the Long Way Down - 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
Air rushed past her ears as Libby lurched forward, a sickening wave of nausea twisting her insides.
When she opened her eyes, everything was spinning. She was on her knees, and her shin guards—had she been wearing her armor this entire time?—were still reverberating, absorbing the shock of her fall.
Frame by frame, her vision began to resolve, sharpening into Annoth’s hulking outline. He knelt before her in a pool of blood—his blood, she somehow knew, even as she struggled to piece her disjointed thoughts together.
This ... this wasn’t right.
Was it?
He was staring at his hands, his armored fingers splayed wide, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, either. Obsidian armor once again encased his body, and his tiered, striated helmet obscured his face.
He’d taken off his helm.
She’d seen his face. She was sure of it ... Hadn’t she?
God, why the fuck did her head hurt so much?
A thin, shimmering haze hung low in the room, not quite smoke, not quite light. It caught the red cast of Annoth’s sealing sigil and the slick sheen of the veined walls, blanketing everything in a dim, wavering glow that shifted every time she tried to focus on it.
Through the barely-there mist, a dark object caught her attention. She swiveled her head toward it, and her eyes went twice as wide as she took in what was spread across the floor.
“What...” she croaked, swallowing the last of her nausea. “What the fuck just happened? Weren’t we just...” She turned back to him, her eyes searching his faceplate.
Annoth only spoke after a long, heavy silence.
“I could ask you the same thing.” He lifted his head to fix her with a cold, steely glare. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you remember.” There was a quiet edge to his voice, one that made an instant blush bloom on her cheeks.
Libby twisted her upper body away before she could stop herself, her eyes fixing on some distant point other than the deep slits of his helm.
Her gaze briefly dipped, and she sucked in a breath when she realized both of her breasts were completely exposed. Swearing softly, she quickly lifted the golden steel cups back into place, working to refasten the buckles as fresh heat climbed her neck.
Annoth’s faceplate was trained on her, but he hadn’t commented on her nudity. She didn’t know if it was because he’d already gotten what he wanted from her and, as a result, had no further interest in her, or if it was perhaps that he’d been sparing her what little dignity he could. With an impenetrable wall of plate between them, there was no way to know what he was thinking.
In truth, she didn’t know how she should be acting around him, either. Parts of her were still twitching from the merciless punishment her body had just taken, the echo of his unrestrained brutality dully thrumming inside of every orifice he’d claimed.
Another part, the rational part, also recognized that he’d promised her, in two different instances, that he would help her escape this place. That he would take her far from the confines of the arena, of Greed itself, and bring her somewhere safe.
A sinking part of her wondered if she was merely trading one owner for another. She forced herself not to dwell on it. She could worry about those things later when her life wasn’t actively in jeopardy. Getting out of the trials alive came first.
The thought of facing the Gluttony round filled her with a hollow, heaving fear. She prayed that one of her lifelines would pull her out in time: the drow and Eldra Vorn, Pride, and now Annoth.
Her own inability to do anything but wait until the right opportunity presented itself was corroding her willpower, picking away at what remained of her patchwork sanity. Her bitter, boiling anger was the only companion she could trust to be there without fail, faithful in its own ugly way.
As she latched the last few buckles, she noticed for the first time that her armor had sustained some damage, something she’d likely incurred during her fight with Karvesh. The buckles had warped out of alignment, and it took a little effort to get them to latch.
So much for the indestructibility of dendrite. Maybe if they’d given her a little more of it and hadn’t chosen to opt for aesthetics over practicality, it wouldn’t be failing her now.
Turning to face him, her skin tightened with awareness when she realized he was still waiting for her answer.
“Well, I ... I remember how intense it, you, were. How you touched me with your—I mean when you—” She cut herself off, her throat tight. “What I’m trying to say is that it—it wasn’t what I was expecting, what with everything being so ... so very different.” My god, she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop herself, even though she really, really wanted to. “Anatomically speaking, I mean. Which is a weird thing to focus on given everything else that happened, but I should probably, we should—okay, you know what? I’m just going to stop talking now.”
More heat flooded her face in the strained silence that followed, the weight of his scrutiny a tangible thing. Along the side of her jaw, her eyes, her lips. She swore she could trace the path Annoth’s hidden gaze was taking as it slowly devoured her expression.
Her breathing started to betray her, coming faster as the image of the face behind that impenetrable steel mask resurfaced, forever branded to the inside of her skull. Thinking about it, about him, sent a tight, uneasy shudder rolling through her. One that simultaneously made her stomach clench with desire and made a cold sweat break out along the line of her spine.
With that memory came the rest of him. His inhumanly proportioned body, like something summoned from a myth and made flesh. The anatomical nightmare that was his cock, a monstrous specimen that had been designed for someone twice her size.
And then there was what he’d done with that fucking knife.
The contradictory ways he’d touched her, both with his armor and without. The pressure, the heat, the suffocating intensity of him everywhere all at once. Every part of her felt bruised and wrung out, worked over and sore in places she never knew could be sore.
She’d taken him, most of him, and survived it twice, if her fractured memories could be believed.
One memory of pleasure.
One memory of pain.
Two tangents that shouldn’t have intersected, but somehow did, layered over each other like double vision, bleeding together until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
None of it made any fucking sense, no matter how hard she tried to reconcile it.
Libby wrestled her wandering thoughts back into some semblance of order and cleared her throat. “I remember being there,” she said, a shaking finger coming up to point at his cloak, which was still spread out on the floor a few paces away.
It was stained with the evidence of what they’d done, proof of how thoroughly he’d pleasured her, used her, and had left no part of her untouched.
She swallowed and forced herself to continue. “But what I don’t understand is how I can remember what we did on that cloak, but then also remember...” Her mouth went dry as she took in the pool of blood that surrounded him. “ ... why this is here.”
It was also a little strange that Annoth hadn’t commented on the haze clinging to the room. She didn’t recall him summoning it in any of her memories, of that she was certain.
She was about to ask him about it when she registered that fine black motes had started rising from his mantle and dissipating moments after they touched the air.
Before she got the chance to ask, Annoth was already starting to explain.
“This,” he said, rising to his feet, “means I have satisfied both of my father’s demands.” He offered his hand, and she took it. She hadn’t decided if she trusted him yet, but her legs weren’t steady enough to turn him down.
“Once Asmodeus released me from prison,” he said, releasing her hand as he moved to the other side of the room toward the eye-slit windows. “I was made to swear, under a blood oath, that I would participate in this crucible ... and bed the tribute at its conclusion.” Annoth exhaled once, the sound low and worn with old fatigue.
A pang of unexpected empathy rose in her chest, and she lifted a hand to absently rub at the spot.
If Annoth was Asmodeus’ only son, then didn’t that make him the Crown Prince of Wrath? Why would Asmodeus imprison his own heir? That didn’t make sense. Or maybe it did, and she just didn’t know enough about their politics or their culture to understand it. Not to mention that Asmodeus was ... well, Asmodeus.
Libby couldn’t imagine having someone like him as a sire. Then again, she’d never known her own father, either, so she didn’t have much of a reference. Her mother had rarely spoken about him, and every time she’d asked her about him, she’d always been given the same response. “It’s just us, Libby. It’s always just been us.”
Another pang, this time one that festered and burned as her mind turned to her mother, something she’d done more times than she could count since she’d been brought to Hell. While Libby had been entombed in the Underground, her mother had occupied a significant portion of her thoughts when she was alone. Despite the horror of her own situation, she’d found herself worrying over whether Delilah was taking her medication, if she was eating her meals, if she’d found somewhere safe to park for the night.
Libby had been worrying about her ever since she’d decided to sell all her worldly possessions to live a simpler life and travel the continent in an old van. Libby would call to check in on her as often as she could, and they would speak for hours about ... about...
A lance of pain suddenly flared between her eyes. Her hand flew up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She blinked through the sting of tears, the stabbing pain only fading once her thoughts returned to neutral waters.
Libby released a shaky breath and dragged herself back to the moment. With the last of the pressure still pulsing at her temples, she edged her way across the room. She skirted the very large, very fresh crimson stain on the floor until she came to stand beside him in front of the other window.
Bracing her hands on the ledge, she joined him in gazing out over the arena, her mood souring the longer she looked. Her eyes lifted to the dark rise of his profile as she considered her next words.
“That’s terrible, I’m sorry,” she said at last, digging the metal tips of her gloves into the stone sill. “I don’t know the details, but that’s not something anyone should be forced to go through.”
It didn’t matter that he was a demon. He was still a person, and she understood what it meant to be trapped and have your agency stolen.
That strange, shimmering mist was still drifting between them, but he hadn’t acknowledged it. Not once. She was about to ask him what it was, but he let out a humorless laugh, continuing the conversation before she could say anything else.
“I have made it clear to the court that I have no intention of succeeding him as sovereign, but there is no end to the lengths my father’s courtiers will go to ensure it remains that way.”
Annoth drew his hands behind his back, his left gauntlet moving to clasp his right wrist.
“There was a time when I ... made no particular effort to discriminate between those who deserved to die and those who merely tested my patience. Even Wrath demons are expected to exercise some degree of restraint when it comes to those we kill.” His hand curled into a tight fist. “Many millennia have come and gone since then, and what I was then bears little resemblance to who I am now. Still, it matters little. Wrath’s nobility have spent thousands of years plotting and scheming and cultivating the right alliances to make sure that what I did back then follows me into eternity.”
Libby reached out a hand to offer him comfort the only way she knew how, but she caught herself at the last moment, remembering his aversion to being touched. Even though she’d already touched his armor before, she had no way of knowing if he’d been merely tolerating the contact or if he was actually unbothered as long as she wasn’t touching him directly. She decided it was better not to assume.
“I won’t pretend to understand the kind of life you’ve lived,” she said instead, “but that kind of existence sounds like a prison of its own. Whatever happened in your past, you should at least have the chance to be judged for who you are now.” She blew out a long, weary breath. “But I still don’t get where I fit into all this. What does making you sleep with the tribute, sleeping with me, have to do with your fucked-up court politics?”