The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Embrace of the Goddess Chapter 2: Sacrifice

By Trixie Adara

Iriel turned off the steaming water that filled her tub and sank into it. She sighed as the water rose up to her neck, helping her clean off the sweat of the night before.

She had to start each day like this now. Her dreams were always fevered, and each morning she woke up sweaty and wet. Her sheets were tangled from her thrashing about, trying to escape Maloth’s tomb or trying to get back in. They were erotic nightmares where she was consumed and orgasmed as Maloth chewed on her flesh or perhaps she climaxed as the smoke of Maloth penetrated her, lifting her up and filling her with its ash.

Each night they were more awful and wonderful than the night before.

But Iriel hated the stench of sweat and lust clinging to her body. She always bathed before going out into the Abbey. The other girls may not recognize the scent, but if she didn’t wash it off, her mind couldn’t escape the dreams.

Not that it helped much. Each girl was still a buffet of delights and temptations as she walked past them. She would minister prayers to them, and while their heads were bowed and eyes closed, she’d lean in close and inhale their scent or try to look down their lose robes. She imaged bending them backward, sometimes until they literally snapped in two, and fucking them until he came. But those weren’t the worst fantasies. The worst was when she imagined them praying to her, to Iriel, all of them worshipping her and begging for the opportunity to serve her body. And why shouldn’t they pray for that? She could be a goddess like Maloth. She could be Maloth herself, the Second Coming, that descended on this Abbey and swept it up in a cloud of lust and depravity. Why shouldn’t she rule them? They were all eager for a goddess, but the one they worshipped was dead. There was no one left to serve but Iriel, and they practically did already.

They worship you.

Iriel smiled as the voice danced in her head. Once it was dark and grating, but now it was smooth and thick, like heavy perfume, like rich chocolate and thick cream. It was more present now, speaking to her constantly, and now that she was safe in her bath, she didn’t have to hesitate as her hand slipped between her legs. The voice was an invader before, but now it was a friend. It was the only thing that understood what she was going through. Years of training in the Abbey, decades of pressure from her mother and family to be the perfect High Priestess for the Order of Azora, told her that she was perverted, that she should be expelled for depravity. But the voice never hated her, never judged her. It understood that any reasonable person with blood in their veins would want to grab Orilana’s hair and force her mouth between your legs. She had such perfect lips for kissing, why not kiss Iriel’s pussy?

The copper-haired elf sighed as she sank lower into the hot water. The only way to wash the lust off was to push through it. She had to cum, and then she could think again. The voice in her head would quiet, the fantasies would dull, and she could get some work done before some acolyte bent over too far and gave Iriel a peek at her cleavage, starting the whole cycle over again.

Iriel’s hands worked faster. She wouldn’t be able to touch herself until tonight, not properly, not the way her body begged her to. Now she could grab her nipples and twist. She could moan softly and writhe against the washtub. She could be creative with a thousand pleasures of the flesh, each one suggested by the voice. It taught her new techniques, gave her new fantasies, whispered new curiosities. Who would think to slide a finger in their anus when cumming? The voice would. And now Iriel did too. Later today, she may be able to escape to a washroom for a few minutes if Prim said anything too sexy, which was almost anything from the cute angel’s mouth, but she wouldn’t be able to explore her body properly like she could now.

“High Priestess?” A soft voice accompanied a gentle knock on the door.

Iriel groaned and opened her eyes. Slowly, she moved her hand away from her pussy, though the fingers resisted the pull.

“Yes, Zara?”

“Do you need help?” asked her handmaiden. She was a naiad, a water nymph. Elementals like her tended to be of low intelligence and personality, as evident by her inability to understand that Iriel did not want to be disturbed.


“Are you sure?”

“You think I can’t bathe myself?” Iriel took a deep breath, trying to push through her impatience. The High Priestess was to be a beacon of understanding and compassion. She couldn’t go around verbally accosting the staff, no matter how inept they were.

“Um … that’s not it, High Priestess.”

“What is it?”

“Prim is here to speak with you.”

“Tell her I’m bathing.”

“I did, High Priestess. I’m afraid she’s insistent.”

“Can it wait?”

“She’s been waiting for quite a while.”

“She can wait a while longer.”

There was a pause, but Iriel could feel the naiad standing outside her door. Could she sense what Iriel was doing in the water? Was that what this was about? She wasn’t sure what the extent of Zara’s powers were, but maybe she was gently suggesting the High Priestess of Azora should stop lewdly fucking herself.

“She’s been waiting almost an hour,” whispered Zara.

“What?” Iriel sat up and water sloshed out of the tub and onto the floor. “What do you mean? It’s been that long?”

“I’m sorry, High Priestess. You made it clear that I should not interrupt you.”

“You ... “ Iriel closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Tell her what you’re doing here, said the Voice. Bring her in and fuck her.

Iriel breathed deeply and uttered a prayer to Azora. She needed purity now. She needed cleanliness. Now wasn’t the time to give in to her fantasies. If she did, she’d be found out. She didn’t know what would happen to a High Priestess as depraved as her. Acolytes could be expelled, but the High Priestess? It’d be blasphemy. In ancient times she’d be burned at the stake, but the Abbey hasn’t burned anyone in centuries. Would she be the one to bring it back?

“Come in,” commanded Iriel. “Wash me and dress me.”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

Iriel rose and took a deep breath. As she breathed out, white light washed over her. The lightly quickly burned golden, and she felt the toxins leave her body. Her spirit was pure, if only for a moment.

The door opened and Zara stepped in. Naiad’s weren’t entirely corporeal, though they could become so if they needed to. She was partly translucent, made of water that took a female form. She came from a river near the Abbey that formed a beautiful waterfall and cascaded over the edge of the cavern. Zara’s mother was the naiad of the waterfall, but she was closer to a goddess because of her beauty and prestige. Zara had long blue hair that went down her back, and the modesty of the Abbey insisted that she wear a simple dress over her watery skin, though most nymphs preferred to be nude. She had a plain and round face, relatively unremarkable, but her eyes always unsettled Iriel. They were never one color, but rather a mixture of green, blue, teal, and turquoise all swirling around. She kept her face down, though, trying not to distract or upset people with her eyes.

Iriel had always thought of her as homely, and yet, as she stood in the doorway to her washroom, Iriel’s mind wandered to the curves of the naiad’s body, hidden by the drab dress. She wondered if Zara could sense her lust and juices mixed in the washtub, and how she would respond to Iriel’s lust. Would her chest heave? Would he nipples harden? She could never be called homely then. Could Iriel order Zara to be more comfortable and forego her dress? Maybe all the nymphs in the Abbey should do the same. Yes, that’d be … delicious.

Mmm, imagine what she could do, washing over you.

Iriel smiled, and Zara looked back down at the floor in front of her. If she could blush, Iriel was certain that she would now.

“Come,” said Iriel, stepping out of the tub, and spreading her arms. “Wash me.”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

Iriel turned and faced the full-length mirror in front of her. It wasn’t as large or elegant as the mirror in Maloth’s tomb, but it reminded her of what waited for her. She hadn’t found time to go down there again. Once guards started disappearing, Orilana ordered Iriel to be accompanied by a guard at all times. Prim was ordered to investigate what was happening. She had no idea that the debauchery and missing guards were connected. She knew nothing about Maloth. She’d find nothing, but in the meantime, Iriel couldn’t return to the mirror. She was disconnected from finding out more or completing whatever was happening to her. She was stuck fantasizing and burning with shame over the images that danced in her head.

Iriel spread herself, looking over her body. Her own image was the one female body that didn’t drive her insane with lust like it did in Maloth’s mirror. Her hair was still a copper-colored red, like a burnt sunrise. Her skin was warm and radiant, reflecting the light of Azora in her very being, a product of her desert heritage. Her body was trim and lithe, but she hadn’t been eating lately. She’d rather take meals in her room and use the time to touch herself, leaving the food abandoned. Any moment of potential privacy was used to failingly satiate her hunger. She could appreciate her breasts and narrow hips, things she now obsessed over with every other woman. Her breasts were firm and round, large enough, though Iriel found herself wishing all breasts were larger. It was her nipples she truly loved, deep brown and firm. Twisting and pulling them always brought her over the edge when she was touching herself, and she enjoyed them as a sign for Zara to interpret, a subtle flaunting of her lust that could be attributed to the cold.

Iriel raised her arms, as Zara moved behind her. The pale blue woman made a gentle motion with both hands, drawing them down, and Iriel was instantly dry. Iriel gave a soft gasp whenever it happened, and Zara never tried to hide her smirk. The naiad enjoyed using her powers, which she rarely got to do in the giant stone Abbey.

“Cold, High Priestess?” asked Zara.

Iriel smiled and covered her chest, feigning modesty.

“Whenever I lose the coating of water … I … yes,” said Iriel. It was hard to be embarrassed about it now, but Iriel was getting better and better at lying.

“Completely normal, High Priestess.”


“Which robe today, High Priestess?”

“Something blue.” Iriel licked her lips. “I’m obsessed with blue today.”

Zara missed the hint and turned to get clothing for Iriel without another word. She returned in a moment with underclothes that she helped Iriel into, and then wrapped the larger sky blue robe around her, with a sun cresting over the horizon of her breasts, spreading light over her torso and down her back.

“Lovely,” said Zara when she finished fastening it.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Prim is waiting in your office, High Priestess.”

Zara turned to leave.

Take her, whispered the voice.

“Wait,” said Iriel, holding up her hand before she could think better of it. Zara paused and turned around.

“Something else, High Priestess?”

“Come here.”

Zara obeyed and came to Iriel’s side. The elf put her hands on Zara’s shoulder and positioned the naiad in front of her. Zara didn’t look into the mirror, but Iriel did, trying to get a glimpse of her beautiful eyes, trying to see the shape of her body underneath her frumpy dress.

Behind Zara, she saw herself, holding her handmaiden’s shoulders, looking at her like a piece of meat. In the reflection, Iriel’s eyes were dark and smokey. She’d put no makeup on, but a shadow seemed to linger behind her eyes, reminding her of her reflection in Maloth’s Mirror. The reflection grinned at her, and she returned it.

“Do you like the dress you wear?” asked Iriel, softening her voice and smoothing it out.

“It suits me fine, High Priestess.” Zara grabbed the fabric of her dress and tugged on it, keeping her eyes fixed to the floor.

“I thought nymphs preferred to be free.” Iriel leaned in closer and whispered. “To be unrestrained.”

Zara said nothing, though she swayed and wiggled gently in Iriel’s hands.

“Is that true?” pressed the elf.

“The dress suits me fine, High Priestess,” muttered Zara. “May I go, please?”

“Soon,” whispered Iriel. She looked back up at the mirror. Her reflection was pale and dark, smoke wrapped around it like a cloak, like a crown on her head. In it, it licked Zara’s ear.

Lick her like this, cooed the Voice.

Iriel leaned down and licked. Zara squealed and squirmed out of Iriel’s hands, stepping forward but not away.

“Is that all, High Priestess?”

Iriel looked up. The reflection was billowing with smoke and power. In it, she was naked except for sheer coverings, the trappings of a whore. Her nipples and tongue were pierced. Horns curved from her head. Her feet were hooved, and a pointed tail curved around her body and slithering into her wet pussy, pressing through the negligible fabric. In the mirror, she was the dark goddess, and all would worship her and become like her.

Set her free.

“I want you to be free,” said Iriel. She stepped forward, and as Zara tried to step away, Iriel muttered a casual Command spell without thinking better of it, trapping the nymph in place before her. “Don’t you want to be free?”

“Am I free to go?”

“Use my title,” whispered Iriel. “I love to hear it dance on your lips.” She ran her hands up and down Zara’s arms as the reflection told her to do.

“Am I free to go, High Priestess?”

“Mmmm,” moaned Iriel. “Lovely.” She leaned in closer. “And no. I want you to stay and please me. You want to please me, don’t you?”

“Please,” whimpered Zara.

“Please what?”

“Please, High Priestess.”

Fuck her, hissed the Voice.

Iriel trailed her fingertips over Zara’s skin. It was soft and damp, like tipping her fingers into warm water. “Take off the dress,” whispered Iriel.

“Please, may I go, High Priestess?”

Be free.


There was a loud bang on the door. “High Priestess!” shouted Prim’s voice. “I need to speak with you immediately.”

Iriel’s reverie broke and Zara scampered out of the room. Iriel cursed, and shouted, “One moment,” to Prim.

She looked back to the mirror, desperate. Her reflection was diminished. She was pale and dark, but the smoke, horns, hooves, and tail were gone.

“What do I have to do?” asked Iriel. She moved closer and put her hand on the mirror, hoping to feel flesh, to touch herself again as she did in Maloth’s presence.

Sacrifice, said the Voice, but the lips of her reflection moved as the Voice ran over her body, tingling her skin like ice.

“What do I need to give up? Name it. I’ll do it. Please.”

Come back to me with a sacrifice.

“Zara? Do you want Zara?” Iriel pressed both hands up against the mirror, desperate. She wanted to step through, to wrap herself around her reflection and kiss her, to taste her until the smoke entered her and she stepped out renewed, dark and wonderful.

Power, said the Voice. The sacrifice needs more power.

“High Priestess?”

Iriel turned and saw Prim standing there, looking at her with concern. The Aasimar paladin was in her silver plate with an orange-red cape draping behind her. Her pale pink hair, one sign of her angelic heritage, was in a braid draped over her shoulder. She had a heart-shaped face that came to a sharp point, shining silver eyes, and pale skin. She was slim but strong. Iriel imagined her body was covered with endless curves and tight swells of muscles.

“Yes?” asked Iriel. She looked back to the mirror, but it was her old, plain reflection. It was her body holding sunlight, not shadow.

“We need to speak, immediately.”

“Yes, yes.” Iriel sighed and smoothed out her robe. “What is it?”

“I think you should come with me. Do you have your staff?”

Both women glanced to the corner of the chamber where the Staff of the Eclipse, the most powerful relic of Azora, rested against the wall.

“Will I need it?”

“Absolutely. I’d have the Chains of Heldoran here if I could.”

Iriel grabbed the staff and waved for Prim to lead the way. The Chains of Heldoran were forged by the gods to bind a god. It was thought that Azora was hasty to try and defeat her sister. She could have bound her instead. That wasn’t the way it was taught at the Abbey. They taught that she was brave and compassionate to fight her sister, sacrificing herself to save the world.

“What have you found?” asked Iriel as they stepped out of her chambers and into the stone halls of the Abbey. Her guard, a young elven woman named Curim followed behind them without a word.

Prim looked back at Curim nervously.

“Quiescis,” whispered Iriel. Their footsteps became muffled as the spell took hold. No one could hear what they had to say now. “There,” she said. “Speak.”

“I began my investigation with the missing guards, inspecting the area around the … the …”

Prim looked to Iriel for permission. “Orilana told you?” asked the High Priestess.

Prim nodded. Her pink braid slithered off her shoulder and down her back, draping over her orange-red cape.

“Call it the Chapel,” commanded Iriel.

“Yes, High Priestess.”

“Go on, you went there first.”

“Yes, because that was where guards went missing. I tried to track them and see if I could find out where they went.”

“Orilana said that would lead to nothing.”

“She was right. They seemed to join the ranks of the Abbey. It’s as though they went to bed and vanished.”


“No arcane signs.”

“What next?” asked Iriel.

“Well, we thought that something came down to get them, but there were no tracks for that.”


“But no one thought to see if something came from behind.”

The skin on Iriel’s arm tingled. She gripped the Staff of the Eclipse tight, wondering if Prim knew what happened in the tomb, what happened to Iriel. Did she know what Iriel saw in the mirror? What she wanted to do to Zara? What she wanted to do to Prim herself? Maybe she was taking her to Orilana, to arrest her. This could be a trap. Would the staff have enough power to defeat them all? Perhaps. Perhaps she’d have to fight her way down to Molath and throw herself at the dark goddess’s mercy.

“What did you find?”

“Several sets of prints going into and out of the chapel.”

“Acolytes and Sisters alike hold their vigil there. That’s no surprise.”

“But some went deeper, to a hidden staircase.”

Iriel held her breath, waiting to see what Prim knew, what she was accusing her of. She thought through her list of spells. She could blind her first, yes. She’d blind her, then bind her to the stone floor, and then she could run. That may work.

“Not as many as the entrance to the Chapel,” said Prim.

Iriel released her breath, easing her grip on the staff. “How many?”

“Five or six,” said Prim. “Hard to tell.”

“Any distinct?”

Prim shook her head. “Some were boots like the guards wear. Some were typical acolyte footwear. Nothing conclusive.”

“Did you go down the staircase?” asked Iriel. She didn’t want to press too much, to tip Prim off about what was down there, but she could be talking to a potential ally. Maybe Molath corrupted Prim as well. Maybe they were going to serve her together.

They walked past the classrooms, quarters, and dining hall of the Abbey, descending deeper and deeper into the earth. There was no doubt they were going to the Chapel, to the tomb. If Prim didn’t know, she was close to figuring it out. Iriel should feel nervous, should be afraid, but she could only think about the mirror and how excited she was to finally see it again. Even if Prim arrested her there, she didn’t think anything could stop her from throwing herself down in front of the mirror. She was foolish to leave the first time, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She would stay as long as she needed, as long as it took to become what her reflection promised.

“A bit,” said Prim. “I was terrified, High Priestess. I mean … it’s … it’s …”

“Maloth.” Iriel tried to keep the reverence out of her voice.

“Yes. Darkness Incarnate.”

“What did you see?” She wanted to ask about the mirror, about the bones, about the sea of ashes, but there was no way she could mention them and keep the excitement out of her voice.

“A tomb,” said Prim. “Bones. Huge bones.”

“Is that all?” Where was the mirror? What about the smaller bones? There were thousands of them.

“At first. But just this morning I went back to investigate again. This time I found a trail of footprints coming out of the tomb. Just one pair.”

Iriel stopped and turned to face her Prim. Behind them, Curim stopped as well, still unable to hear them. “What does it mean?”

“It means that some feet that went down never returned, perhaps explaining our missing guards. But there’s something else.”


“It means that something got out.”

“Maloth?” asked Iriel breathlessly. She turned to Curim, but the elven girl seemed oblivious that they were talking about the worst being ever to walk the realm.

Prim shook her head. “I don’t know. I think the goddess is still sealed. You’d know if she broke free, wouldn’t you?”

Iriel nodded.

“Then I think Maloth is still locked away, but I think that perhaps someone that went down there spoke with it. Maybe each of them did, and only one returned.”

“A scion,” whispered Iriel.


“Who?” Iriel waited to hear her name, to hear the accusation. She gripped her staff again, ready to fight off both paladins and sprint into the tomb.

“I don’t know. But that’s why this is urgent. If I’m right, Maloth is responsible for taking several lives, and perhaps she has someone under her sway her, someone walking amongst us.”

Iriel smiled and relaxed. Prim had no idea. She was safe. She had nothing to worry about. “Show me,” she commanded. Prim nodded and led the way down to the Chapel.

When they arrived, Iriel told Curim to stand outside and keep watch, letting no one enter after them. Prim agreed that they should keep this a secret as best they could for now, and she didn’t want to compromise any more paladins. Prim revealed the staircase and went first down, her blade unsheathed and glowing with divine light. Iriel lit the Staff of the Eclipse, but it was all for show. She wasn’t afraid of what was down here. She was wet with need just thinking of being back in the presence of her goddess.

They descended in silence, but Iriel gasped when she saw the tomb again. Once again she was captivated by the colors refracting off of the crystals in the ceiling. People spoke as though Maloth was hideous and twisted, but it was Azora that blinded everything with light, washing it all out. Above them, Azora had a Chapel made by slaves and pilgrims, but Maloth enslaved no one for her beauty. The earth was her Chapel.

At the sound of Iriel’s gasp, Prim turned around, her sword drawn. “What is it?”

“It’s just … I haven’t seen it in years,” lied Iriel. “Not since my mother took me down here.”

“It’s awful,” said Prim with a nod. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She looked back out at the bones. “But keep your staff ready.”

Iriel smiled. The poor girl. She was trying so hard to be brave, but all the angel blood flowing through her veins couldn’t make her belong here. For the first time in her life, Prim was the deviant here. This place belonged to perverts like Iriel.

As they walked over the crunching bones, it was Prim’s turn to gasp. Before them, stood the mirror, but Prim acted as though she’d never seen it before. “What’s this?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” lied Iriel. “This wasn’t here when you came earlier?”


“It wasn’t here when I came years ago.”

“How could it … who would …”

“The scion,” said Iriel. She walked up to the mirror quickly. “The scion must have put it here.” As she approached, she saw her reflection, Molath’s version of her, with paler skin and darker hair. That version of Iriel was almost white with auburn hair. Her brows were narrow and sharp, her face locked into a scowl or an amused grin of condescension. Her lips were dark, and her black nails were almost long enough to be claws. She was beautiful, and Iriel wanted to kiss her again, to feel her dark reflection slither inside her.

“What do I have to do?” she whispered.

Sacrifice, said the Voice. Iriel closed her eyes as the Voice caressed her body. Her skin stood at attention, eager for any touch and sensitive to the slightest movement.

“What is it?” asked Prim. She stood behind Iriel, and in the mirror, the High Priestess watched her. Her nosy paladin was perfection in Molath’s reflection. In the mirror, Prim’s skin was pale like Iriel, and her eyes were red. Her hair was a deep black, and there were two sharp fangs in her smile. Her armor was gone. She wore tight black clothes. Her hands and throat were stained with blood, and, though she knew it was wrong, Iriel wanted to kiss her skin where the blood had stained it, to taste it through Prim.

“How?” whispered Iriel.

“High Priestess?” asked Prim, but her voice was changed. It wasn’t the soft sweetness of an Aasimar. It was deep and sultry. It was her reflection.

Sacrifice, said the Voice. In the mirror, dark Iriel took out a long and curved blade and plunged it into dark Prim’s chest.

Iriel didn’t hesitate.

“Your blade,” she commanded. “Give it to me.”

“What is it?”

“I know how to stop it,” she said. “I can unravel this spell.”

“High Priestess, are you sure?”

“Yes!” snarled the elven woman. She held out her hand, dropping the Staff of the Eclipse to the ground. “Give it to me.”

She pulled her eyes away from the mirror. There, the real Prim, the silvery Aasimar with pink hair and soft eyes, stood, looking at Iriel like she’d gone mad.

“Darre,” hissed Iriel. The magic took hold of Prim like white tendrils of divine magic, forcing the paladin to hand over her blade. Iriel took it from her and looked back to the mirror. In the reflection, once again, dark Iriel stabbed dark Prim.

She knew what to do.

Later, Iriel would be amused that it took so little, that her threshold for resisting temptation was so small. Others at the Abbey would put up triumphant resistances to the darkness. Some would even die rather than give into corruption. Some truly didn’t want power or glory, some were free of lust or envy. Iriel was not one of them. If she ought to have tried hard, the thought never occurred to her then. She grabbed the blade from Prim and followed the instructions of the mirror without hesitation or regret. She stabbed Prim in the side, slipping past her breastplate and twisted the sword. Prim gasped as the tendrils of divine light released her, and she sagged to the ground.

Iriel almost moaned as her chest heaved with the rush of adrenaline, the sudden exhilaration that she’d done it, she’d given Maloth the sacrifice needed. She turned to the mirror and saw the version of herself she longed for: horned, hoofed, tailed, and skin like a clear midnight sky. Her reflection was perfect, and soon she would match it.

As the blood poured out of Prim’s side and the ground drank it, a deep purple light grew through the cracks in the earth. Slowly, the tomb swelled with purple light, reaching up the crystals above and sending tapestries of light all over the huge cavern. Iriel laughed, spinning and twirling as the light kissed her skin, never taking her eyes off the mirror. The ground rumbled, but Iriel didn’t mind. She stared at her reflection, waiting for the dark self to step out of the mirror and fuck her properly. She giggled with glee and took off her clothes, tired of being confined for so long. She was free down here. For days she’d been hiding and trying to control herself. She didn’t need to do that anymore. She could be herself, and Maloth wanted that. Azora always wanted you to change who you were, to try hard to improve, but not Maloth. Maloth wanted you and all your perversion, all your depravity. Each part of you was welcome in her chapel.

The cavern exploded in light as the ground ripped up, casting bones and ash into the air. They hung there as a great gale swooped down the staircase and into the tomb, spinning around and creating a vortex of light, bone, and ash. Naked and insane with excitement, Iriel laughed as the bones were crushed and broken, blending with the ash. She spun like a child in a rainstorm, enjoying the feel of the wind on her naked body.

The funnel of ash and bone formed a single line, like a comet swirling around the roof of the cavern. Iriel stood still and watched it, part of her wondering if Maloth wanted her to fall to her knees and worship. But that’s not how Maloth received worship, was it? Not from bent knees and bowed heads, but from entwined bodies, wet and slurping, fucking and begging, panting and moaning. Iriel needed a body to fuck if she wanted to honor Maloth, that’s all.

Then the comet bent down, swirling lower and lower along the walls of the cavern. It arched forward and smashed through the back of the mirror. Iriel shrieked as the mirror turned to ash, blending in with the maelstrom, and so complete was her shock that she didn’t brace herself for what came next.

The comet of ash slammed into her. Decades of bones offered as sacrifice by the High Priestess of Azora to keep Maloth locked away, the bones of the guards for the past few weeks, the blood of Prim, and ashe of the mirror all slithered down Iriel’s throat, knocking her off her feet and lifting her into the air. She choked and died a thousand times. She swallowed and begged for more. When there was no more room in her for all the smoke, it wound it’s way down her ears, up her pussy, and through her ass. All of her was filled with darkness and sacrifice and cruelty and lust and lust and lust and lust until there was nothing left of her goodness, of her promise, of her light.

Iriel fell to the ground, coughing but not hurt. The ground was no longer bone and ash, but a soft grass. Slowly she rose to her feet, looking around at the cavern. It was no longer a place of nightmares. It was a garden, a sanctuary. Here she could be herself without concern. Here she could worship her new goddess freely.

And how did Maloth want worship? Sacrifice? She had plenty of acolytes ready for sacrifice. She’d devoured and devoured. It wasn’t that. She had a High Priestess now, an ambassador, a scion robed in power and glory. She would lead them all in a new worship, so what did Maloth want?

Iriel looked at the limp body of Prim and grinned. The goddess was hungry, and all goddesses wanted worshippers right? If Iriel was going to start a new religion, a new Abby to Maloth, she would start here and now, with her first convert.

Iriel went to the paladin’s side. She was dead and the sword was still in her side. Iriel pulled it out, but it was bloodless. The wound didn’t bleed. There wasn’t a drop of angel blood left in her.

The High Priestess placed her hand over the wound, and a small wave, a torrent of ash and smoke oozed forward, sinking down and easing into the paladin’s wound. Prim’s chest heaved as her body filled with the cloud of ash, lifting her up into the air and onto her feet. Her eyes shot open, but their silver color was gone. They were red, like her reflection. The color drained from Prim’s body, and the armor turned to dust on her body. She screamed and scratched at herself, out of control. Iriel went to reach for her but stopped. Her hand, it was paler. She looked at her other hand, at her wrists, at her feet. All of her. She was pale, and her hair was dark, just like her reflection.

Beside her, Prim planted her feet, tilted her head back, and howled. As she did, two fangs popped down and slowly the former Aasimar stumbled back, collapsing into the grass.

“Prim?” asked Iriel, stooping to help her.

Prim’s eyes fluttered open. “High Priestess?” she whispered. Her voice was thick and sultry, just like the reflection. Iriel smiled, and the smile turned to laughter. It was a dream come true, almost better. Iriel, the High Priestess of Azora, would never have dreamed of this, and Iriel, the High Priestess of Maloth, had dreams much darker and twisted than this.

“Are you alright?”

Prim’s eyes widened. “We need to go. We need to get out of here, High Priestess, it’s not safe. I don’t know what that was, but I don’t feel well. Something’s wrong —”

“Shhh ….” Iriel placed a finger on Prim’s lips. “It’s alright. Don’t worry.”

“But the darkness here is alive and —”

Iriel bent down and kissed Prim. Prim froze, not kissing her back, but as Iriel kissed her, she felt power seeping out of her. A sliver of smoke and ash slithered out of her mouth and down Prim’s throat. The former Aasimar seized, her body locking up from the kiss and the invasion all at once.

Iriel smiled and kissed her again, this time deeper. Prim still didn’t respond, but Iriel didn’t care. All her passion, her excitement, and her hunger went into the kiss. She was finally free. She felt power flooding through her, power she could never believe. For decades she had served Azora, and power came from Azora through prayer, through pleading. This skipped the begging entirely. Maloth dwelt within her, sharing power directly with Iriel. And what did she ask of the elf? Service? Obedience? No. All she wanted was for Iriel to give in to her urges, to do exactly what she always wanted but was too afraid to do. Maloth offered freedom, and if Prim didn’t want to be kissed, who cares? Iriel had only kissed her reflection before, but now she wanted to taste as many lips as she could. There were so many people in the Abbey, a variety of flavors and pleasures for her to devour. She wanted them all.

Prim arched her back, moaning as the red of her eyes deepened and brightened. She kissed Iriel back with vigor, her teeth nicking Iriel’s lips. They drew thin lines of blood, but the High Priestess didn’t care. She laughed when Prim stopped kissing Iriel and licked the rivulets of blood she could find.

Iriel pulled away, and Prim whined. Her body had changed again. Her fangs were longer, her breasts swelled under her clothing. Her eyes were a deep red that would shine in the dark, her eyes were hooded with shadow and a seemingly permanent darkness clung around her eyes like a mask. Her fangs were longer, too long to fit in her mouth, and they glistened with Iriel’s blood.

“How do you feel, Prim?”

Prim licked her lips. “Hungry,” she growled. Iriel smiled and bent down.

“Now, this is the most important question,” said Iriel, whispering into Prim’s ear. “Hungry for what?”

Prim took a deep breath, and as she took in Iriel’s scent, her back stiffened, her pupils dilated, and her nostrils flared. “You,” she purred. Prim’s hands roamed down Iriel’s back, gripping tightly.

Iriel sighed with pleasure. She ran her hand down Prim’s body, but as she went, a light buzz danced from her fingertips and over Prim’s clothes. Prim purred and moaned at the magic, but as Iriel went lower, her hand hovering over Prim’s crotch, the magic intensified and Prim lurched forward, moaning as her pussy was massaged for what may be the first time in her life. Prim melted, sinking to the soft ground, and Iriel moved with her other hand, ripping the clothes from her prey’s body. She sank down onto Prim’s stomach, straddling her. She kept one hand behind her, still using the magic to massage Prim’s pussy.

“You’re hungry, Prim?”

“Yes,” moaned Prim. “Oh goddess, yes.”

“For this?” With her free hand, Iriel spoke an incantation, and a line of red appeared on her hand. Blood oozed out and dripped down her hand into Prim’s mouth. Prim drank eagerly, like a child at the tit, desperate not to miss a drop. She never answered the High Priestess’s question. She moaned and groaned, satisfied from the blood sliding down her throat and writhing her hips under Iriel’s weight, enjoying the magic vibrations running over her pussy, teasing her clit, sliding their way deeper and deeper inside of her.

“Or for this?” The wound on Iriel’s hand closed and healed. She slid up Prim’s body and positioned her pussy over the vampire’s mouth. Prim didn’t hesitate. She licked wildly and clumsily but greedily. Both women moaned happily, never questioning the changes Maloth had bequeathed upon them. A week ago, both would have called them curses. Now they were boons. They were power, the power to get their deepest and darkest desires. But there was more they didn’t know, couldn’t know, and would spend the following months discovering: Maloth had given them new pleasures, things foul and forbidden, taboo and evil, wicked and wonderful. There were pleasures they couldn’t imagine, not as they were, but under Maloth’s tutelage and worship, all would know a new side to explore and exploit the flesh. She would train her children and send them to teach the world the best of what a person could feel and the worst they would do to achieve that feeling.

Iriel arched her back as the pleasure took her, the first of many pleasures, of a lifetime of pleasures under the service of Maloth.