Chapter 19

As the image of Marlena and Danica faded, Ashley sat up, scooted across the rumpled sheets and lay a hand on Celes’ shoulder. “Are you okay?”

The dark-haired witch drew in a long, stuttering breath. “I’m sorry, dearie.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Celes’ sigh and her slumping shoulders disagreed.

“I haven’t known any of you as long as you’ve known each other, but you can talk to me, Celes. I know what you have with Danica is complicated.”

Her voice barely audible, Celes said, “I just don’t know how to do this.”

“So talk to me. Maybe I can help.” Though she knew it was a risk, Ashley edged in even closer and ran her fingers through her sister witch’s hair.

“I don’t even know what I’m thinking or feeling any more.”

Andrea had talked to Ashley late into the night once about what had happened in the years before meeting her. The blonde witch only had the vaguest notion of the true horrors the other three had endured, but she had known enough. The bond Ashley shared with her sister witches told her the rest.

“Celes, with everything you’ve endured, don’t you think you’re entitled to confused feelings?”

“I ... I was with my love so long before Zoraster took her from me. It felt right, only having her in my life.”

“And now your affections are divided.”

Celes nodded. “Aye. It’s different with Danica, too.”

“You don’t think you have enough love to share?”

The dark-haired witch let out a snort. “The easy way out.”

“Not a way out at all,” Ashley countered. “Are you committed to anyone?”

“Well, no. There’s something more between Danica and me, but I don’t think either of us is sure about it.”

“So who are you hurting? Other than yourself, I mean.”

Celes’ brow furrowed, and she sighed. “I know you’re right. I couldn’t have come here tonight if I didn’t feel that way. Sorry I’m ruining the moment.”

“Well, technically, that’s Marlena and Danica’s fault,” Ashley responded with playfulness in her voice. “Besides, you don’t have anything to apologize for.” She shivered - still feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm - and her voice dropped an octave, taking on a sultry tone. “Nothing at all.”

Ashley stiffened and gasped when - far away in Blackhawk Hall - Andrea and her young lover recovered enough to once more seek outlet for their rising passions.

Celes shuddered, feeling the arousing connection to Andrea as well. “Gods, do they ever plan to get out of bed?” she asked with a hint of laughter in her voice.

“I don’t think either of us are going to get anything accomplished while that’s going on.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Danica did tell us to pick up where we left off.”

“I don’t know if ... Don’t know if I can.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Despite her words, Celes melted into the redhead’s kiss.

Marlena giggled as she turned back toward the tent and went inside. “It’s at it again.”

Danica knew exactly what her friend was talking about. From the moment she’d seen Celes and Ashley together, the illusion of a cock in her pants had started rising. The thing was throbbing and felt as if it was going to escape her pants of its own volition.

“Well, at least it had good reason,” Danica quipped as she pushed through the canvas flap, and then closed it behind her.

The illusionist blushed, but nodded her head. “Do you want to try to make it go down before I remove the illusion? If you can feel it as well as you’re describing, it could be uncomfortable.”

Danica had an entirely different idea, and she let a sly smile creep across her face - which she hoped translated properly onto her illusionary face. “Actually, it seems a pity to waste it.”

Marlena gasped, covering her mouth. “You don’t mean... ?”

“Let’s see just how good your illusion is,” Danica answered as she gave the incessantly nagging organ between her legs a squeeze.

“Do you think it will really work?” She gasped again when Danica pulled off her shirt, revealing her muscular - if illusionary - chest.

The Awakening surged within Danica, and she groaned from both the rush of electric desire shooting through her and the intense throbbing it caused in her cock. “Only one way to find out.”

Marlena’s breathing quickened, and she tugged at the belt of her robe. Danica let out a moan and bent a leg to pull off her shoe as the illusionist let the belt hang loose and went to work on ivory buttons.

Danica’s clothing pooled on the floor until she was wearing nothing but a tented pair of pants. She stepped toward the bed and slid her fingers into Marlena’s parted robe. Gliding the digits upward, she pushed the cloth off the illusionist’s shoulders. The sight of Marlena clad in only her bra and panties set off another throb between her legs.

It was Marlena who took the initiative then. A shudder rippled through her as she reached out and jerked down Danica’s pants, letting the cock beneath spring free.

Once again Danica had a burst of insight into the male psyche as the organ bobbed rapidly in the air. The thing seemed to be demanding that she pull Marlena’s head down and push her cock between her friend’s lips.

Face flushed and with her eyes locked on Danica’s erection, Marlena unhooked her bra and tossed it to the side, where it dangled from the edge of the bed. While Danica pushed down her pants to step out of them, Marlena lay back and pushed down her panties.

They were still dangling from the illusionist’s right foot when Danica dived in.

Marlena let out a surprised sounding yelp as Danica tongued her folds. Acting on impulse, Danica tried to imitate the urgent, rougher lapping that many men she’d been with had exhibited. The way Marlena squirmed under her assault indicated that it was doing the trick. All the while, Danica’s cock throbbed, demanding attention.

Danica devoured her friend with gusto that was part playacting and part true hunger. After only a minute or so, she had to curl her fingers around the other redhead’s thighs to keep the squirming woman in position. Holding on tight, she kept up the pressure, assaulting Marlena’s clit with her tongue.

“Please. Inside me,” Marlena suddenly gasped, pushing on Danica’s head.

Face glistening with Marlena’s juices, Danica pushed up from between her friend’s legs, and then used them as handles to pull her closer to the edge of the bed. Trying to guide her bouncing cock was a novel sensation, but she soon pressed it against Marlena’s moist folds.

They both groaned as it sank in.

There was something a little off as Danica pumped her hips. At first, she thought it was simply the adjustment to having an almost real, hard cock between her legs, rather than one of her magical imitations of one. After finding her rhythm, she still felt it, though.

Marlena was an entirely different story. The illusionist groaned with each deep penetration, back arching every time Danica’s balls slapped against her. “Oh yes. Faster. It feels so good.”

Despite the slightly off sensation, Danica could certainly feel her friend’s hot walls slipping along her illusionary cock. She took Marlena’s words to heart, using experience from wearing her magical substitutes to build up a quick rhythm. The familiar smacks of flesh on flesh added to Danica’s own excitement, and she began to feel the first tingles of building pressure, though they were behind her mound, rather than in her new appendage.

Marlena’s breasts bounced erratically, and she clawed at the sheets. Danica knew her friend was climbing rapidly toward a peak, but she decided to help it along. The illusionist let out a loud yelp when Danica’s fingers began to flash over her clit.

As good as Danica’s magical constructs were, they were nothing compared to having a hard cock between her legs. She had far more control of the angle and strength of her thrusts, and no harness biting into her skin or slipping at just the wrong moment. The sensation of driving her cock into Marlena’s depths spurred her to even greater efforts, and sweat began to trickle down her body. Her fingers kept up the pressure on the other redhead’s clit.

Marlena’s head lifted up off the pillow and she sucked in a rapid series of gasps, each having a whimpering quality. With the last, the illusionist stiffened, her mouth dropped open, and her lower lip quivered for a pair of heartbeats. Then she gave a great lurch, and screamed to the canvas roof above as her orgasm claimed her.

Danica dug her fingers into her lover’s thighs, keeping Marlena in place so she could keep thrusting. The illusionist’s juices squirted out around Danica’s fast-thrusting cock, though the sound was almost completely drowned out by Marlena’s relentless series of whimpers, squeals, and screams.

Her own passions soaring, Danica continued to drive her cock into Marlena’s depths, sending the woman into multiple orgasms. Over and over, Marlena’s cries would soar when a new shockwave of climax ripped through her body. She thrashed, knocking pillows off the bed and tenting the sheets in her tightly clenched fists.

Danica was perched on the cusp of ecstasy, but nothing seemed to be able to push her over. She tried speeding up, slowing down, and every possible angle, but nothing seemed to be sufficient to end her torment, allowing her to tumble over the edge into orgasm. As good as the illusion was, she simply didn’t have that last ounce of sensation necessary to make her climax.

When Marlena’s breathing grew ragged, Danica pulled free with a frustrated whimper. “Damn it,” she almost sobbed.

Somehow, Marlena knew, and the still climaxing woman had just enough presence of mind to break her illusion with a trembling gesture.

Danica yelped as she felt the weight of her breasts tugging her forward and drops of wetness trickling from her labia to run down her legs. Still kneeling over Marlena’s quivering body, Danica thrust four fingers hard into her depths while the other hand went to work on her clit. In only a few heartbeats, she shrieked as she reached a long denied peak.

Marlena gasped as Danica’s girl cum washed over her, mingling with rivulets of sweat. Danica saw spots behind her tightly closed eyes, the intensity of her orgasm stealing her breath after being held on the edge for so long. She couldn’t even recall falling to the bed next to Marlena when she found herself face-down on the sheets with four fingers still buried in her depths. Both women trembled, whimpering and moaning as their orgasms played out.

“S-sorry,” Marlena managed when she caught her breath. “I didn’t think it would be enough for you but ... I needed it.” A violent shudder indicated just how well Danica had satisfied those needs.

Danica moaned, and then chuckled. “It’s okay. It was worth the wait,” she said with her face still pressed hard against the mattress.

The two lovers giggled and snuggled closer together.

The portal to the hells sent out irregular pulses of energy that throbbed in the air as Meckataur’s spawn stood in uncomfortable silence before the hulking devil.

All save one.

Meckataur demonstrated his lack of patience by lashing out at a stalactite with a scaly, draconic wing. The razor-sharp edge sliced cleanly through the stone and the devil growled loud enough to drown out even the roar of the portal.

Delilah appeared in a puff of blood-red smoke, her perfect body nude, with semen dripping down her thighs.

“You will come when summoned,” Meckataur thundered as he stalked toward her.

“I have come, my Sire,” she answered in sultry tones, but then shrank back as her demonic father stopped to loom over her.

Meckataur snarled, “Remember always, my spawn, that I am to be obeyed without hesitation.”

The gathered demons answered, “Yes, Sire,” in near unison.

“Shed your mortal forms. Show your true selves,” the devil roared.

Each of Meckataur’s spawn stiffened and growled as they obeyed the devil’s command. Their flesh rippled. Their bones popped. For the first time since their birth, they allowed their full power to awaken.

Mache was the first to complete his transformation, having tapped into his powers to a greater degree than his siblings. His body bulged with muscle covered in scales the color of molten lava. His hair became as flames licking toward the cavern ceiling, even as true flame spit and crackled from beneath his scales. Wings like those of a dragon sprouted from his back, snapping open as he roared in exaltation.

His brother - his opposite - roared as well upon completing his transformation. Eris’ wings and scales were the blue-white of ancient ice. His hair grew translucent, like icicles hanging from his scalp. Fog rolled from his body, swirling about his feet.

Georn’s already stocky body, hardened by mine work, swelled into grotesque musculature. Granite horns sprouted from his brow, pointing upward, and his cheeks, pointing downward - dominating his face. Sharp edged, pebbled scales covered his flesh, forming an armor of gray, mottled with patches of brown. His slate gray, draconic wings were half the size of his siblings’, as he was a creature of earth, and going aloft was alien to him. The talons on his feet dug into the stone floor below.

Lanky Tropos grew even taller, looming a foot or more over the rest of the brood. Where Georn anchored himself to the earth, Tropos’ feet lifted from the ground, held aloft by a breeze that whipped his hair. A single horn emerged from his forehead, curling upward. Albino-white scales sprouted from his flesh. His wings were pale white and feathered - though the edges of those feathers were razor sharp, and claws protruded from the joints of his wing bones.

The robes Thanatos wore ripped as his limbs extended to half again their normal length. His skin pulled tight against his bones and took on the pallor of death, giving him a skull-like visage. Wicked curled talons as long as his fingers pushed out from his fingertips. Gray-green bat wings unfurled from his back, tipped by bony claws.

Delilah’s blood red bat wings emerged and curled around her body in a false display of modesty. When she snapped them open, her breasts had swelled even larger, and her body was covered in tiny red-tinged scales that did nothing to hide her overripe figure. A vampire’s fangs showed through her smile. Her nails elongated into pointed claws. Needle-like, inward curving teeth peeked out from the folds of her labia.

Meckataur let out a wicked laugh at the sight of his spawn in all their glory. He then turned toward the chasm that housed the rift to the hells, raised his hands, and incanted in the growling, snarling demon tongue.

Georn sighed in ecstasy when the portal shifted to another place in the hells, and the earth groaned in protest. Above, Nightmare Castle quivered, sending loose stones raining down upon the grounds.

“Destroy those you find on the other side,” Meckataur ordered, and then dived into the chasm. His brood plunged after him.

Drawn to - and curious about - the gate that had suddenly opened within their lair, the demons on the other side were unprepared for Meckataur and his spawn. While the devil’s brood lurched from the disorientation of their dive through cold darkness suddenly becoming a forward flight into a burning, rocky landscape, Meckataur did not. He soared forward with his talons extended toward the lesser devil before him.

As soon as the demons realized the danger, they unleashed their most primal power on instinct. Balls and tendrils of hellfire that would have run off Meckataur’s scales as if they were water never had the opportunity to reach him. Mache absorbed most of the flame and Eris snuffed out the rest.

The remainder of their siblings lashed out at the host of lesser demons surrounding them when they emerged from the portal. Thanatos’ long arms and claws dispatched three of the host before they could react. Georn crushed one into pulp with a smash of his fist. Delilah giggled sultrily and stabbed one in the heart with her foot talons while she pulled another to her breast, sucking its energy into her body. Tropos lashed about with his wings, cutting down another three.

Meckataur’s talons drove into the devil’s flesh with a sickening crunch. He closed his fist around the devil’s heart and turned it into pulp. At the same time, his wings snapped out, slicing open the throats of two of the devil’s lieutenants - nearly decapitating them. A third greater demon fell only a heartbeat later when speedy Tropos swooped in and split it from groin to throat with his wings.

In seconds, the spawn were surrounded by a litter of desiccated, dismembered, and disemboweled demon corpses. The rest fled as fast as their legs and wings would carry them.

The devil’s corpse still impaled on his talons, Meckataur gestured toward the three lieutenants. “Take these and return now!”

Tropos scooped up the corpse of the demon he had destroyed. Mache and Georn were closest to the other two and claimed them. The remaining demonic siblings hissed in protest, grabbed the nearest dead demon, and leapt toward the portal.

As soon as Meckataur alighted upon the edge of the chasm, he released his hellish magic. The earth again rumbled in pain as the portal yawned open in its original place in the hells. That done, he turned his attention to devouring the devil he had slain. Following their sire’s lead, his brood did the same.

Far from satisfied with the meal of the lesser demon and livid with jealousy of his siblings consuming the lieutenants, Thanatos asked, “Where is our feast, Sire?”

His muzzle dripping with black blood, Meckataur answered, “Your turn will come. Many more will fall this night.”

“How long, and to what end other than sport?” Eris snarled. “I have a contract to fulfill.”

Delilah, having already been chastised, remained wisely silent, despite her hunger.

The devil fixed his gaze upon Eris as he gobbled up the last of his meal. He swallowed, shuddered from the new power flowing through him and roared, “To my ends.”

All his spawn shrank back.

Meckataur rose to his full height and spread his wings. “These stood between B’lasco and an enemy. While they were mere insects, they would have left whoever attacked vulnerable to other foes. Now, B’lasco’s enemy will take the demons we have left and become a threat strong enough to give B’lasco pause. There are others such as these, and we will destroy them this night, strengthening B’lasco’s enemies.

The time comes when even the gods of this foul world will not be able to prevent me from tearing wide the rift. The rift is born of the hells, and there B’lasco is second only to the King of Hell. Where the gods cannot thwart me, he could. I will ensure he has other concerns when the time comes.”

Meckataur turned toward the chasm. “Those we strike at now are mere insects as well. We take the strongest, leave the rest, and feast.”

He began to chant again.

Ebonar contemplated the turn of events as he watched the devil and his host dive back into the chasm. The darkened room filled with dancing yellow and orange when the demons burst once more into the hells. He had underestimated Meckataur’s guile.

Or perhaps it was fear of the greater devil that had led him into temptation, stripped his humanity, and made him the creature he was today.

Either way, it was a path he had not anticipated the devil would take, and that was concerning. He could also sense that Zoraster’s subtle magic which allowed him a measure of control over Meckataur’s spawn was weakened when the demons were in the hells.

For now, the magic reasserted itself the moment the demons returned to this plane, and so wasn’t a vital concern. Meckataur’s new path likewise presented no danger to Zoraster’s designs. Should it prove to be so in the future, the tools necessary to mitigate that threat were already being forged. Still, it was a matter he would have brought to Zoraster’s attention under any other circumstances.

Such was quite out of the question at the moment, however.

Zoraster tossed aside the wizard’s notes in disgust. The early pages were written in an even, practiced hand, carefully notated. The later pages revealed without any doubt that the man had descended quickly into madness upon betraying his nature. The use of blood magic in his desperate quest to regain his dead bride had warped him into a shell of a man grasping at every straw.

It was the fruit of those labors that Zoraster took up next. He held the locket aloft by its delicate, braided chain, listening to it thrum in tune with Godsbane and wondered aloud, “How did you accomplish this in your decrepit state?”

The magic of the locket connected to the woman’s soul, wherever it had drifted upon her death. Godsbane rejoiced in the magic, which defied the gods. The gods were also ignorant of it; else they would have surely taken steps.

If the wizard’s notes were accurate, the locket could confer all that the woman was, mirroring her soul without drawing it from whichever heavenly realm she now dwelled. Of course, that required a proper body to house that mirror soul. In his madness, the man had barely started on the path to cloning, and would have never accomplished it in his surely shortened life.

There were few who could have guided him, because Zoraster had long ago seen to the death of most that possessed the knowledge, taking their research for himself.

Study of the locket would require time and resources he could ill afford to spare. It was beyond frustrating to be no closer to the knowledge he sought when he had the results of the magic in his hand and its creator held in stasis within his inner sanctum.

Then, it dawned on him. The mad wizard was not the only asset connected to the locket within his abode. There were risks, of course, but as he contemplated them, he noticed that Godsbane was reacting to his line of thought. Whenever he considered the risks, the artifact’s humming song dimmed. When he thought of proceeding, the song intensified.

There was little more he could learn from the locket or the notes. He needed the knowledge of the man who had created them, and it was behind a thick wall of insanity. Ebonar’s report of the man’s capture offered a glimmer of hope.

Zoraster stood and left his study, the sound of his footfalls on the stone floor echoing through the quiet complex. No sound emerged from behind the door of the madman’s room. After attempting to question the wizard and probe his mind, Zoraster had put him in a deep sleep to stop the incessant rambling and screaming. Upon opening the door, he saw the magic was holding firm. The man lay as still as death, barely breathing.

On the bed next to his, his bride lay in true death. Zoraster studied the beautiful, still-nude corpse, fascinated by the results of the demon’s powers. She did not breathe. The heart beneath her full breasts did not beat. Despite that, the only evidence that she was dead was her pale skin. She was little more than a slab of meat, and yet she did not decay. Not only could the demon’s power reverse the ravages of death, it appeared to make the corpse immune to them as well.

A thought summoned one of his clone servants. The empty-eyed man entered the room a minute later.

Zoraster pointed at the blonde corpse and ordered, “Take this one to the cloning room and place her in one of the empty creches.”

The clone did not answer, nor did it need to. Its only reason for existence was to obey Zoraster’s every command to the letter. The woman’s body hung limp in his arms when he lifted her from the bed.

“Quickly,” Zoraster added only a few steps outside the door when the clone was walking too slowly for his liking. The nearly mindless servant complied, and they soon reached the cloning chamber.

Zoraster held up the locket above the creche and looked down at the woman’s body within. Once he placed it around her neck and spoke the command word to activate it, the item’s enchantments would be spent.

He had already made his decision. The reassuring weight and hum of Godsbane within his robes further strengthened that resolve. The spell he had cast to hide himself from the gods should serve to conceal his actions, but should the magic attract the attention of the god to whom her soul had ascended upon death, he was ready with the artifact.

Reaching into the creche, Zoraster lifted the woman’s head and slipped the chain around it. He then centered the locket in the valley between the woman’s cold breasts.

“Milove,” he sneered, the command word to activate the locket.

The magic worked. The woman within screamed in despondent terror as her soul - or at least a mirror of it - was torn from the heavens and thrust back into her flesh. Zoraster quickly activated the magic of the creche, causing her to fall silent.

A combination of his magic and nature would calm the woman in time. Whether it was a safeguard of the gods or the mind’s own need to deal with the shock of being resurrected, those who returned - and didn’t go mad - forgot most of what happened once they passed beyond the veil. The length of time depended upon how long the person had been dead, how they had died, and more. Zoraster had studied the phenomenon thoroughly even before Danica and Celes had forced him to experience it first hand.

He turned to the clone servant standing nearby. “Go to Ebonar. Tell him I wish to have information about this woman and her husband. The nature of their dwelling, their clothing - everything.”

The clone left, setting Zoraster’s plan in motion. Compared to the ravings he had experienced, Ebonar’s recounting of the man’s capture painted him as positively lucid. In the proper environment, with his life’s work fulfilled in his returned bride, perhaps he might regain enough of his mind to reveal the secrets of the locket.

Until the creche did its work, all he could do was prepare that environment and wait.

Crossing the room, he looked into another creche and a twisted smile spread across his face as he beheld the clone growing within.

With this one, the wait was nearly over.

C’seka snarled in irritation as he held his hand over the nude elf maiden. She had not yet recovered sufficiently to provide him the sweet nectar of her lifeforce, or even the pleasure of her body.

The sense of maleness he had acquired upon being pulled from the Hellgate was as insatiable as his hunger for power and flesh. It was the sweet bliss of her horror as he took her virginity that had stopped him from draining her dry that first time. Though she no longer had her innocence to surrender, the pleasure of taking her was only slightly less satisfying - and far more satisfying than any other.

In time, her horror would fade as she grew despondent. When that time came, he would follow through on his original plan and suck her dry. Then her soul would be his plaything, and he knew her horror would surge anew. With any luck, he would find another unspoiled elf maiden to take before that time came.

The gifts he had provided to his devil master placed him firmly where he wanted to be. He was favored enough to avoid menial tasks, and insignificant enough that he didn’t immediately come to mind when Meckataur wanted something more difficult or dangerous done. It freed him to pursue his own pleasure in this new, wide world he’d been given.

C’seka reached out with his senses, searching for elf maidens or interesting sensations from other Hellgates. Almost immediately, one of the latter caught his attention. A thought was all that was required to bring his personal realm into proximity of the other. He was shocked and intrigued when the two realms joined.

It was not the same as when he claimed the Hellgate of another. When he took a wizard and a Hellgate as his own, their realm merged into his. This new pocket of hell was still separate, akin to another room in a dwelling.

Curious, he crossed over and took the shape of that Hellgate’s demons - fair-haired, leanly muscled, nude, and well-endowed. He knew the reason for the odd joining of realms the moment he breached the veil between the two. This one’s mistress was beholden to Meckataur as well.

Instruments of torture lined the cold stone walls. Blood decorated every surface. Three demons wearing forms similar to C’seka’s held a woman down on her knees. Two pulled her arms behind her at what was certainly a painful angle. The third sat on her bent legs, holding her feet off the bloodstained floor.

The woman’s clothing was in tatters, revealing her breasts and hair-shrouded sex. Bruises, welts, and cuts marred her flesh. She wept, though her simpering was weak and barely audible.

C’seka sneered, recognizing the foul taste of a white witch the woman exuded, despite never having faced one.

Camilla sat sipping wine and running her fingers through her dark, curly locks, enjoying her prisoner’s pain. Two of her realm’s demons caressed her. One had droplets of wetness running down her thighs, while the other was at full and impressive erection.

It was a sign of corruption that the demons were so familiar with her, but C’seka knew that corruption had happened long before even her servitude to Meckataur. She was a rare mortal whose soul was so tainted that the temptations of the demons in her realm were nothing compared to the humanity she had already surrendered of her own free will.