Chapter 6: Damnation

In which things are not as they seem,
the night grows darker…
and hope is found in the strangest places

Alassiel was woken by pain in her scalp, as she was roughly dragged to her feet by her scarlet mane. She gave a cry of surprise and pain that was quickly stifled. The former druid struggled to rise to her feet but stumbled awkwardly, the pace at which she was being pulled too quick for easy balance.

She recognized the woman pulling her, though they had never been formally introduced. She was naked but for a dull brown cloak slung casually across her back, concealing little. Her milk white skin seemed to change colors as the flickering hues of the untamed sky razed down upon them, and she was tall — perhaps a full foot later than Alassiel herself. Whenever she glanced back at the struggling elf, the former druid could see her haughty, beautiful features, with coal black eyes surrounded by a faint blue glow the color of Blackwand’s fire.

She was Cerec, Alassiel knew. Not the same Cerec who raped and tortured her on a nearly daily basis, but rather another aspect of the same being — another piece of Blackwand’s power, another jailer. Alassiel had never been in her presence before, but she had seen the beautiful avatar in the prison on more than one previous occasion. Typically it was her role to torment Blackwand’s male prisoners, as her male companion did to the women.

Still, here she was, and as the avatar dragged her through the cavern of black rocks and dying plants that made up Blackwand’s imprisoning cavern, the elf tried desperately to figure out why.

Then the hand was taken from her hair and she was allowed to slump to the ground on the hard stone. “Get up,” Cerec said, and her voice was frigid, echoing with regal authority but cold as the arctic winds. Alassiel was in an armory of some kind… which had to mean —

“The games,” she whispered.

Cerec’s laugh was a strange sound, beautiful musical notes that reverberated with minor harmonic that made the skin crawl. The sound terrified the elf, but at the same time she longed to hear its beauty again. “That’s right,” she said. “Cerec has chosen you this time,” she said, apparently finding nothing confusing about sharing a name with the being she spoke of. “So as is custom, I have come to collect you while he collects my own champion.” She looked up and down the scarred elf, eyes lingering on her myriad bruises and cuts before snorting. “He wants you to lose, poor thing.”

Cerec smiled before she pushed the elf forward towards a rack of weapons. “Choose.”

Alassiel ran her eyes up and down the rack of poor weapons. They were all, to a one, of poor manufacture and maintenance. She hefted a sword, both heavier and shorter than she preferred for her own blade, and found it poorly balanced, with the fulcrum a good half a foot above the crosspiece… but it was the only weapon in sight that fit her needs.

The ginger elf glanced appraisingly towards Cerec, who was watching her intensely. ‘This is not the time,’ she reminded herself.

After waiting long enough to decide that the elf was not going to choose another weapon or foolishly try to attack her, the Avatar gestured to one of the featureless black walls and it split open, showing a blazingly intense light on the other side that robbed her of vision.

Alassiel walked towards that light, her blade gripped in white knuckles. The games were a trial by combat between prisoners, for the amusement of the Avatars and more bloodthirsty inmates — many of whom Blackwand had already stripped the soul from completely. The fight was to the death, but that didn’t overly concern the druid. Here within Blackwand prison there was no way to truly die — the soul could not escape, so it would simply form another body with time. Alassiel was, however, unwilling to leave Liriel alone to be abused for that long… not to mention lose the new eyrn eregdos that even now grew slowly within her, like the only child her crippled body she would ever know.

She emerged out into the brightness…

25 years ago, four miles east of Daggerport
Three months after the Battle of Accida Ridge

“Demons,” Elide hissed as the black haired elf glared out at the assembled force marching towards them. “That army is filled with demons.”

Lissa and Sirae stood together, looking over their own army and towards Sanguinar’s. The mixed force of the royal army and the elves had been proving unstoppable against the Lord of Suffering’s remaining forces, still recovering from their disastrous loss at Accida Ridge. He had been forced to retreat in engagement after engagement for the past months, and was quickly being hounded towards the edge of the Veil.

“Demons,” Sirae said, her tone of that of agreement. She shook her head sadly. “Oh Sanguinar, how mad have you grown to invite such a host inside of Silas?”

“Why would Kardas help that monster?” Elide said, her tone accusing. “Surely she knows what he is by now…”

“Kardas is not the only demon warlord,” Lissa interjected, nervously observing the distance between the two armies.

Sirae nodded. “They are not hers. She has chosen not to interfere.”

Lissa felt an angry stirring in the back of her mind… an uncomfortable feeling that she ignored because…

“How can she choose so foolishly?” Elide all but shouted, fury plain in her voice. “She is a woman as well!”

…because it made her feel too much like Elide must, all the time. She hated it.

Sirae chuckled. “Hardly.”

Alassiel emerged into an open pit, filled with black sand which seemed to shine with the reflected hues of the sky, a dazzling and distracting scenery. The only sound the fire maned elf could hear was the raucous shouting of the crowd, thousands upon thousands of souls crowded into the stadium style seating, covering the black stone of the cavern with pulsing flesh. No one had to go to the games, but when you were there you aren’t being abused… and to many of the tormented souls here, it was a comfort to watch someone else hurt for a change.

Liriel was not in the crowd, or at least Alassiel hoped she was not. She could not see her distinctive white hair in the audience, but that did not mean the slender elf was not here. Instead, all she could see was the pair of Avatars, somehow already in the stands, glaring down at the fights in progress.

And there were other fights, Alassiel saw. Men fighting women, women fighting men… a dozen such combats, the sounds of the battle completely masked by the roar of the viewers. Elsewhere one of the fights had already ended, the man laying atop the defeated woman in triumph and raping her, taking some pleasure in being the abuser for a single second in an eternity of victim-hood before the girl had to die and await rebirth.

Right in front of Alassiel was her opponent, and the elf immediately knew that it was a joke. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the absolute nightmare made flesh. It was a gigantic beast with red slits for eyes, gleaming against its pale skin. A large maw of impossibly long, sharp teeth, snapped open and closed as it breathed. Huge muscles rippled throughout its vaguely humanoid body, its massive hands bearing dangerous claws that could eviscerate her as easily as they could pass through open air. A whip-like tail undulated behind it, snapping in the air with a savage violence.

It was a demon, the likes of which the former druid had never seen before. It was enormous — its arms were thicker and longer than her entire body, and it had to have many, many times her body mass. The very idea of fighting it was a joke. If an opponent had half a foot of height and twenty-five pounds over a combatant, victory was unlikely. The advantage of reach and strength was frequently enough to overcome even superior training and skill. When the opponent towered over his adversary by many feet and outweighed by closer to twenty five tons than pounds, the possibility of a physical victory is nonexistent.

Without magic to equalize the vast physical inequity, there was no prayer of victory.

It was also completely naked, and hanging between its legs was a monstrous phallus designed more for pain than reproduction, already growing hard. It advanced upon her until it was leering down at the pathetically small elf, who stared upward in shock and terror as it drank in her beautiful body.

The fight was over before it even began. He charged her, the sheer mass of the vast demon making it more akin to an oncoming avalanche than an opponent to defend again. Alassiel could not hope to defend, but instead dove to the right and came rapidly to her feet, swinging the sword with all her strength as she spun. The sword bit savagely into the demon’s muscular arm… but it was expecting it. The blow hurt, but it was not crippling nor even dangerous. He accepted the pain without pulling his arm back, and the vast clawed hand wrapped around Alassiel and began to squeeze.

The sword dropped immediately from her hand, her fingers abruptly too numb to grasp the blade. The crushing hand instantly stole the air from her lungs, ending her ability to fight instantly before throwing her roughly to the ground and laying atop the breathless elf, weight resting to either side of her on his vast knees. His tail wrapped quickly around her arms, holding them together behind her back.

And the demon smiled at her.

All around them the army prepared for combat. Lissa chewed her lower lip and watched as Prince Liam dressed the ranks of the human lines, berating imperfection loudly and arrogantly while giving perfection only a silent grim nod. Where ever he went, men trembling at the sight of demons grew firm and hard, tightening their grips on the weapons.

‘His men love him,’ Lissa thought as she watched the display, a smile appearing on her face. ‘If he asked it of them, they would follow him out into the untamed lands to bring the fight to hell directly.’ And so, Lissa realized, would she.

The thought was uncomfortable.

“Lissa?” Sirae said, her tone the firm sound of someone who has already repeated herself several times, and the druid jerked.

“Yes Goddess?” she said, bowing her head low in embarrassment. Even so, she could see Elide shake her head in disgust. No doubt the older elf had seen the direction of Lissa’s distracted gaze.

“I asked if you’d fought a demon before.”

She shook her head. “Never. No one in Caladwen is foolish enough to summon one.”

Sirae chuckled. “Quite right.” She looked down at her apprentice, holding her swollen belly with one delicate hand. “They are powerful… but not as much as they think they are. They have many weaknesses.”

She smiled at Lissa. “They are stronger and faster than you,” she said. “Their entire being is a living weapon, and many of them have the experience of thousands of years. Many are significantly older than I am.” She smiled again, wistfully. “They do not burn, and they are immune to all but the strongest blasts of magical force. A demon is a being of pure emotion given form, a soul without a true body… just raw magical energy which makes them all but impossible to hurt.”

Lissa snorted. “I thought we were talking about weaknesses.”

Sirae’s smile widened. “We are,” she said.

Beaten, with all hope for victory having fled, the elf had little choice but to let the massively powerful demon reposition her as he willed, turning her until the elf was staring up at the demon’s raging cock, more than a foot of hard flesh waiting to penetrate her. Her arms could not possibly escape the tight bond created by the lashing tail, and his crushing hands spread her legs as he lowered himself onto her. Alassiel began struggling anew, begging for mercy and trying desperately to free herself from the powerful grips that held her at the demon’s mercy, but wept as it became clear there was nothing she could do. With a cruel laugh, the demon positioned itself at her head, towering over the red haired elf, its cock pointing upward over her face.

“No… please…” she begged.

With inhuman force, the demon gripped the beautiful former druid by her throat with one enormous hand, and pressed his horrific cock to her lips. She tried to resist, but the power was overwhelming, and her jaw was quickly forced open to accept the thick, hard demon shaft. The first three inches went in as Alassiel’s jaw widened to accept the gigantic intruder, and moans of protest were muffled by the invading pressure. Her struggles caused her tits to jiggle, which only excited the demon more and invited mockery from the watching crowd. Four inches… five… half a foot now. The end hit the back of throat. Seven inches now… her throat began convulsing, trying to expel the intruder. Eight. Her head tilted all the way back, forced into position by the huge cock. Nine… Alassiel violently gagged, her flat, narrow stomach and bruised breasts heaving from the effort. The remaining length was quickly inserted fully into the abused elf’s throat.

Then the demon pulled most of the enormous cock out and, with a quick thrust, slammed it entirely back into the elf girl, causing the former druid to bounce her body on the loose sand. Out he pulled it again, and again he slammed it back in. Over and over, faster and faster, the gorgeous, defeated Alassiel was throat fucked, deeper and harder than any time before in her long history of abuse.

Now the demon began viciously squeezing her poor tits, mashing them and slapping them hard before cruelly twisting the nipples and raking the bruised flesh with his claws. Occasionally the demon would rear back and slap Alassiel’s cunt between her spread legs, punishing it with violent swats of his heavy hand. All the while, his huge cock was forced down her throat, over and over. Wet slurping sounds accompanied muffled whimpers and shrieks of protest, and Alassiel’s body writhed in struggle for five minutes of brutal, violent throat rape.

Accompanied by howls of support from the audience, the demon let loose a triumphant roar. He gripped the small elf’s throat with an enormous hand as though strangling her, and began hammering his cock faster and harder than ever before. The cock swelled in size and length, growing even longer and forcing another several inches down the poor girl’s throat with each powerful thrust. Then intensely hot, thick demon cum began erupting from his evil tool, flowing rapidly down Alassiel’s throat and into her stomach. After twenty seconds of this, he pulled out, geysers of cum still shooting into the air and splattering in huge clumps all over her defenseless body. More cheers came from the crowd now, a deafening roar of approval.

When it finally stopped, Alassiel lay limp, convulsing and dripping with over a gallon of thick cum that covered her face, breasts, and stomach.

Still without a word, the demon began to turn her. When her crotch was directly beneath him the monster grabbed both legs, pulling her knees towards her shoulders and making her as exposed and vulnerable as possible. Her bound hands behind her forced her back to arch, pressing her tits into the air. Locked in this position she stared at the demon in horror, who’s cock had, rather than going limp, grown even further and now had little lumps sprouting along the shaft.

In too much pain to protest she watched as he guided his enormous phallus once more to her body. Then, With a sound like a sword being unsheathed, the bumps on his cock now had small spikes protruding from them. The elf’s heart skipped a beat as she saw how the demon had turned his cock into a horrific torture device that would surely destroy her. Alassiel began struggling in vain again, sobs and moans as she pleaded for mercy. The crowd chanted something vile sounding, and the demon grabbed her tiny waist with his huge, clawed hands.

Still ominously silent he placed the dripping tip of his now 16 inch weapon at the entrance to her soft, tight, and very dry pussy… and plowed straight into her. Her scream could be heard throughout the entirety of Blackwand as the huge shaft plunged deep into her belly, causing her flat, smooth stomach to bulge upward as it ripped through her delicate and clear to her already crippled womb, his shaft lubricated only by his own leftover cum. The spikes tore her insides up as the demon fucked her, her pussy tight and unwilling against this violent invasion. The tiny spikes were not especially sharp, but even so she was sure her cunt was being ruined. The rape became easier as blood lubricated the demon, as he took immense pleasure in fucking Alassiel to within an inch of her life.

Over and over he thrust into her, practically splitting the too-small girl in two. After an eternity of the agony for the girl, she was flipped onto her knees on the black sand, her hands still forced uncomfortably behind her back, pale ass high in the air. He pressed her face flat against the arena floor, breasts ballooning out on either side of her ribs as her tears dampening the sand. The demon entered her from behind, howling with lust as it cruelly gripped the elf’s hair and forced her head back, exposing her naked throat. He grabbed her throat with his other hand and choked her nearly unconscious as he fucked her. On it went until Alassiel went limp in his grasps, almost blacked out from the shock and pain… and humiliation.

The demon continued to thrust deep into the weakened elf’s body until he erupted again for a full five minutes into her ruined pussy. When he finished he released her, allowing her to crumple onto her stomach on the ground, cum flowing from her ravaged pussy as he turned to face the crowd, roaring in savage triumph as the onlookers screamed back every bit as loudly.

The demon turned back to Alassiel to find the pathetic elf scrabbling pointlessly in circles, blood seeping from her hole as she crawled desperately in search of an escape that did not exist. With a malicious smile the demon stepped back towards her, raising his clawed hand for a killing stroke…

And abruptly stopped, held rigid and very, very angry.

“They are too used to being invincible,” Sirae said, still smiling. “They have lived too long and are too hard to hurt. It makes them arrogant, and predictable.”

She leaned over to put her face almost against her apprentice. “You have something they don’t.”

Lissa chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. “A conscience?”

Sirae laughed. “That too, but I meant a body. Something they don’t, and can’t, have.”

Abruptly Lissa understood. “They are being of pure magic, you said?”

The goddess nodded. “You see now, do you?”

“If they are nothing but magic,” the druid said, “then they can be bound, the same way a wizard or druid binds any other magical energy.”

Sirae lifted her hand, twirling it absently in front of her face. “Yes,” she said. “And you make the binding the same way the idiot who summoned them did, with the one thing you have and they don’t.”

Lissa nodded, her eyes hardening. “Blood.”

The demon was ancient, having lived for thousands of years even before Sanguinar had slain him, trapping him within Blackwand for the rest of time. That long life had made him arrogant, over confidant… but not stupid.

He realized immediately what had happened. Far from being pointless or pathetic, the elf’s crawling had carved a small circular path in the sand and filled it with drops of her own blood — blood from the injury he had inflicted upon her himself. And like a fool, he had stepped right into the circle.

The circle was tiny. There was no room for the vast demon to move, or even to tremble. His body was held absolutely rigid, his face locked in the expression of malicious glee he had worn when he stepped into the trap, still envisioning the bloody death of the scarred elf warrior.

The crowd had picked up on the change of fate by now. Gradually, as more of the viewers realized, a silence spread over the arena… first filled by a few catcalls… then nothing. Alassiel could hear the breeze in her ears as the wounded elf slowly, ever so slowly, pushed herself up. She had to stand awkwardly, badly favoring her right side, but she was again on her feet.

Every eye but the imprisoned demon’s followed the elf as she limped to the dropped sword, her tangled red hair stirring with every jerking movement of her injured body. She picked up the sword, wrapped both hands tightly around it.

And the helpless demon’s head flew from his shoulders with a single, brutal stroke; both head and body crumbled into dust before they hit the sand.

Her eyes met Cerec’s for an instant before she collapsed, staring defiantly into the eight eyes of the two Avatars.

In the wake of the battle, Lissa cleaned her blade to the rhythm of Sirae’s screams.

There was no blood to clean — her demonic foes had seen to that — but the fine sword had still grown dirty with the detritus of war, the filth of the battlefield. Spit. Sweat. Offal. Tiny nicks had appeared in the sharp tool, damaging its effectiveness. Lissa patiently drew her sword over the whetstone. If she got the rhythm just right, and did it hard enough, the noise of the blade sharpening would also obliterate the sounds of her goddess’s pain.

Elide sat next to the druid, but she did not carry a weapon to clean. Sirae had forbidden her to be armed when she came. The lack of trust that showed in the woman’s judgment had to have stung the elf general, but in truth Lissa was not sure she would trust the dark haired elf with a sword right now either, when her hatred was liable to boil over at any second.

Another scream, another stroke of the stone.

On her other side, Laim sat on the ground. He was trying to be subtle, but Lissa was sure the hand the prince lay teasingly on the back of her thigh was meant to distract her. It was working… her skin felt flushed at the point of contact, and the druid’s face was slowly becoming the color of her hair, despite her effort not to think about it.

Sirae screamed again, this time her stroke of the stone was not fast enough to cover a new sound. Crying.

Elide stood, and instantly both Lissa and Prince Liam were on their feet as well, trying to beat the general to the tent’s flap. They settled for arriving at the same instant, and the group brushed aside the canvas to reveal the goddess’s midwife, Mikaela, waiting in Elide’s way. When the golden haired elf saw Lissa and Liam alongside her, however, she calmed and move away to reveal the fire maned goddess, her golden eyes filled with tears as she held her child.

Elide’s face was disgusted. “He looks like his father,” she spat.

The stinging of wet cloth inside her burned abominable, but Alassiel reminded herself that it was far better than the alternative.

Liriel cared for her injured teacher, cleaning her wounds both inside and out, doing her best to prevent the almost inevitable infection. She wanted to tell the beautiful young elf not to worry about her, to take care of herself, but she knew that that would actually be selfish of her. Liriel took great comfort in being able to ease another’s pain, and had even during the days of her training back in Caladwen, so long ago.

Liriel had been raped herself while Alassiel was gone, she knew. The young druid initiate had not said a word, but the fresh bruises and stains of dried semen spoke clearly to the red haired elf. With the eyes of their tormentor busy elsewhere, the male charges of Cerec had no doubt found the white haired elf and taken the opportunity to enjoy her.

Even then, the albino elf showed no desire to lick her own wounds. Her red eyes gleamed with determination as she worked to heal Alassiel as best she could with the scarce materials, as if she healed her own trauma best by helping her mentor. Maybe she actually did.

As the cloth wiped away the former Archdruid’s dried blood, disinfecting the wounds with water, Alassiel thanked the gods she was not alone. While she would have gladly paid any price to let Liriel go free while she herself stayed, or even for the young apprentice to be left alone while Alassiel suffered for her, the tormented elf could not deny that taking the abuse was so much easier with a companion.

It wasn’t the care the kind girl gave her that helped the most. It was simply her presence, the touch of another being who didn’t want to hurt her. It allowed her, for even a few seconds every day, to feel truly safe.

And for the moment, maybe that was enough.

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