Embrace of the Goddess
Chapter 11: All’s Fair
By Trixie Adara
Iriel closed her eyes and sank back into her chair as the two corrupted oreads slithered out of the room, leaving a trail of smoke and drying lava behind them. Prim had escaped from her prison. She should be on her way here shortly, though Iriel wasn’t so sure. Prim could run out into the world and go hunting again for all she knew. She was a wild card, skipping the High Priestess and only bending to Maloth’s will directly.
Honestly? Iriel didn’t care. Closing her eyes felt so good. There was a stinging relief, not unlike stretching a sore muscle. Maloth had forbidden her to sleep. Against Iriel’s will, her body fucked women late into the night. She was manipulated like Maloth’s puppet, forced to corrupt captured paladins, forced to reward obedient sluts or demons. They all wanted to be close to Maloth and that meant fucking the High Priestess.
But Maloth wasn’t enslaved to ritual. That was the goddess’s convenient excuse. The real reason was that Iriel’s resolve was weaker this way. Any member of her church could walk in the door, and Iriel would fuck them with the slightest nudge from Maloth. Two weeks ago, she’d buck and flail, bite, and snarl. The first time she failed to win was with Rella’s corruption. Now, each fight was harder, and Maloth’s victory came quicker each time.
Iriel sighed and let the world fade away. She had another meeting with dryads in a few minutes. They wanted to go back to nature and bring the other nymphs under Maloth’s control. They were using terms like “evangelism” and “missionaries.” But whenever they talked that way, Iriel only heard “infection” and “disease.” But Maloth forced Iriel to agree, she just didn’t want to make that move yet. The goddess wanted to wash over the world in one swift and organized wave. She didn’t want the nymphs letting the world know that the Abbey had gone rotten.
Iriel added that to the list of things she didn’t want to think about, the things Maloth had forced her to be complicit to. It was up there with the death of dozens of willing sacrifices to Maloth or Melior, the deaths of Farryn or Prim’s victims, the destruction of countless lives, the ruination of faith, and the loss of her best friend and one shot of love.
Iriel wasn’t sure which was worse, Maloth taking the world for herself or losing Orilana.
The High Priestess tried to stand and wobbled on her feet. “Could I get a thirty-minute nap?” she asked the goddess living in her head.
“You will dream,” she said in a thick hiss.
“I know.” No rest came without Maloth’s nightmares. It was her vision for the world recreated. It was the twisted pleasure of the goddess as people died for her, as people moaned out her name or shrieked in the throes of pleasure and pain. She saw through Maloth’s eyes when she slept, losing more of herself every day.
As Iriel forced her body to the bed, she stumbled a bit on her feet. Maloth caught her, taking control of her body, restoring her balance, and taking her to the bed. It was no comfort to know that Maloth could take away the pain whenever she wanted. It meant this was all an elaborate punishment for Iriel.
A punishment the High Priestess deserved.
Iriel let Maloth take over. The goddess forced Iriel’s hands to remove her clothes, even though she was down to only wearing a sheer decorative robe as a mark of her station these days. Maloth then tucked the elven woman into the bed gently, like a child with its favorite toy. Iriel’s hands followed Maloth’s commands, pulling the blankets tight around her, and she slipped into her favorite nightmare.
You pace around the stone chamber while Melior enjoys their work. The sound of your hooves on stone is still new to you, but it’s a gentle reminder of the promise Maloth kept. You are the monster you first saw in the mirror in body if not in spirit.
Tied to the stone table, legs and arms spread, is Orilana. The love of your life. The one safe harbor for you in the storm of living. She is sweating and straining against the straps that bind her to the table, but she does not cry out. She doesn’t whimper as Melior trails their long claws over the sensitive and sore flesh between Orilana’s legs. Melior’s tale glistens with the thin lubrication their body makes for fucking with it.
They’ve been fucking Orilana.
Your twirl your hand, and the long Staff of the Eclipse dances over your fingertips. The power of the cosmos pulses within it. But that power isn’t between the sun and the night. It isn’t darkness swallowing light. It was in the body, in the womb. The universe was born each day, and it is woman who bears it to term.
A god must be born like any other woman.
Orilana doesn’t cry out as Melior teases her body, letting her long nails tug on the puffy and swollen flesh of Orilana’s nipples. Maloth didn’t want to push it this far, but Orilana required piercing to behave. Even then, she isn’t cooperating. No one had been able to resist their commands yet. No one could stand under Melior’s teasing or thorough fucking. But Orilana could. She did.
She was the strongest of them all.
Maloth forces you to lick your lips. She’s hungry for the elf in front of you. The body is tight and muscled. She is a warrior, trained with the blade and proved in battle. She is a beauty with her hair long and dark. Her breasts are those of a young woman, perky and full. She can seduce and kill easily. No one is better suited to Maloth’s task.
That is the problem with you, you see. You are weak. You have been too long in Azora’s camp. You think yourself special, but you are pampered. You cannot lead. You assumed the mantle of power by your birth, by your mother’s blood. But Maloth cares nothing for blood. She cares only for service. If you will not serve, Orilana will. She may not be broken yet, but Melior will find a way. Or Prim. Or Maloth herself.
Yes. Maloth herself.
Melior stops laughing and turns to face you. She nods as Maloth speaks to her and grabs Orilana’s thighs, doing her best to spread them while keeping them bound. You approach and lift the Staff of the Eclipse high. Orilana looks at you as you approach her, but she doesn’t say anything. To her, you’re the same as Melior. You’re worse than Melior.
Her face is blank. There is only the cool acceptance of what you’re about to do to her as you slide the Staff of the Eclipse between her legs. Her body tightens and her back arches. You twist the staff, and the power thrums through you. It is not your power, for you have none. It is not Azora’s power for you have abandoned her. It is Maloth. All belongs to Maloth.
The dark goddess surges through the staff and into Orilana’s pussy. The elf tilts her head back to scream, but Melior is quick, sliding her tail down the captain’s throat, silencing her. For a long and terrible moment, there is only the wet sounds of her choking on Melior’s tale and the staff sliding in and out of her, fucking her.
There are no moans. There are no shrieks of delight. There is no pleasure. There is only the darkness of Maloth as she consumes all that is good from the room, from Iriel, from Orilana.
Iriel awoke to knocking on the door. She was covered in sweat, and for a moment she thought of Orilana strapped to a table, sweating and in pain from what Maloth planned to do to her. Waking was always a cruel relief from the nightmares. Orilana wasn’t strapped to any table. She was free, out there, fighting off Maloth in ways Iriel could only dream.
Iriel went and grabbed the sheer and decorative robe of the High Priestess of Maloth. They were black with purple lace detailing like smoke. The lace covered the stomach, arms, and legs, but specifically left only the sheer fabric over Iriel’s pussy and breasts. She was Maloth’s whore, and all who looked at her would know. She didn’t wear it to boast about her station. She wore it to ward off the cold of the draft corridors of the dark Abbey.
Before she opened the door, Iriel stopped at the long mirror that she had taken out of the washroom and put into the main chamber of her apartments. Originally, she wanted to remind herself of her prize. But now it was to remind herself of her vanity. It had cost the soul of the world, and she should acknowledge that every time she left and entered this space.
Maloth’s transformation had thinned Iriel out. She was taller and lithe. Her feet had lost their arches, and she was forced to wear custom heels at all times. She knew the hooves would be the last phase of her transformation. But her hair was a black and long, like waves of smoke pouring down her back. Her horns had grown. They pointed through her hair, but soon they would be like a tiara upon her brow. Her skin was a dark lavender. It would get no darker, though strange black marks had begun to crawl over her skin in some kind of script. At first, she thought it was a rash or a disease, but Maloth assured her it was part of her “gift.” She had grown accustomed to her claws and spaded tail. She no longer stepped on her tail nor cut herself or others with her claws.
It was her eyes that showed the last remnant of her humanity. They were still elven, still almond shaped and large with pupils and irises and everything. Soon they would be a solid black, with an ever-burning dark flame burning behind them. Soon there will be nothing left of her, just as Maloth promised when Iriel entered the dark bargain.
The demon elf sighed and stormed away from the mirror, unable to keep looking at herself. She reached the door and flew it open, eager to be done with whatever agony waited for —
Orilana stood in the doorway of Iriel’s apartments.
But before Iriel could say anything, the dark-haired elf darted into the room and closed the door behind her. She closed her eyes and caught her breath, her chest heaving. The paladin captain looked far worse than she did in Iriel’s nightmare. She was in a thin white shirt that had half of it torn away, exposing Orilana’s tight stomach. Her trousers were also ripped and scratched everywhere, looking more like a scandalous skirt than anything resembling pants. She was filthy, with brown and red stains all over her clothes and body. Thick red lines ran over her skin where the clothes were ripped. Her dark hair was a tangled nest, and her eyes were sunken and her face gaunt.
“Orilana?” Iriel whispered the sacred name and put her hand to her chest, where her heart ought to have been.
Orilana’s eyes shot open, she rushed towards Iriel and let something clatter to the ground. At first, Iriel thought her friend was going to kiss her, but Orilana covered Iriel’s mouth with one hand and raised another hand to her lips. “Shhh,” she said. Her eyes were large and wild. She pressed Iriel against a wall and stared at the door to the apartment. Slowly, she eased her hand away from Iriel’s mouth.
“What’s happening?” Iriel whispered. “What happened to you?”
“I came as soon as I could,” Orilana whispered back. “But I think I’m being followed. I barely got away.”
“Got away from what?”
Orilana turned back to Iriel. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you pretending to not know that Rella and Prim were a trap?”
Iriel looked away, unable to let Orilana’s eyes bear into her. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Orilana stepped back and gestured to her torn and bloody clothing. “Who do you think did this to me?”
“But …” Iriel brought her hand to the side of her head, unsure of what to do or think. This was impossible. Yes, they were ordered to bring Orilana and the staff back, but why was she here without them. And where was the —
Iriel looked to the floor and gasped. There, sitting on the floor of her chamber, was the Staff of the Eclipse. It was a long obsidian rod with gold veins of sunlight running along it. At the top was a disk of shining gold pressed against another disk of obsidian. On one side was Azora’s Sun, and on the other side was the Maloth’s eclipse.
Orilana looked at it and picked it up. She backed away from Iriel, suddenly scared, but held the staff tightly to her chest like a child holding her favorite toy.
“You have to promise me,” Orilana said.
“Promise you what?” Iriel stepped forward, but Orilana leapt back. “Yes, I’ll promise you anything.” Iriel spoke quickly. How was this all happening so far? And none of it made sense. How did Orilana get past her guards or the oreads? None of them reported any of this. It had to be —
Iriel froze. She closed her eyes, trying to draw her full attention on the dark goddess dwelling inside her. “What is this?” she asked Maloth.
But Maloth said nothing. Iriel opened her eyes. Orilana’s scared demeanor was gone. She wore an expression Iriel had never seen before, and then the elf burst out laughing. Her voice changed as she laughed, becoming high and cruel. Iriel stepped back and prayed to Azora for protection out of habit. But her spell had no effect, and Orilana’s laughter continued, washing around the small chamber. The captain bent over, clutching her side as the laughter ripped through her. As her body shook, the shape of it morphed. At first it looked like her clothing was growing longer, bellowing into a beautiful black gown of flowing silk and chiffon. It pooled on the floor like dark water, and Orilana’s high pitched laughter stopped. Slowly the woman stood up and looked into Iriel’s eyes.
It was not Orilana’s eyes that looked back at her.
The creature before her had pale pink eyes with dark slits down the iris like a lizard. The features were flat, and its skin was pale as frozen milk. It was a woman, though longer and thinner, reminding Iriel of Farryn’s grotesque bone features. It was definitely female, wearing a sheer red skirt attached to flimsy undergarments. Her belly was bare except for piercings and a chain that connected her navel to her breasts and went down between her legs. On her face was a white lace veil and a wicked smile.
“Rella,” Iriel whispered.
The demon shook her hips and raised her hands, making the chains on her stomach chime and clink. “Guilty,” she said with a shrug.
Shock gave way to rage quickly, and Iriel reached for Maloth’s familiar power. Smoke and ash flew from her fingertips and wrapped around Rella’s wrists and ankles. The shapeshifter was lifted into the air and pinned against the wall. She cried out briefly, but then moaned sensually. Then she broke into a fit of laughter.
“Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t resist.”
“You dare wear her face?” Iriel snapped.
“Oh, goddess, you’re adorable.” Iriel tightened the bands on the girl. She heard the popping of Rella’s malleable bones, but the beast continued to laugh. Iriel lifted her hands and brought the smoke and ash around Rella’s throat. She squeezed to stop her, squeezed to hurt her, squeezed to let her and everyone know that there is one line that shouldn’t be —
“The staff is real,” Rella said in sputtered breaths.
In a rush, Maloth seized Iriel’s body. The spell ended, and Rella crumpled to the floor. Maloth turned Iriel’s head and found the staff lying on the ground. Together they walked to the black staff and picked it up. The life inside of it, the warm thrumming of power, was still there. It spread from the staff to Iriel’s fingertips. It washed over her like a warm bath, like a slow bolt of electricity lighting up each part of her body.
As it awoke at her touch, Maloth whispered, “Yesss,” in Iriel’s mind. But the goddess spoke with Iriel’s mouth at the same time, and for the first time, Iriel heard the goddess with her ears and shivered. Rella immediately lost her cocksure attitude and fell to her knees, bowing her head to her goddess.
“Goddess,” Rella said with proper reference.
Maloth turned and smirked at her pet. “Welllll done.” The voice was thick in Iriel’s throat. She felt like she was talking while submerged in honey. She tried to move, but she was in the grips of Maloth now. The dark goddess had all she would need to finally be reborn and spread her darkness over the world. Iriel had finally succeeded.
And yet it felt like failure.
The High Priestess retreated deep into her mind while Maloth and Rella spoke with her voice, her ears, her body. They had all been remade by the dark goddess. There was nothing left of the copper-skinned elf that first approached the corrupted mirror. There was no sign of the High Priestess of Azora. Maloth had consumed Iriel, just as Azora had consumed Maloth all those years ago. No goddess was destroyed or banished, just folded into another, hiding in some secret space, and watching the world burn in their eyes.
Iriel tried to think about Orilana, about the sight of her torn and scared. The real Orilana must be going through something similar to that. The very stone of the Abbey had been weaponized against the paladins. Iriel had stalled for as long as she could, holding back Maloth and her hosts to buy Orilana more time. She thought the dreams she sent Orilana could bring her best friend to their side, but there was no hope of that. All hope was fool’s hope. In the end, Maloth would crush them all. And Iriel had never had a problem with that. She wouldn’t even mind Maloth crushing her, considering what a pathetic and spineless thing Iriel turned out to be. But the dark goddess wanted to crush the one thing Iriel loved now. She wanted to crush Orilana. Perhaps she even wanted to crush Orilana especially, and there was no hope for the captain now. Maloth had Iriel and the Staff of the Eclipse. It was now just a matter of time.
As quickly as she’d taken control, Maloth released Iriel’s body. Iriel sank to the floor and dropped the Staff of the Eclipse. Her body was tired, and a burning hunger was in her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. She rose to her feet and moved towards the bar. She wobbled on her way there, and Rella scoffed at her, as Iriel knocked over glasses looking for brandy or wine or anything to burn through her and give the illusion of cleanliness.
“You know how many of us would kill to have your power?” Rella asked.
“I have killed to have my power,” Iriel said. She poured another glass of strong brown liquor and downed it. The burning helped, but there was still the tar of Maloth’s presence clinging to her.
Rella stepped closer and put a hand on Iriel’s like they were girlfriends gossiping. “What’s it like to have her so close?”
Iriel pulled her hand away. “Get out.”
“Awww, come on. Is that anyway to treat someone who brought you a present?”
“Orilana was supposed to bring me that present.”
“I thought Orilana did.”
Iriel glared at the shapeshifter. Rella kicked up a heeled foot like she was irresistibly adorable. She forgot she looked more like an albino snake with tits than a woman.
“Get out,” Iriel said. Iriel emptied her glass quickly and refilled it, turning away from Rella. She thought she had something strong. She needed dragonfire in her veins to try and numb the feeling of Maloth oozing through all things.
“I know it’s not the staff you want.” As she spoke, Rella’s voice changed. It lost its high pitched and abrasive cracking sound and lowered into a casual timber. By the end of the sentence, it was almost seductive and familiar. It sounded like —
A pale grey hand reached out for Iriel’s.
Iriel snapped her head to look at Rella. She wanted a spell to blight the demon, to burn her in hellfire, but she didn’t want to reach for Maloth’s power. But it wasn’t Rella that looked back at her. Of course. Why would it be?
It was Orilana.
This version of Orilana was one Iriel had never seen. One she never dared to imagine. Orilana’s long black hair was braided down her back. She wore a white dress of flimsy material, that highlighted each line and curve of flesh. Rella/Orilana spun slightly, and Iriel gasped to see the backless and strapless dress. The black braid flew wide in the air but then settled just above Orilana’s ass, which is where the dress barely continued. Bangles on her arms clattered as she spun, and the skirt of the dress flared slightly. Orilana was barefoot, and by the lines of the thin material, she wore no panties. But Iriel’s eyes were drawn to the thick collar around Orilana’s neck. The front of the dress was attached to the collar with a sizable slit down the center that revealed Orilana’s cleavage. Iriel thought that Rella had made Orilana’s breasts larger, and she appreciated the transformation. In Orilana’s hand was a long chain that also attached to her collar.
Orilana/Rella smirked and offered the chain to Iriel. “You and I both know it’s not real, but what does that matter?” She shrugged. “It’s better than dreaming.”
It was wrong. It was another perversion, another illusion. That’s all Maloth was. She was smoke and lies. She twisted something beautiful and thought she could improve upon it with seduction and domination. Iriel had fallen for this trick before. It felt a lifetime ago that a demon goddess offered her a vision, a lie, and she accepted. It cost her everything, and now she was being offered another trick. A beautiful fucking trick.
Iriel’s heart stopped in her chest the same way it did when she saw herself in Maloth’s mirror. She was filled with the knowledge of its wrongness while being unable to fight her urge to touch it, to take it, to be it. This version of Orilana was the twisted mirror image of her friend and lover. Would Iriel give her friend to the darkness just to have her? Would she do it knowing what it had cost herself already?
But Iriel knew the truth. There were no second chances. She had buried herself in darkness that she could not step out of. If she wanted love, the only option was to pull love into that shadow and make it work.
So Iriel took the chain from Rella. She pulled on it slightly, and Rella came easily. Goddess, she even moved like Orilana. She rushed into Iriel and both women wrapped their arms around each other.
She smelled like Orilana.
Iriel ran her hands beneath the long black braid and up into Orilana’s hair. The hair felt like Orilana’s. The skin was smooth and scarred like Orilana’s. It was her. It was a lie, but what was the difference between a perfect lie and the truth? At some point, lies become truth. And sometimes truth devours lies and passes themselves off as pure.
Iriel broke the embrace to hold Orilana’s cheeks. The eyes were right. The lips were right. Rella even laughed and smiled in a small huff like Orilana. It was perfect. A perfect lie. That had to be good enough. Iriel could never have the real thing, but she could make do with this. She had no other choice.
The first kiss was strangely nervous and perfect in its innocence. Iriel was kissing her best friend. They were unsure, and they smiled and laughed as their lips hovered over the moment. They pulled away quickly, smiling wider.
“I love you,” Iriel whispered.
“I love you too,” Orilana said.
Then they kissed again. And again. And again.
Maloth took control of Iriel’s hand, pulling the chain down. Orilana’s head followed, but she couldn’t stop kissing Iriel. She kissed along Iriel’s throat, and the High Priestess moaned, staggering back. As she went, the chain pulled Orilana with her. Orilana pushed Iriel into the wall. Iriel cried out in pain, but it melted into a moan as Orilana kept kissing her sensitive neck. The strong and calloused hands of Orilana gripped Iriel, squeezing her wrists and lifting them up above the demon elf’s head. Iriel closed her eyes as Orilana trailed kisses back and forth from shoulder to shoulder, tasting the soft flesh of her High Priestess.
Orilana bent her knees as her kisses sank lower on Iriel’s body. Then with a snarl, she released Iriel’s hands and ripped away the lacey and erotic robe of Iriel’s station. Iriel was left bare, and for the first time in weeks, her body was hungry for the touch of another woman. For the first time she wanted to be splayed open and filled. She wanted to be bent and broken. She wanted to ease herself into Orilana with a thousand soft kisses and yield to Orilana’s touch. She wanted to fill Orilana’s body with every inch of her power, every soft and hard promise of her flesh. She wanted to know this woman and give this woman full knowledge of her.
She wanted to be possessed once more.
Orilana didn’t bother reaching for Iriel’s wrists again, and Iriel didn’t bother putting her hands down. She let herself press against the wall of her apartments and spread herself wide. Orilana grabbed her breasts, and once more the strength of her lover thrilled Iriel. Orilana brought her eager mouth to Iriel’s nipples, and the High Priestess moaned. She wished she could spread herself wider. Each part of her body wanted to be opened up and filled. For the first time, she felt the temptation of Maloth’s piercings. She wanted the metal through her and in her. She wanted to be fucked in every way by Orilana, and piercing was just another kind of fucking. A permanent fucking. A public fucking.
Orilana bit down playfully on Iriel’s nipple, and the world went a bright white like lightning, like the apparition of divinity both awful and awesome filling the chamber. Iriel thought of the first time Maloth rushed inside of her. There was the thrill of power as she became infinite and the high of powerlessness as she became insignificant. It was that once more. She was everything to Orilana, a body being worshipped. She was nothing to Orilana, flesh to be used. She was two sides of one coin, spinning in the air, never landing, never deciding, never final. She was everything at once, all parts of herself. She was more than one thing. She was herself.
Maloth took the reins of Iriel’s body once more, but Iriel didn’t mind. She didn’t fight the puppet strings of the goddess. She was pressed between two lovers, one within and one without, as they caressed her and abused her, as they loved her and used her, as they worshipped her and degraded her. Maloth pulled away from the wall and staggered to the bed, pulling tight on Orilana’s leash. The three of them collapsed into the huge bed, and Orilana fell on top of her High Priestess. Maloth was quick with Iriel’s hands, pulling the chain tight with one and grabbing the dark braid with another. She shoved Orilana’s face between Iriel’s legs.
“Worship me,” Iriel/Maloth moaned. They were in harmony. Iriel had found the song again, the one that Maloth first sang out to her from the depths of her tomb. It was power and pain. It was darkness and corruption. It was sadism and masochism. It was flesh and pussy. It was breaking and piercing. It was fucking and taking.
It was pleasure, and they sang it well.
Orilana served well, but Maloth/Iriel were particular. They shifted their lover’s head, guided her. They pulled the chain tight. Iriel wasn’t sure if it were to bring her tongue deeper, or just to hurt her. It was all the same to Maloth. Pain was pleasure. Pleasure was pain. Orilana would be split in two if it pleased Iriel. Iriel would be broken in half if it pleased Maloth.
Orilana gripped Iriel’s thighs. White burning light shone from her hands, and heat spread along Iriel’s skin. At first it was a hot bath and then hot wax. But Orilana didn’t stop. It was a flame held against her skin. Then it was a brand. Iriel shouted and arched her back, and Orilana let the pain dull. Then she moved her hands to another spot on Iriel’s sensitive thighs and did it again. The warmth of Orilana’s tongue, the warmth of Iriel’s pussy being served, blended and danced with the white pain of the captain’s magic. Iriel closed her eyes and spread her arms wide, gripping the sheets of the bed. She didn’t know where one started or another ended. It was all heat. It was all pain. It was all heaven and all hell. In her body she was everything, an entire cosmos, an inferno and a cloudless sky.
A prickling spread up her stomach and lingered over Iriel’s breasts. It was a phantom touch, like goosebumps, like her skin touching itself. It was tingling and numbing. It was exciting and terrifying. Iriel went to touch her skin, but Maloth held them back, pinning her to the bed. She felt the shackles of Maloth’s power or Orilana’s power, she couldn’t tell. White hot circles appeared at her wrists and feet, and the burning of Orilana’s touch continued. The lightning pleasure of each long lick of Orilana’s tongue over Iriel’s pussy continued too. But Iriel’s mind focused on the phantom touch over her stomach. It crawled up her body and to her breasts. They tingled and burned. They thrummed and pulsed. Then her nipples went harder, and it felt like someone was biting down on them.
Maloth was fucking her.
Iriel moaned and arched her back. “Oh yes,” she moaned. “Fuck yes. Fuck me Maloth. Fuck me.” The goddess heard her prayer and listened to the incantations of her High Priestess. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” prayed Iriel. “Fuckme fuckme fuck me.” She pulsed her hips against Orilana’s face. The goddess made the pain of Orilana’s burning hands as delightful as the bites on Iriel’s nipples. Her body was awake in a way it hadn’t been in weeks. Her soul was shining bright in the darkness of Maloth’s presence. “Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.”
Iriel’s voice was high and breathy. She was approaching hysteria as the pleasure and pain burned. As her body became one sensitive nerve dipped into lava but never burning, never numbing.
Iriel came and collapsed into herself. All at once, Orilana stopped. The magic shackles faded. The phantom kissing stopped. The burning receded. There was only the pleasant aftertaste. Iriel tried to open her eyes, but she was too spent and broken. She was hallowed and hollowed out by the goodness of it. Dear goddess, she needed to sleep so badly. She kept her eyes closed and curled into herself, letting the world fade for a bit, hoping a dream would come for the first time in weeks.
But as she rested her mind, her body kept moving. Maloth didn’t open Iriel’s eyes. She let her High Priestess rest, but she rose, eager to play with her obedient servant. Orilana spoke, but it was Rella’s voice now, more like the hiss of a serpent.
Iriel dreamed of kissing Rella in her true form, her demon form. She stripped Rella naked and slapped her. There was spanking. There were shouts of pain. In the dream, Iriel put on the strap-on that first made Rella and fucked the demon in every hole. She was most callous with Rella’s throat. Even as Rella choked and gagged, Iriel kept calling her a “good girl.” She finally came, and the strap-on shot black cum like tar down the servant’s throat, over her face and tits. Rella lay crumbled on the floor, sticky and beaten, still muttering thanks to her goddess.
But it was all a dream, just like the one of Orilana strapped to a table and fucked by the Staff of the Eclipse.
Iriel slept truly and soundly then. Her body healed itself from the burns, but the pleasure of fucking Orilana, even a false one, opened her back up. Maloth could make lies true. She had done so before with each transformation. Even Iriel’s slow transformation was evidence of Maloth’s power. Why couldn’t she make the lie of Orilana come true? Why couldn’t she bend one last fiction into reality? It was true that Iriel hadn’t been obedient. She’d been stubborn and dragged her feet. She stalled and sabotaged Maloth where she could. Surely the goddess knew of each transgression. She hid in Iriel’s body like a tumor. Nothing was far from her sight. She would punish Iriel if she disobeyed. But she would reward her just as she’d done with Rella. Yes. She could be obedient. She could earn Orilana as a reward.
A knock on the door woke her up. On the floor, Rella was still crumpled and covered with black cum, but she woke at the knocking as well. She looked up at Iriel and quickly changed her shape to her former self: curvy and hidden behind a tight and thick white veil that covered her entire body. There was the sound of shouting from the corridors outside the apartments, and Rella rose to her feet as black smoke curled from her fingertips.
“Come in,” Iriel shouted. She rose from her bed, not bothering to cover her nudity. The door opened and Melior strode in, a bloody sword in her hand.
“It’s time. They’re finally attacking.”
Iriel’s heart fluttered. Orilana. She was here in truth this time. Maloth had heard her prayer. Next to her, Rella seemed to relax. She shifted her form back to her true self, leaving the black cum on display over her chest and face like a badge of honor. She bent down and grabbed the Staff of the Eclipse from the floor. She turned and handed it to Iriel.
“Go get her back,” she said.
Iriel grabbed the staff and smiled. “Care to join me?”
Rella’s form shifted into a hulking and beautiful half-orc woman with lithe muscles. “Sounds like fun.”
Attacking was the only option left. Without their prisoners, without the staff, with diminishing resources, they were left with no choice. They could have the demons starve them out or they could wait for an inevitable and carefully planned final assault that would wipe them out.
Or they could make one last and desperate stand. They could plan how they met their end, with the banner of Azora’s rising sun charging through the Abbey. They could go out with dignity and fall on a sword before being perverted into whatever Maloth wanted for each of them. They could die before they were pierced and enslaved. They could die before they were made demons like Farryn and Prim.
Demons like Iriel.
Orilana cut through a dryad with her silvered sword, splitting the creature from navel to neck. They had tied cloth around their faces to fight the fumes and pheromones. They melted the decorative script on their armor and silvered their swords with it to fight whatever demons or beasts they didn’t know about. There was no going back from this. They all knew they were going to die, but they preferred it to Maloth’s alternative.
Beside her, Harza cut through a spawn from Prim, spraying sticky blood over both of them. They had caught their enemy by surprise, but that wouldn’t last much longer. Any second Maloth would —
A wave of darkness spread over the corridor, paralyzing demons and paladins alike. Even Orilana’s lungs were held in place, and her chest burned as she suffocated. A trail of smoke came around the corner, and then an image from Orilana’s dreams and nightmares appeared before her.
Iriel was in her true demon form without pretense. Her skin was a rich purple. Her spaded tail flicked back and forth through the smoke that pooled around her. Her horns looked larger and adorned her head like a crown. Her hair was thick and wavy. She could have been a beautiful woman. Even in her obvious nudity. Even with her black clawed fingers. Even with the glimpses of deformed feet through the smoke.
She could have been beautiful.
The High Priestess of the Dark Goddess Maloth walked past the other warriors. She carried the Staff of the Eclipse in her hand as casually as a walking staff. She strode up to Orilana and wrapped her clawed finger under Orilana’s chin.
“Hello, love,” she said. She smiled wide, showing the sharp fangs her goddess had given her. Orilana wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to hug Iriel and weep for the loss of her beauty. She wanted to kiss her and apologize for being too weak to save her.
Instead, she stood frozen as her body floated into the air and followed Iriel down into the pits of the Abbey. Down into the Tomb of Maloth that would become her womb. For though Orilana didn’t know it, a goddess was about to be born.